Raisons d'ętre
Friday I had an exam in Reproductive Pathology, and I felt OK about it
until I got my score back. Actually I felt OK about it after I got my
score back, but I thought that I had performed a little better than I
did. Regardless, that's one more hoop that has been successfully
navigated. Three more to go.
And there's that little comprehensive quiz at the end.
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
My friend, Tom Leonard, who was the brother to two very good friends
Clay and Noel, passed away ten days ago in the morning on a Friday. His
funeral service was last Friday, after the Reproductive exam. Mrs.
Leonard - the brothers' mom - lost her husband just 6 months ago. Noel
had emailed me when I was in Lusaka. I remember reading the email at the
Stringer's computer in their house in Kabulonga. Noel sent it to me.
This time, for Tom's death, it was Clay who called me with me with
the news. The stalwart brothers...
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
Saturday I called Noel just to see what he was up to. He answered the
phone.
"What're you doing?" I asked.
"Drinking beer and eating pizza," he said. Noel then gave me
directions to where he and his law partner were in that little Mountain
Brook Village at the crux between Brookwood, 280, 31, the Birmingham
Zoo, and some soccer fields. I joined 'em while Maggie and Estelle
finished running errands 'round town.
From there, Noel, Ross, and I went to Tom's apartment to inventory
and organize Tom's belongings. We discarded some things, getting rid of
groceries and trash, and a coffee table that was on its last legs. We
carried out Toby's clothes and books and miscellaneous what-nots. A lot
of what he had had been given to him from Noel. Despite Tom being the
first born, I got the impression that Noel filled the role of the older
brother.
There were a few themes in Tom's life that his belongings evinced. He
was a reader, he liked music, and he was a cook. There were numerous
plastic milk crates of books, mostly hard cover, and mostly new looking.
There was a unique music stand that seemed to be hand made. There were
clips for his guitar, the kind that you bind to the neck of the guitar
to change the sound of the chords. There was a book that had music
lessons, with Noel's hand-written notes in the white spaces. And in the
kitchen there were more spices and oils and items that were unfamiliar
to me but that were clearly the ingredients for Tom's cooking. He also
had three white chef's blouses from the Culinard in Birmingham. They
were stained and well-used.
Tom's Black pick-up truck was parked out front, and Noel took it home
with him when were done for the day.
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
Were I to die tomorrow, what themes would one see in my life? Chess
would be a certainty. Music would probably be noticeable. You would be
able to tell that I am a student of medicine, and you would be able to
tell that HIV/AIDS was a special interest. For some reason, I don't
think that our things tell the story enough. Tom's apartment had one
photograph in it, of him with a woman that Noel didn't know. Tom's
apartment didn't have any writing, or anything that I saw that told his
story. His passions and raisons d'ętre
weren't evident.
