This was a post I was hoping I didn't have to write.
Way back in 1994, when I was a senior in high school, I had a job shelving books for the Toledo Lucas-County Public Library. Back then libraries had considerably more physical books, and it's kind of funny thinking how Encyclopedia Britannica and World Book were the closest thing we had to the Internet before the Internet really took off. After a few months of working there I met a new co-worker: Tom Ellis. We hit it off with each other right away. After working together for a few months, Tom would leave after getting a job with the U.S. Air Force. Unfortunately we didn't stay in touch, until by a massive stroke of luck a few years later when I met Tom's brother, Bob. Bob and I became good friends, while Tom lived in Florida, close to their parents. Then --I'm tempted to say it was in 2008 -- Tom moved back to Ohio, and he and Bob shared a mobile home in Bowling Green.
For the next 15 years I would visit Tom and Bob at their home. We would eat meals together, watch T.V. together, spend time in deep conversation with one another. It didn't happen quite as often as I would have liked -- due to our competing work schedules and responsibilities, but I deeply cherished the times that it did. Then, in 2022, after my mom and Carter and Milton passed, Tom and Bob really stepped up to the plate for me during my time of immense grief and sadness. There were times where they would even let me crash at their place for the night, when I didn't want to be alone. It was very comforting knowing that they continued to be a fixture in my life, even as so many other parts of my life were crumbling away. To me they were like angels in human form.
Then, in June of this year, Tom received a devastating diagnosis: Glioblastoma, a very aggressive form of brain cancer with a 5-year survival rate of 5-10 percent. The median survival time after diagnosis is a mere 12-18 months. Tom had surgery not after diagnosis, and for a very brief period he showed some improvement. I remember the last time seeing him this past summer -- he proudly showed me the back of his head where his scar was. I was hopeful it would buy him a significant amount of time.
Alas, my hopes were misplaced. Tom's difficulties increased over the last couple months, and he was moved to hospice on Christmas Eve, where he died peacefully on December 26 -- yesterday -- at the age of 51. His sister called me with the news. I was devastated. No longer will I be going back to hang out with him and Bob, like I had been.
Why am I writing all this? Lately I've been reflecting on how it's so difficult for so many people to find their way in this world. Tom, I think, was one of those people. Heck, I think I'm one of those people! In many ways we were kindred spirits. Like me, Tom worked various odd jobs during his adult life, struggling to find his true calling. He never married nor had children. He conveyed a nonchalant and almost snarky attitude towards a world consumed by wealth, power, fame, and social media likes.
And yet -- underneath his almost mischievous smile and laugh of his -- I can't help but think that Tom felt a certain sense of disappointment and disillusionment towards the world he was living in. Oftentimes it was hard for him to be out in public. At times he struck me as being depressed and having an "it is what it is" mindset. A couple years ago he told me that part of him wanted to move back to Florida after his parents were gone -- they had moved up to Ohio in 2023 to be closer to their family. Part of me wanted to convince him to stay in Ohio, at least for a while. Now, knowing that neither of those things will happen, I feel for his parents, along with the rest of his family, who have to say an awful and heartbreaking goodbye to him instead.
I don't have any other words to say at the present moment. I realize that time stops for no one. And yet I can't help but feel sorrow for living in a world where so many kind, decent, goodhearted people are cut down long before old age, while so many others who are cunning, ruthless, and selfish live long lives and repeatedly hurt others without remorse. But that is the world we must live in. I don't mean to sound so dark, and I hope I can gain a better perspective in the weeks and months ahead.
Until we meet again, Tom, may God rest your soul. I'm gonna miss the hell out of you.
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