He'd been in the hospital to get surgery on his spine, to correct a pinched nerve that had been a source of pain for the later years of his life. After mixed professional opinions he decided to go through with the surgery.
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Tom was born in Falun, a small town in northern Sweden. He lived there his entire life. He was born to an upper-middle class family. My great grandfather had owned a successful business buying and selling groceries. Growing up, Tom was mostly raised by him mom. His dad--my great grandfather--was constantly busy running with business. I think this was a problem, since Tom lacked a strong male role model. He never really learned how to assert himself, set goals and give his life a sense of direction. He never left Falun.
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| Falun is best known for its copper mine--which today is only a tourist destination |
Tom lived a small life in a small town. He lived alone in an apartment in Falun. He was never married, didn't have any kids, and spent his life as a bachelor. I don't know how he made his living in his early days, but in his later years he worked alone, buying and selling used automotive parts for road graders out a small office in the middle of nowhere. Tom had only a decent income, but was probably the cheapest man I ever knew. He was know to sew buttons onto his pants when the zippers broke.
Tom also didn't take good care of his health. He hated eating vegetables, and maintained what was likely an unhealthy diet. It took it's toll on him. He had cancer twice--colon cancer and prostate cancer--and somehow managed to survive both. In many ways, Tom fit the caricature of an lonely, unhappy man.
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| A road grader |
According to my mom, the story goes that Tom wasn't always depressed. As a teen he had actually been more upbeat. But that supposedly all changed one day. Riding his bike, Tom crashed, hitting his head hard on pavement. He was--according to my grandfather's side of the family--never the same again. But I am skeptical if that explanation holds. Maybe the family grasped for some kind of explanation--a concrete event--to explain what would have otherwise been the slow and insidious onset of depression. Maybe it was an easy solution to explain a difficult problem.
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If things sound grey, maybe they should. But Tom wasn't just a sad old man, and even in a life like his there was room for life's pleasures. Tom was a nice guy. Despite his old age, even the Tom I knew could give you decent smile and laugh after a few glasses of wine. Wine, chocolate and cars were three things Tom really liked. According to my mom, when he visited my parents in the US, he didn't travel around much, but went to the liquor store and bought boxes of Franzia and bars of Hershey's, and enjoyed the California sun, wineglass in hand.
Tom also cared. He always took an interest in my life on the occasions I met him, and would ask what I was doing in school, and what I wanted to be when I grew up. He never offered much in way of response, answering a sort of brief mm-hum as he gazed at the ground--as though his mind was registering this knowledge in case he needed it later. I think he enjoying keeping tabs on us. Maybe it was a way for him to live vicariously. I also remember that whenever my siblings and I were in Falun, staying at the family summerhouse, he would arrive with big bags of candy for all four of us--and in those days, as a kid--few things were better. When my mom and dad got married, he bought them a number of beautiful and expensive hand-made bronze candleholders, which we still regularly use. You couldn't tell if you saw him, but at heart, Tom was a generous man and a man of some class. Even if he didn't take great care of himself, he cared about the people around him.
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Following a [relatively] successful surgery on the back of his neck, things went south. According to hospital staff, Tom was 'coming to' successfully on his own so they [say they] left for five minutes. When they got back, his throat was swollen and his heart was stopped. They managed to revive him with a shock to his heart, but it was too much for his heart and sent him into epilepsy. They then placed him in an induced coma by lowering his body temperature. For over a week, they tried to revive him by taking him off of life support, but he was gone. He had suffered brain damage, and even if they had revived him, the Tom we knew wouldn't have been there.
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Losing Tom isn't easy. He had a tough life, and it's hard not to feel a little bad for the guy. He missed out on so much. I also feel like his was a life I could've easily inherited, had I been born in his day. Today, I am lucky to have help dodging the bullet--depression--but he never got a chance. His life suffered the consequences. I guess there's not much good in feeling bad for Tom. There are plenty of good things to remember him by.
As a final gesture--and testament to his generosity--Tom willed all of his money and belongings to be divided evenly on my grandfather's side of the family, meaning I, my siblings, and my cousins will all inherit a little something in his name.
Tom had some old retro racing cars he never got around to fixing. I think it would be nice to use the money to breathe some life into one of Tom's old cars. It would be something alive to remember him by.
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