TIME NEVER STANDS STILL

Time Never Stands Still

Mamas don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys

While it’s true that we never forget the bad things that happened in our lives, as soon as those sad thoughts pop into our minds, it seems the good things take over, replacing what could dampen a day with thought of times warm and fuzzy.

We might think of a lost pet and remember the approximate time that pet “left” us but just as quickly, or maybe even a bit faster, that thought is replaced by several thoughts of the silly antics of that pet. And then we can smile again.

Every time I hear the song, “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys”, I remember my friend Tommy. He was my best friend. Tommy was only six years older than my older son when I met him. We worked for the same company, and our jobs usually had us working together. It had gotten to the point where we’d have the same lunch period, therefore, we’d head to the cafeteria together and share a table.

“I still don’t understand why you like that song. It clearly says, DON’T LET YOUR BABIES GROW UP TO BE COWBOYS, and yet, you keep saying that all you ever wanted to be.”

He’d smile and say, “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to be but that doesn’t make it right for everyone else. I always just feel so misunderstood.”

Yeah, Tommy was a funny guy.

Normally, I don’t “pour my heart out” to those around me but Tommy was different. He cared and made it obvious that he was more than just a willing ear.

Through the course of a few months, I told him about my almost ex-husband. My then time husband (the divorce wasn't yet final) decided after our second son was born that he wasn’t meant to be a father. One day while I was working, my boss told me I had a phone call. That was odd. No one ever called me at work unless it was an emergency with my sons. I knew it wasn’t since this was during the week and knew it wasn't my “soon-to-be-ex” since he rarely bothered with our sons. If there was a problem with either of them, my neighbors would have called and told my boss it was an emergency.

My “husband” informed me that he’d moved out. I told my boss there was an emergency at home. I made the 15-minute drive in ten and when I walked in the front door, he’d taken everything but the furniture. Thankfully, my sons were still at my friend’s house and didn’t know about this yet. I’d tell them that night.

Even though I was stunned, I drove back to work. There was clearly nothing I could do at home anyway.

That was the day my friendship with Tommy developed into a “best friend” category.

He noticed that something was wrong but since we were working, didn’t have time to talk. He waited until our next ten-minute break. He started the conversation.

“Okay, let’s have it. What’s wrong? “ he said.

“Tommy, I can’t believe it. He’s gone! Packed his clothes and everything else he wanted and just took off!”

“What are you going to do?”

“When I get off, I’m going straight home, feeding the boys and giving them the news.”

“Here’s my phone number. If you need me for anything, all you have to do is call.”

That small conversation began regular visits with Tommy. As young as he was, he became more of a father-figure than the man who fathered my children.

Very often, Tommy would tell me not to cook dinner the following day. “I’ll bring a pizza over and spend time with the boys.” He never failed.

During the school season, he’d help them with their homework. During the summer, if he could take a day off work, he’d take them fishing, hiking, or sometimes, just hang out with them. He helped them around the house doing yard work.

One thing I might not need to say but will anyway: there was never anything romantic or sexual between Tommy and me. We were nothing more than very close friends and occasional “drinking buddies.”

I say drinking buddies because on the weekends (once a month) when my now ex decided he wanted to spend time with his sons, Tommy and I would go to the country bar in the next town, have a few beers and listen to music that came from the jukebox. We had no country bars in my town, but the next town was only six miles away. His favorite song was “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Sons Grow Up to be Cowboys.” As soon as anyone played it, Tommy would sing along.

He often remarked how out of place he felt. “I really don’t belong in this generation or this city (we lived in the suburbs). I should be on a ranch, raising horses and cattle.”

When he wanted a new car, he didn’t go buy one. He scavenged the junk yards until he found a beat-up red pickup. He worked hard fixing that thing up. He hammered out the dents, sanded off the rust, had it repainted a bright red, then had the engine purring like a kitten.

Frequently, Tommy would call my sons just to talk and ask them about their days.

Tommy was like that. He was just a very caring young man with a heart of gold.

Then it happened.

One day, I heard my doorbell ring, and it was Tommy. I wasn’t expecting him but one look at his face told me that something was troubling him.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Absolutely, come in. What do you need?”

“I need you to take a look at my leg. I have a very large bump just below the knee.”

I took him into the bathroom, he lowered the toilet seat and sat. After rolling up his pants as far as he could (which was just slightly above his knee), I looked at this extremely large yellow, green, and purple lump. I gently touched it. “Does it hurt?” I asked. He said it didn’t.

I pressed on side to see if there was any pain at all. There wasn’t but it exploded and shot thick, pudding-like pus all over the wall and floor. It dripped down his leg.

“Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up!”

“Tommy, no! Leave it. I’ll clean it up AFTER I clean your leg.”

I washed his leg and put antibiotic cream on the now open wound.

Because I had two very active preteens, I always kept a supply of bandages of various sizes and adhesive tape in the bathroom cabinet. I took out a telfa-type bandage. I was hesitant to use plain gauze since I didn’t want the pus to dry out on the bandage and then reopen the wound when he took it off.”

I told him to wait in the living room while I cleaned the bathroom.

“Tommy, you need to see your doctor. This pus bump was huge. You need to find out what caused it.”

Keep in mind that all this took place in late 1982.

Tommy went to the doctor but with the tests he had done, he found nothing.

Tommy started losing weight. Back to the doctor. Once again, Tommy’s bloodwork came back normal.

Then in January of 1983, Tommy fainted at work. I had the day off and didn’t find out about this until that night when Tommy called.

“Hey, sis,” (he always called me sis), I’m in the hospital.”

I was beyond shocked.

We talked and he told me what happened. He felt light-headed. Not full-blown dizzy, just light-headed but enough to make him faint. He was taken away in an ambulance.

The next day after work, I visited him. He didn’t look good at all. I never realized how thin he’d gotten. I always imagined that when you’re in a hospital gown, you look sicker than you really are, but Tommy looked beyond that normal hospital illness look.

One week later, Tommy was out of the hospital and came to see me. He refused to come inside, saying, “I’m only here for a few minutes, then I really need to get home.”

I noticed his skin was turning gray and wrinkly. My first thought was that he resembled a very skinny elephant. Something was horrifically wrong. I knew it. I just didn’t know what that was until a few seconds later.

“Sis, they found out what’s wrong with me and it ain’t good!”

Tommy’s diagnosis was advanced Hodgkin’s Disease. He was given six months to live. He never made the six.

Tommy was fidgety just lying in bed and complained constantly that trying to sit in bed and read was uncomfortable and aggravating. His mom, using the recliner in her living room, made an area near their fireplace where Tommy could sit and read for hours.

That’s where she found him one afternoon. He just silently closed his eyes and exhaled his final breath.

Tommy was 23.

While, after all these years, his absence from my life left a huge hole in my heart, I can at least smile as I remember the person he was and how great he treated my sons.

As young as they were, and even after all these years, like me, they’ve never forgotten him or the kindness he showed to them during a very difficult time.

I truly think that now, he’s on his ranch doing what he always wanted to do while singing his favorite songs.