Author: Jo Toale

I leaned across the table to grab his hand.  He had just told us another wonderful Tyke story and my heart was both melting and alive.  How precious to have such great memories of the child you lost.  A child who made it to adulthood but was taken too soon.  He showed no pain in his recollection, only compassion and love.  It was time I thought.  He has to write the screenplay.  The legacy must be told because this tender person grabbed life well before any of us understood what life was all about.  We would all be better people to learn from Tyke.  We would all be better.

I couldn’t get enough stories, as he glowed telling of a 12-year-old with great insight and candor.  It was like Tyke was an old soul knowing he wasn’t long for this crazy world.  He could see things no one else could see.  There was only so much time.  I only knew him through an article in the city paper, and his Dad’s stories.  But, oh, I wanted to know him.  I wanted his dad to bring him back to life somehow.

Francis Crowley the 4^th was named Tyke.  I don’t know why his family named him that, but they did.  Only Kip could explain that.  I didn’t ask.  I did know, however, that he had a tremendous amount of adversity in his life between health issues and life issues.  Smart.  Yes, he was smart and accomplished only to be devastated with bad new and worse outcomes.

The mystery of Tyke absorbs me in a way I can’t explain.  Maybe because I am a mother who could not survive the death of a child.  I know I couldn’t.  Kip has not only survived but is comforted by a wealth of amazing memories.  I admire him for that.  I want him to share more because I think we all could learn from the words Tyke wanted to share.  He will continue to send messages to us from beyond, and I will continue to listen.  His book “Hungry for Air” is a promise he gave to us through himself and his wife.  I will read it cover to cover and discover things about him and his Dad that I never knew.

Thank you, Kip, for being a loving and sharing person, who opened up to us tonight to share a special place in your heart.  Most people wouldn’t do that.  I urge you to keep bringing up those memories for all of us to enjoy and endure.  He was obviously an amazing person who brought you joy and contentment into your life.  Please share that with us all so we can understand how to live our lives.  And, how to love ourselves and others.

Love you Kip.

I returned home after my early routine swim at the gym as the gray muted dawn was turning to daylight.  Although the leaves haven’t turned colors yet, the damp smell of rain and the scent of weathering leaves was in the air.  Closing the door gently, as not to wake my husband, I quietly stepped down into the entryway.  Taking off my shoes, I could feel the cold tile floor.  Autumn was slowly inching its way into the house.  I changed out of my swimsuit and hung the towel and suit in the only warm sliver of sunshine on the back deck.  It was time to start the day.

Walking into the kitchen, I noticed out the front window, a person taking a walk on my street.  She was above average height with flowing, below the shoulders, blonde hair covered with a baseball cap.  I stood for a moment registering that I might know her.  She had earbuds in, and her gait was long with a bit of a rhythmic lift.  I could tell she was listening to something upbeat.  Then, it hit me.  That’s Kate! I have a soft spot for Kate as her company always brings me to a place of comfort and delight.  Gosh, I haven’t seen her in such a long time I thought.  I had to invite her in.

I ran outside and caught her off guard.  Kate! I called from the end of the short driveway.  She realized it was me, and gave me a bright smile and a hello, as she removed her earbuds.   We are always happy to see each other.  Before she could say anything else, I said, “Come in for a cup of coffee.”  She quickened her pace, as she walked toward me, and said, “I would love to.”  No discussion, no place to go.  My heart soared.  It felt like “the old days” when people would just drop in for coffee, like Lucy and Ethel did.   No plans, just a spontaneous encounter.

Hugs and smiles and giddy thoughts danced inside the kitchen.  I learned she takes her coffee with milk, and don’t be stingy with the milk!  I, on the other hand, am a hardcore strong black coffee drinker.  She complimented my kitchen, and I showed her what knitting I was working on, as we slowly made our way toward the back door.  It was a sweatshirt-optional type of day before the bluster of cold winds or frost had arrived.  My husband sat in his chair in the corner of the yard where the sun shone brightly.  We moved outside toward the comfy seats under the small pavilion with a covered gas firepit.  It was shady, but still held some infused warmth of the sun and our friendship.

We laughed at our mothers, our antics and generally “talked treason” as the Irish say.  Kate is an academic, teacher, writer, poet, musician, and Fairy Queen.  She believes in magic, and she believes in herself.  I share her love of writing, poetry, and the Irish culture. In fact, she will soon be teaching the Irish language at Harvard.  Impressive.  Kate talked about the process of writing, as I confessed, I was writing a stalled memoir.  And, although she is a published poet, she has also recently finished writing a novel.  We enthusiastically encouraged each other’s creativity in following through on our beloved projects.  “I want to be a real writer” I said, and she told me I could do it.  I believe her.

The remains of my coffee were starting to get cold, as we talked about Irish musicians.  I should have offered her another cup, but she was starting to shift, as if to stand.  It was time to really start my day.  Getting up, she said, “It’s time to move on.”  I was slightly disappointed, as the time just flew by.  Enjoying simple moments with a friend can introduce you to aspects of yourself you may not see.  It’s like being in a foreign place and finding the only person who speaks your language. Then we walked toward the door, with a short stop to scratch my dog McDermott, then out to the driveway.  As we stood in the sun, we reiterated words of encouragement and support, as friends do.  Kate took her earbuds out of her pocket and held them in her hand.  We hugged and said goodbye.  The last thing I said was, “if you’re ever walking by, just give a knock to see if I’m home.”

