About 10:30 this morning, Dan and Tara, Winnie and Tim, my brother Bob and I gathered around while Tom accepted the *difficult but good gift of death.

*Even though Tom could not communicate in the usual ways we could still feel his tenacious spirit with us. This man was made wild and free by growing up on the Jersey shore with the ocean as a daily companion. Just a few weeks ago his living room was full of camera men as he was being interviewed about his research in Arlington for the national tv show "American Divided." All who loved him knew that if it could not lead to more life he would not want to be bound by all the machines, blinking lights, tubes and needles that surrounded him. Those who loved him most had the courage to honor his dignity and his wishes.

*Randall Mullins, Tom’s loving friend, wrote the words above and they are so beautiful and true, I knew I couldn’t say it better. 

The six of us laughed with Tom and read things and told stories and remembered vacations and rubbed Tom’s head and arms and feet and watched videos of our grandchildren laughing and telling Tom how much they loved him, and it was about as beautiful and perfect as anything this sad and heartbreaking could be. We loved the wonderful intimacy that we were given in these last moments which lasted about 45 minutes.

We would be so honored for you to join us on Saturday at 2:00 PM, March 17, 2018 at First Congregational Church in Memphis, TN when we honor Tom at his memorial service. Instead of flowers, Tom’s memory we feel would be served by making donations to the Lynching Sites Project (details to come) or First Congregational Church.

We wanted each of you to have a sense of some of the things we read this morning with Tom; some of these things are below. The first one are from pages that were torn from Tom’s journal—I hadn’t read this entry until Tom was in the hospital and on the ventilator. 

From Tom’s Journal 

Dated January 28, 2018

A spring in me seems to be relaxing — what is that? Am I bracing myself for “Housekeeping:? I don’t know, but I feel adrift from all anchors, all things that tether you to the ground, to activities, interests.

“As freezing persons recollect the snow,

First - chill, then stupor, then the letting go.”

— Emily Dickinson

Is that what’s going on with me — chill, then stupor, then the letting go. Am I in some way following some deep instruction about mortality — like elephants who begin going toward their burial ground while they can? I don’t want to let go, but of course I have no say in the matter. I don’t like the feel of this. I love you, Sue. If I reach the rope trailing in the water, it’s because of you. I won’t go gentle into that good night; I’ll make you proud of me. As my last gesture, I will bring you a toasted ciabatta and gruyere snack.

You keep me alive.

Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale

Dan Albergotti

Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.

Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires

with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.

Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.

Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way

for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review

each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments

of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.

Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound

of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.

Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,

where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all

the things you did and could have done. Remember

treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes

pointing again and again down, down into the black depths. 

“Full fathom five thy father lies” 

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (from The Tempest)

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

                                             Ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.