Tommy Hayes: July 26, 1948-January 24, 2013
A few years ago Tom had recently returned from his Canada trip,
and had some fish to fry. I remember
watching him as he sat on his concrete patio in front of that fryer, cautiously
covering each fillet in just the right amount of cornmeal and then dropping it
ever-so-carefully in the oil. After a certain
amount of time Tom would remove each fillet and place it on a plate covered in
paper towel. Each piece would then sit
on that plate until it reached the perfectly safe temperature when it could be
eaten. Not too hot, never too cold. As I watched Tom fry that fish, I imagined
him up in Canada on his beloved fishing trip, surrounded by his closest
friends. I knew very little about the
trip, only that he loved it. So I
imagined what it was like. Him in a
boat, patiently casting and floating, reeling, removing fish from the hook. Laughing,
smiling. Not wasting any words. And cherishing every second. I stopped my imagining and went out to get my
first bit of fish. It was, of course, perfect. I began to tell him how good it was. How tender, just the right amount of cornmeal
and seasoning. He gave me a look that
said, “Just eat the fish kid, you know I don’t like a big fuss.” And so I stopped talking and just ate the
fish. I told him how much I liked the
fish by eating over 2 pounds of it that day.
I think he was pleased.
I won’t make a big fuss about Tom today. I think this too will please him. But I will tell you a little about him,
because like you, I too love him. And his
good life deserves at least a bit of fuss.
One of Tommy’s closest friends, Dick Anthony, “Coach,” shared
this story with us. “Tom, Danny
Arthalony, Jim Phalen, and I went to Canada fishing for several years. I believe this was the first year that I went
with these fellows. We flew into a place
on the Ogoki River. As we landed on the
water, we noticed that the plane was pulling up to a dock anchored a long way
from shore. At this point we were told
that we had to transfer the humongous amount of equipment from the plane onto
the dock and then move it by boat to a cabin on the shore. None of us were real happy about this, but
what are you going to do? We loaded the
boats with as much as we could and headed to shore. Tom was running the boat and I was visually
checking things out. At about 100 yards
from shore, Wham! We hit the bottom of
the lake. The boat went sideways but did
not turn over. Now what do we do? Well, we strip down and pull the blankety
blank boat to shore. The whole time we
were verbally thanking the people back in base camp for not telling us about
all the problems we were facing when we got to the lake and I’m wondering what
I had gotten myself into. What I had
gotten was years of wonderful friendships.
At least once a year Tom and I would be sitting at the KCs, and the
strip down story would get a little more embellished. I still can’t believe we didn’t get a picture
of 4 guys pulling those boats in their undies.”
Over the past few days we have heard stories like this and learned
things about Tom that were previously unknown to us. Tom wasn’t one to toot his own horn or tell a
story as evidence of his kindness, or strength, or thoughtfulness. But those stories exist, in the words of
others. Multiple people have said, “you
know, I didn’t know Tom all that well, or talk to him that much, but he always
said hi and smiled when he saw me.”
Tom’s simple gestures spoke the words he so often left unspoken.
Lori’s first college roommate didn’t have much money. Tom picked up on this while he was moving
Lori into the dorm her freshman year. The
extent of his interactions with this roommate was a simple, “nice to meet you,”
and yet every time he talked with Lori during that year he would ask, “does
your roommate need any money.” He wasn’t
being nosy, he was asking because if she was in need, he was ready to give.
Like his thoughtfulness, Tommy’s strength was also often
silent. In this way, his silence became
even more pronounced after his diagnosis.
We know that many of you missed seeing him at the KCs, or at the bowling
alley, or on the golf course. While we
don’t know all of Tommy’s reasons for this, one reason for this absence was his
daily determination to perform a set of exercises that often took him all day
to complete. During the disease, he
retained what strength he could through his daily routine of green tea,
pomegranate juice, exercise, and of course walking Irish. It was rigorous and often difficult. But this is how he brought some control and
comfort to a situation that was so uncomfortable and out of his control. He didn’t forget us. He loved us.
He was just living, and staying strong, in his own way.
