A Fallen Star
Yesterday I was informed by Chris that our longtime friend, Tom Routledge, had passed away. Tom was in his 70s, and had been experiencing health problems for awhile, yet I was still shocked to hear the news, particularly since he had just commented on my most recent journal entry a few days ago, in his usual good-natured way. I feel a mighty blow. A great star has fallen.
Tom was a friend and mentor to me and Chris, and many, many others. Over the past 8 years or so, we spent time together only twice, but were able to keep up an ongoing correspondence through Livejournal, (as he did with many of us 'young folks,' as he might so prosaically put it), as well as the occasional email and phone call.
I can't tell you why, but I felt very strongly that I needed to talk to him before I left for China, in October of 2005. It was almost as if he was a minor deity I wanted to consult with before I began a great journey. We talked for about an hour, the night before I flew out, and he wished me a great trip, probably peppered with some interesting stories I can't recall.
Like all truly great people, it's difficult to describe Tom. He had a wonderful levity to him, accompanied by a poignancy that came from a lifetime that spanned continents, wars, and countless adventures and friendships. Living with so much accumulated memory, he had a habit of repeating himself, but I didn't mind; it was like listening to Santa Claus, or a really cool grandpa. Before he spoke, I always had the sense that I was privy to something precious, not easily replaceable or attainable.
I remember fondly the extended time Chris and I spent with him during our 2006 visit to Vancouver. Tom insisted on driving us everywhere, paid for many of our meals, and played the role of a bemused tour guide on a number of bizarre mini-adventures. For starters, there was our trip to the strange La Casa Gelato, a Chinese-gelato-scooping sweatshop of 100 flavors, in which Tom ordered the chili-chocolate gelato, took a few bites, and threw it into the trash, remarking, "some bum's gonna be real unhappy."
He took us for a trip to concrete-laden Simon Fraser University, devoid of students, and beamed with admiration, while Chris and I stared reproachfully at the drab buildings.
We must have just been looking at it wrong.
When, in their condo, Sandra offered me tea, Tom quipped, "better make it green--gotta be Asian for this guy!"
That still makes me smile.
Last night I lay on my floor for a long time, thinking about Tom and what he meant to me. What is spirit? What is mind? I thought about those questions. I watched the clouds dissipate into the air. I thought about my mom, and the wounds this re-opens for me, old and new. And I felt heavy, and very sad. And how I'm going to miss him.
I miss you, my friend.
Tom was a friend and mentor to me and Chris, and many, many others. Over the past 8 years or so, we spent time together only twice, but were able to keep up an ongoing correspondence through Livejournal, (as he did with many of us 'young folks,' as he might so prosaically put it), as well as the occasional email and phone call.
I can't tell you why, but I felt very strongly that I needed to talk to him before I left for China, in October of 2005. It was almost as if he was a minor deity I wanted to consult with before I began a great journey. We talked for about an hour, the night before I flew out, and he wished me a great trip, probably peppered with some interesting stories I can't recall.
Like all truly great people, it's difficult to describe Tom. He had a wonderful levity to him, accompanied by a poignancy that came from a lifetime that spanned continents, wars, and countless adventures and friendships. Living with so much accumulated memory, he had a habit of repeating himself, but I didn't mind; it was like listening to Santa Claus, or a really cool grandpa. Before he spoke, I always had the sense that I was privy to something precious, not easily replaceable or attainable.
I remember fondly the extended time Chris and I spent with him during our 2006 visit to Vancouver. Tom insisted on driving us everywhere, paid for many of our meals, and played the role of a bemused tour guide on a number of bizarre mini-adventures. For starters, there was our trip to the strange La Casa Gelato, a Chinese-gelato-scooping sweatshop of 100 flavors, in which Tom ordered the chili-chocolate gelato, took a few bites, and threw it into the trash, remarking, "some bum's gonna be real unhappy."
He took us for a trip to concrete-laden Simon Fraser University, devoid of students, and beamed with admiration, while Chris and I stared reproachfully at the drab buildings.
We must have just been looking at it wrong.
When, in their condo, Sandra offered me tea, Tom quipped, "better make it green--gotta be Asian for this guy!"
That still makes me smile.
Last night I lay on my floor for a long time, thinking about Tom and what he meant to me. What is spirit? What is mind? I thought about those questions. I watched the clouds dissipate into the air. I thought about my mom, and the wounds this re-opens for me, old and new. And I felt heavy, and very sad. And how I'm going to miss him.
I miss you, my friend.