Maybe I’ll see her again soon.

5:50am.  I struggle to catch my breath when I reach the edge.  Lifting my head out of the water on the final stroke, I swallow a small amount of water and cough.  The powerful smell of chlorine tightens my chest and causes me to wheeze.  Is this supposed to be fun?  I momentarily watch the swimmers in the other lanes flutter kick and stretch moving through the water with grace and strength, lap after lap.   My style looks more like I’m trying to survive a shark attack, slapping my arms ahead and frantically kicking, an awkward ballet.

I always stop after a lap and take a moment, as I look down the lane to the opposite edge.  Not ready to swim again, I usually switch off swimming with a little water aerobics.  Then I prance across the pool, pumping my arms and lifting my knees.  I’m not exactly what you would call a “swimmer” because of my mental and physical situation.  Basically, I get bored very easily and my body doesn’t fight it.  If my mind says, “I’m done swimming” then we’re done swimming.  So, it’s always a game to keep my interest fresh by thinking positive thoughts and making positive strokes.

My post-menopausal body has not been good for me.  I stiffen up and ache when I sit too long, my hips are in agonizing pain when I walk.  I’ve gained over 100 pounds in the past 2 decades, have moderate hair loss, am a medicated depressive, have bad skin, and worse vision.  My body runs hot like a child with a modest temperature.  I’m never cold.  My only preference for exercise seems to be taking up swimming.  I’m at the point of sink or swim, because my options are limited and so are my hips.  I’d love to go for a long walk, but that’s not possible.  So here I am, fighting for small wins and trying to stay afloat, before the world wakes up.  At least, I’m rewarded with an adjacent hot tub to soak in after all my hard work.

6:20am.  I’ve been at this for a half hour and am ready to quit.  I need passionate motivation and a gallon of strong coffee.  I’ll change to the backstroke to relax a little as my eyes are fixed on the contours of the roof.   Less chance of swallowing water, while giving me a chance to think.   As I reach back, I take a deep breath in, kick, pull, glide.  Breath, reach, kick, glide.  My breath creates a calming rhythm.  I’m not worried about work, or anything else for that matter.  My breath lulls me to a state of contentment like I’m in another world, by myself.

I’m coming around to the idea of swimming.   Sure, my choices of activity are few, but these early mornings have worked out well.  Like Yoga, you get the benefit of exercise, but it also clears your mind.  The past few years have been rough on my body, as I am twice the person I used to be, while sluggish and sedimentary. However, taking baby strokes has been the answer.  Just dip into the pool and pull yourself to the other side.  Repeat.  It’s as simple as that.  You don’t have to look pretty doing it.  Just breath.

I’ve never been much of a social person.  In fact, being in the “out” crowd is perhaps where I belong.  I’ve been called weird and strange so many times.  In gatherings I tend to be an outlier, off to the side, at a distance to observe more so than partake, taking a cat’s eye view.  I notice the popular one, the supporter and the arbiter.  A crowd gathers around them.   They’re talking about things that I would only have something negative to say.  So, why would I join?  They converse in a way that draws in the observers with little opinion and even less self-esteem.  I won’t be part of that.

Instead, I choose misfits, malcontents, and uniquely disguised individuals to seek out. They are easy to find in other corners of the room.  I may find my voice there.  Conversations can start off somewhat strangely, as topics range from the simple to sublime, useless facts, fun trivia, and common ground. I hope to get a toe hold on the discussion.  After all, these are my people.  Unique points of view ensue and can form from a place of fancy.  They have my full attention.

On this “island” I feel free to express myself without full conviction or contempt.  I’m not revealing too much.  Socializing has some pitfalls for the humble.  However, I like how Bill knows a lot of useless facts and Tammy refers to her sick son as The Puker.  I laugh too loud, and it feels good. I lean in to hear Scott give a mock guilty confession about shoplifting at age 8.  I don’t have a story like that. It feels like the B team is hitting it off.  We agree to move to the fire and gather around it like moths.

The crackling fire is background music to our conversations.  The glowing flames change the way people look, making them seem surreal.  Chairs are fitted tight around the curves, and we all relax.  I tell a lame joke and notice Kevin’s orange face lights up when he smiles, while the others politely laugh.  We continue to amuse each other with antidotes and tales of absurdity.  I start to think, I do like to socialize but have always been a little apprehensive.  Maybe not wanting to get too close to anyone, to reveal who I really am.

After a while, the entire party moves to the fire pit.  One by one, people trickle over to see what we’re talking about and to get warm.  The circle widens to let them in, and a whole new genre is created.  Everyone is truly enjoying each other.  Misfits and dilettantes mingle with the popular and good looking.  A common thread appears out of nowhere and voices of agreement and laughter erupts.

I started this evening off with a queer eye, and ended with empathy, camaraderie, and friendship.  And dare I say, a chance to comfortably socialize.  I may not be popular or wildly interesting, but I can hold my own.  Sometimes it’s with a little liquid confidence oiling my ego, I find it easier to fully engage.  We all have our vices.  I’m learning to be more inclusive, both in giving and taking of my time; reflecting.  Because you can’t reach out without first reaching in.

Pull up a chair and let’s talk.