Obituaries, or death notices, have never been on my list of favorite reads, but one was sent to me yesterday and the memories it conjured up made me smile. This particular person was neither a relative nor a close friend, but a character that I had the good fortune to meet about twenty years ago. And, like most who choose to live their life on or around boats, what a character he was!

Tommy owned the only full-service boat-repair yard in the metropolitan Washington, DC area, and had as deep a love for old, wooden boats as he did for the dozens of dogs and cats that found their way to his boatyard. Many were abandoned there–boats, included–but he loved them all, though he would nevertheless sometimes admonish them and their owners. Although his calling required him to deal with dreamers and idlers (many of whom were blissfully ignorant of how much boat maintenance could cost–they are not called ‘holes in the water that you pour money into’ for nothing) Tommy treated everyone fairly. Tommy was gruff with men and sweet with the ladies; his steely blue eyes could either be fiery or seductive, depending upon his customer’s gender.

I always had the sense that there was more to Tommy than what appeared on the surface. Still water does have a tendency to run deep, after all. And there it was in his obituary in black and white: “As an Eagle Scout, he took younger scouts on camping trips to the Shenandoah Mountains. He raised and raced homing pigeons, built and raced speedboats on the Potomac River, and gained local fame when he waterskiied slalom, in an unbroken run, from Washington, DC, to Colonial Beach, Virginia.”

I had no idea homing pigeons could be raced! How does that work? Furthermore, who would even think to waterski down the Potomac River, with all of its flotsam and jetsam and deadhead logs just waiting to ruin someone’s day? Tommy. And to think he slalomed the whole way from DC to Colonial Beach in an unbroken run, a distance of sixty-three nautical miles, is pretty damn impressive. My goodness…it takes more than an hour just to drive that distance! How sore and tired he must have been afterwards. It’s easy to imagine Tommy drinking a few cold ones to celebrate…

The last time I saw Tommy was ten years ago. Despite failing health, his wit was as sharp as ever, and his sense of humor would make visitors want to linger longer than they could. And those eyes…ah, those eyes. Even as old as they were, they still had their luster.

The poem, “The Dash,” written by Linda Ellis, simply and eloquently emphasizes that what matters most in a person’s life–no matter how short or how long–is what they do with their “dash,” the time between their birth and their death. The poem is often recited at funerals, both as a tribute to the recently departed, and possibly as a reminder to those still living to make the most of the their time left on this earth. Every. Single. Day.

I think that when my friend’s eulogy is read and even afterwards, when his life’s actions are rehashed, his many friends and loved ones will fondly remember how Tommy lived his dash. I know I will.

http://www.linda-ellis.com/the-dash-the-dash-poem-by-linda-ellis-.html