I always thought Tom Tracy was Angelic, leaving his mark in this world. And now that he is officially an Angel, I imagine his mark as little tiny feathers. Microscopic feathers.
There is evidence of everyone he’s left a microscopic feather on. The feathers have spread. Now, they are not only on people who knew him, but people who knew people who knew him.
I got notes from people he left these microscopic feathers on right after his death. Notes have trickled in ever since, from people I don’t even know, to tell me how much he did for them and to thank me for “sharing” him.
Just recently though, as this pandemic goes on and on and I’m so lonesome for him, I have gotten even more notes and letters. These have come from young people who received a scholarship that he set up at work.
It all started when he was selected as CEO. The board of directors told him that a new company car came with his pay package. He didn’t want it because he had a car (an older truck) that he liked. He told them it wasn’t necessary, he would rather put that money towards the people who worked with him. He wanted them to know they were appreciated. Long story short, he started a scholarship program at work for kids of employees. His belief is that everyone deserves a chance to go to college and getting someone started with a scholarship might just be the boost they need. Maybe it would be just enough for them to take flight.
This wasn’t the first time or the last time Tom sacrificed personal financial rewards to help people. He knew we had enough. We feathered our nest. We have a little house on the outskirts of a little town with everything we want and need inside it. We have (had) each other. We had enough.
Anyway, my mailbox has been flooded with thank you notes this week. Not just from the students who received the scholarships, but their parents too. I feel like there is a tiny feather in each envelope as I realize Tom has left his mark on each person.
Maybe it’s a little bit dreamy for me to be thinking this way.
After three years the board finally talked Tom into getting a company car. He was so modest and humble and it made him uncomfortable. He got another truck. With it, he often delivered strollers and bikes that our kids outgrew to friends at work who could use them. He brought reusable moving bins to work for people who were moving. Anytime, we outgrew something at home he’d put it in the back of the truck because he knew someone who had kids or grandkids smaller than ours who could use it. It was all little things, but he liked being helpful.
He got the truck in green, his company’s color, because he wanted to remember that it wasn’t actually his. It belonged to work and he needed to treat it as if he was borrowing it.
The company gave me his truck when he died. It was very generous and they certainly didn’t have to do it. I almost didn’t take it, because we were just borrowing it after all. But the kids were attached to it. Alex remembered learning how to drive on old dirt roads in it and Maggie remembered sitting on Tom’s lap and steering on those same dirt roads that led to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I had to keep it.
It is still full of his things. I don’t want to change anything. Even his hand sanitizer is still in there. I put some on the other day when I was driving the truck and the smell made me cry. It reminded me of when we passed around the little tube (coconut and lime scented) after church on our way to breakfast on Sundays. And the manly, leather smell of the truck’s interior reminded me of Saturday night dates.
I opened up the console to see what else was in there and among a bunch of change, his sun glasses and some flossers (he never had a cavity) was a little tiny feather. It was just from our couch probably as it is constantly shedding feathers, or one that the kids collected after hiking or something.
It was right there, though.
A God wink.
Maybe it’s God telling me that imagining a little tiny feather on every single person Tom made an impact on isn’t so far fetched. It’s him telling me that the tiny feathers are contagious blowing from the original person to each person they help. Maybe it’s a reminder to me to remember to be generous, keep giving and spreading tiny feathers.
I know most of the scholarship recipients’ parents. They have a tiny little feather on them I’m sure from when Tom had helped them before. Now their kids have one too. I hope the students always remember Tom’s generosity and kindness and remember to share a tiny feather when they are able. Hopefully they’ll think back to when that guy Tom Tracy whom their parents spoke highly of started a scholarship. And when they are grown ups and feel grateful for their start, they share a tiny feather with someone who really needs it. Someone who might just need a little help taking flight.
I want there to be microscopic feathers everywhere!
It’s a bit dreamy, I know and a little ridiculous for me to think this way, maybe.
But maybe not.
