Tommy was a carpenter and made his living doing small remodel jobs for folks he knew. In the town where we lived, most work came from those who knew you, from your community. So friendship was not a luxury, it was essential to life.

Tommy was my father’s friend. And that meant much more than the meaning popularized by Facebook. When either man was in need, the other was there. They often teamed up on jobs requiring both carpentry and plumbing.

After my father died, Tommy took a special interest in my mother. Not the kind of interest that would grab headlines today. He continued to be a friend of my father by looking in on my mother and by “doing for her” when he could. Many times my mother would say, “Tommy was over here today and fixed the door (or fence or roof, etc.).” I once thanked Tommy for helping my Mom, but he seemed taken aback as if he was not doing her a favor, but a duty out of love. With shock still on his face, he told me, “Well, she is my sister!” And that meant a lot coming from a man for whom family was everything.

Tommy was also my friend. He was a real man. A kind man. And I miss him keenly.

Image from the Alban Psalter