Tom Hodge

Sometimes people are in your life even when they are not in your life.

Tom Hodge died last Saturday. Cancer. Fucking cancer. He was 70 years old.

Tom Hodge was a close friend of Carol's and a friend of mine. Carol met him in the late sixties/early seventies when she went to work for The MITRE Corporation in Bedford, MA. She worked closely with Tom for many years; their friendship was a deep one.

I met him when I began working a co-op job from Northeastern University in 1973. I was in and out of there because of the way the co-op program worked, so my contact with Tom was somewhat limited. But I grew to love him.

That means we have known Tom for over forty years.

Time spans take on a dual meaning when you are 65 years old. On the one hand they serve as a stark harbinger of mortality. On the other they serve as a celebration of the people in your life who have been around forever. Longevity counts.

The crew at MITRE was a social one and we had a goddamn blast. Ski trips to Waterville Valley stand out in my mind, but there were a lot of other activities and parties and dinners - we were a close knit, fun loving group. You don't see that anymore.

Carol left MITRE in 1980 when Keith was born. I left in 1977 when I graduated college. Although I went back and worked full time from 1979 to 1983 after a failed stint with my father's business.

Here's the catch. Over the last 35 or so years we have only seen Tom a handful of times. Carol always stayed in contact with him but we rarely saw each other.

And yet when I got the news yesterday it brought tears to my eyes. It also blind sided me with a disquieting and overwhelming sense of emptiness. Which surprised me.

So I thought about it and realized the emptiness came from knowing who Tom was and what he brought to our life.

He was one of those guys who knew exactly who he was. He was completely comfortable in his own skin. He loved sports and played everything he could. Basketball, softball, volleyball. He ran, he biked, he hiked. He did not drink he did not smoke. He was deeply religious. He was easy going but could be quietly intimidating when he had to be.

One of the things I loved about him was that he came across as mild mannered Clark Kent because he was always nice to everyone. And then he would make a subtle comment, wise-ass in nature, that would just crack me up. And prove that there were many layers to the man.

He genuinely cared about people.

Sixteen months ago he was out hiking or mountain climbing with his family when he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. So much so that he could not go on. They had to call in emergency people to fly him out of there to a hospital.

Where he was diagnosed with a nasty strain of cancer.

He had been fighting back ever since. The usual tortures - chemo, radiation, whatever other weapons the medical community has in its arsenal. Tom had his faith. And he held a positive attitude.

I know that because during that time he found out about Carol's health problems. He called us last year.

He was so positive about his own war and so encouraging to Carol and me. We could just hear the empathy in his voice; feel the genuine emotion. He sounded great. We talked seriously, we laughed, we reminisced.

At the end of the conversation he asked if he could pray with us. I think I heard "for" instead of "with" so I reflexively said yes assuming he would do it after he hung up. Instead he immediately jumped in and began praying.

If anyone else had done that I would have hung up. I didn't mind with Tom. In fact I liked it. Because I knew it came from the heart. I knew he sincerely wished Carol good health and both of us happiness in our life.

We had seen Tom maybe five times in the last thirty years. But it doesn't matter. I miss him as if he lived right down the street. I hurt and I am empty.

Because of what he gave to us. He was fun and funny. He was loving. He cared. He made you feel like a human being. He was genuine. He lived his life exactly in accordance with what he believed.

And we have so many great memories from the short time that we all spent together at MITRE. At this stage in our life, great memories are gold.

I am always looking for genuine human interaction. I crave it because it is rare. We all play a part, and that tends to get in the way of honesty. Tom was the real deal.

This emptiness I feel makes a powerful statement about how the quality of a human being can impact your life even if you are rarely with them. That gets to the core of what it means to be a human being; what it means to truly live a life.

Requiescat in pace, Tom Hodge.

I know you will.