The day before Tommy passed away, during one of his final
exchanges with his devoted mother, Eleanor, he said to her through his tears, “I
guess this is to see just how tough I am.”
Her emotional response was, “Tommy, you’re plenty tough. And you just gotta keep being tough.” I’m sure similar conversations occurred when
Tommy was a kid with a scraped knee.
“Tommy, you’re plenty tough. And
you just gotta keep being tough.”
Eleanor, through genetics and deliberate lessons, made Tommy strong. Strong enough to be a soldier. Strong enough to be a father. Strong enough to be a fighter.
Beyond his strength, his compassion, and his thoughtfulness,
there was also a side to Tom that many surely remember—his ability to have
fun. In his younger years this included
roller skating—not just rolling around the rink, but as I found out yesterday,
gracefully dancing on wheels, skating backwards, and going in circles. It was during these younger years that he
caught the attention of a young nurse-in-training, named Maryann Watts. They got married, raised two great kids, and
established a relationship built upon dependability, loyalty, and
commitment. Maryann knew she could count
on Tommy, and that without judgment, he would provide what she needed. And Tommy knew that Maryann would always be
by his side, loyally committed, no matter the circumstances. I won’t give you details about the
circumstances of Tommy’s last 5 weeks on earth spent in the hospital in St. Louis. But I will tell you this: the loyalty and
commitment between these two was never stronger. For 5 grueling weeks, as Tommy fought,
Maryann remained vigilant and hopeful, literally never leaving his side. In moments of despair, Tommy’s consolation
was Maryann. He knew she would do
everything she could to keep him alive, keep him hopeful, and keep him
comfortable. And she did do everything,
and more. Every minute of every day.
We’ll all remember Tommy in different ways, and recall the way
he enriched our lives. Coach put this
nicely, “Tom Hayes is probably the only person I have known that I could sit in
a boat with for hours with very few words exchanged and feel perfectly
comfortable with the silence.” I count myself lucky, because I live with five
people whom he loved deeply, who carry his good blood and a portion of his good
spirit with them. Each day, they remind
me of him. In my wife, his daughter
Lori, I see all that is good in him.
Strength, kindness, a quiet dignity that like Tommy, speaks measures
without saying a word. Lori knows how to
throw a baseball correctly, because of Tommy.
Lori is loyal and dependable, just like Tommy. In Brennan, the grandson he loved, I see his
thoughtfulness. His desire to be
inclusive of all people in all situations.
In Zoe, his first granddaughter, I see his kindness. His willingness to help others even when it
might not be convenient. In Ava, I see
his determination. Setting his mind to
something, and focusing with intensity and strength. And in Hayzel, Tommy’s smile. Mouth open wide, tilting the head back a bit,
enjoying the moment and the people in that moment.
* Each of us makes sense of death in
different ways. Religion, art, and our
own consciousness inform our ideas and beliefs about what happens to those who
pass on. We are left behind, but where do they go? What is it like? Today more specifically, we ask, “Where is
Tom Hayes? Where is he? What is it like?” I can offer nothing more definitive than what
has already been presented by Father Tom, Father Nelson, and the readings, but
I can tell you what I choose to believe, and paint a picture of what I hope is
happening. I believe in a place where we
reunite with those who passed before us.
I believe that these reunions are real and defined by relief. Relief that what is ‘real’ is not confined to
life on earth, but that ‘real life’ continues, in some incredible way, after
this one. And so, just as I could
imagine Tom up in Canada, I can imagine him up in Heaven. Today, I imagine the grandfather of my
children, this great man, Tom Hayes, patiently floating along crystal clear
water in a glass bottom boat. He is free of pain and full of joy. He wears a hat on his head and a smile on his
face. In front of him in the boat sits
his father Virgil. Behind him, JT. Between the three of them, they’ll polish off
plenty of Natural Light by the end of the day, and have a few perfectly fried
pieces of fish to eat for dinner. They
don’t say much, but they look down upon us, and see us looking up at them. They know that one day, we too will be ready
to join them. But they are in no hurry. They row themselves slowly through eternity,
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
* some of the imagery of Tommy up in Heaven was inspired by the beautiful Billy Collins poem, "The Dead."
