(I have intentionally left out people’s names, therefore some of the wording is awkward. No one wants to be a character in my stories, I’m sure)
May 2020
“Hi Erin. Do you have a couple minutes? I’ve been putting off this call. I hate making this call. It’s not easy, yet it seems so small…”
“Yes. Just go ahead. Whatever you’re about to tell me, I’ve heard much worse. I can handle whatever it is you’re about to say, really, just go ahead.”
“Well, Tom has a locker here at the club, and I just needed you to know that you are welcome to get his things whenever you want. There is no hurry. I can pack it up for you, or I can close down the locker room for you whenever you want and give you the privacy to do it yourself. There is no hurry. We’ll keep his locker as long as you need.”
I take a slow, deep breath. “Oh yeah, okay…I forgot about that. That’s not so bad…I can definitely do that…I’ll let you know when I am ready and I’ll come in and do it myself.”
I kept that in the back of my mind for a few weeks, and then months, thinking I’d get around to it. I made myself think it would be therapeutic- closing the door to one of Tom’s favorite chapters.
It’s the club where he played golf every Tuesday night while I did tennis drills and then we’d meet up for dinner and drinks afterwards. It’s the club where he and Maggie loved to play golf together. It’s where he threw Alex repeatedly in the air to touch the flags above the pool when he was a baby, then toddler, then preschooler, until he got too big. He worked out in the exercise room there and swam laps there. It’s the club where he had meetings for work and hosted holiday dinner parties. Where we had all family celebrations, including birthdays, first communions and confirmations. The kids learned to swim there, play tennis there and golf there. They have spent every day every summer for almost their whole lives there. We had our wedding there. It is the place where we met some of our best friends while we watched our children play together year after year. It was also where I went on my first outing after Tom’s death. Because I felt safe there among our friends and all the memories.
There were years when we thought we’d have to cancel it. Could we afford to keep the membership? But we always made it work.
When I was figuring out how to do life without Tom, I thought the first thing I should give up would be the club. Is it even sensible to keep it for just me? Some of my wise friends, members and nonmembers, said to absolutely keep it. Haven’t I given up enough already? Good point, I thought.
All of those memories trickled in when I started planning how I was going to be strong enough to clean out his locker. (That’s what I do- “plan my strength”. It takes a lot of mental cheerleading for each new task). I asked Maggie if she wanted to help me and she said yes. Then, I asked my friends if they’d want to help me and they said yes, too. Even with all of that support I could just never get myself in the frame of mind to do it. So I stopped thinking about it.
One day recently, I had the shittiest day of all shitty days (well, almost anyway.) It was a Tuesday and I had signed up to play tennis that night. I didn’t want to, knowing the shittiness of the day would spill into the evening and I wasn’t in the mood to cheer myself up. But I had signed up, and the day ended a little better than it started, so I went.
Since the day had been so bad, I thought, what the heck, let’s get this locker thing done with tonight, too. I texted (because I couldn’t speak the words) and asked if they would just package up the few items I imagined to be in the locker.
“Would it be okay if I leave my car keys at the desk and the items could just *magically* appear in my car?” I felt guilty asking. “I just physically can’t do it.”
“Of course, we’ll do that. Don’t worry.”
I parked my car and dropped my keys off at the front desk like I said I would. Then, I went straight to the bar and asked in the most pleasant, un-sad, un-shitty day way, “Can I please have a Coors Light?” I smiled nicely as if nothing was on my mind and the bartender smiled nicely back. Then, I asked hurriedly, in what turned out to sound pretty desperate…”In a styrofoam cup?…With a lid? … And a straw?” I tried to make myself sound less like a loser by adding. “…Um because I’m going to the tennis court.” As if that helped! I think I already had half of the beer drank on my short walk to the court. Between the beer and seeing my friends smiling faces, my crap day faded into the background.
And whatever was happening presently with Tom’s locker seemed less present.
And I felt okay.
And I had fun.
Thank God for this place.
After the games some of us went up to get a quick meal. While we were eating, a sweet young man whom I’ve known since he was a grade schooler brought me my keys and said, “I parked your car out front for you, Mrs. Tracy.”
“Thank you” I said quietly, hoping no one would ask what was going on. No one did, thankfully.
I walked out to my car later with a full tummy and a cleared head and couldn’t believe the amount of stuff in it. An entire legal box full of clothes: workout clothes, golf clothes, swimming trunks, shoes. There were golf balls and shower supplies and, of course, there were 2 books. Tom always had at least two books to read, just in case he finished one. One page was dog eared marking the last page he read. There were even some brand new shirts with tags. I wonder where he was going to wear his new shirts. He had just bought a new brand that he knew I liked. He never even had a chance to wear them for me. That makes me sad.
I texted and expressed my gratitude to the staff for emptying Tom’s locker for me. It was a much bigger job than I thought. I felt guilty again. I immediately got a call. They told me exactly the way they found everything and chuckled about how organized it was. Of course it was organized! They were sure to carefully remove the brass nameplate and put it safely in the box for me. They were happy to help and said that we’re all like one big family and it is okay that I asked for help with this.
“Everyone misses seeing Tom’s smiling face around here.”
“I know- me too,” I said.
I brought the box in the house not knowing what to do with it. I looked through quickly, just to get an idea of what it contained and put off doing anything with it. I wondered if I should hide it from the kids or what? There was too much to discreetly carry to my room and I was exhausted. Anyway, would it even matter? I just left it in the hall.
Mags of course asked me about it the next day and some sweatshirts disappeared that I’m sure I’ll see her wearing soon. She loves wearing her Daddy’s sweaters and sweatshirts.
Two days later, I finally got around to going through all of it. I threw some things into the laundry, some in the trash, and some things in a Good Will bag.
I propped the brass nameplate by the sink in the mud room, so we’ll see it as we’re coming and going. Weird maybe, but I don’t know.
There was a photograph of him and his workout buddies from a few years ago. They called themselves the ER group. That was back when ER meant “Exercise Room.” They used to laugh when they said that. It’s not funny anymore- now ER means something much different. It is dark and not funny.
They were all much older than Tom and loved to give him life advice. He would often share their wise words with me. I miss hearing those stories. He was so young in the picture and they are all 20 to 30 years older than him, maybe more. That’s why it’s so funny-they were an odd group, and they knew it- his senior citizen workout friends and him. I wonder who even took that photo, the lady in the group maybe, since she’s not in the picture. She probably didn’t want her picture taken in her workout clothes. It’s so strange that he kept that in his locker. It’s even more strange that those friends outlived him.
Thank God we’ve had this place all these years to celebrate all of our family’s milestones. From our wedding 25 years ago, to cheering for our kids to go off the high dive, and to me finally closing the door on this chapter of Tom’s life.
That Tuesday night I drove away and said;
“Tom, what a year. What. A. Fucking. Year. (Sigh) But weren’t all of the years before this one just awesome? Didn’t we have it sooooo good?”
Of course, he didn’t answer, but as I turned a sharp corner and then straightened the car out again a couple of loose golf balls rolled across the floor and back again, almost sounding like “Mmmhmm.”
I’ll take that for what it was- a “Hell YES!”
