Saying good-bye to Tom Pigott was NOT on my agenda for today.*
Then again, I’ll readily admit that hearing news that someone I care about has died is not something I would easily put on my “to-do” list for ANY day of the week.
For as Mary Oliver writes in her poem, The Summer Day:
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
I met Tom in June, 2010 while I was on a tour of Ireland that was directed by Tom’s company, and hosted by my friend (and colleague/mentor) Brian Luke Seaward. It was indeed an enchanted (and enchanting) trip for me – and for a lot of reasons.
And, meeting Tom–this bigger-than-life, huge-hearted teddy-bear of a guy with a lovely voice to boot–was an unexpected bonus. Our paths had crossed at a time–and in a way–that magically captured a piece of my heart. In this You-Tube clip, you can get a taste of Tom–the tour guide, story-teller and singer.
Tom sure seemed to have figured out what to do with his “one wild and precious life.” He had a profound love for his native Ireland, an unbounded pride in being Irish and a special gift for sharing Ireland’s music, language and stories.
And, perhaps even more importantly, he was able to reach the end of his life in the same way he lived it. I’m told that he died of a heart attack while participating in an Irish Music cruise in the Caribbean. A Facebook update reported that:
He was feeling good and laughing with all of us just minutes before he passed. We were listening to an Irish session which was what he loved and enjoyed.
Earlier this evening, a number of us who had participated in the Summer Soul-stice Riff Raff Tour of 2010 gathered virtually under our respective view of the moon–each in our own way to offer Tom our wishes for safe passage, love, and peace on this new phase of his journey.
For many of us, those moments included a song that had bound us together throughout the trip and afterwards, entitled Safe Home by Johnsmith.
The lyrics seem especially appropriate for the occasion, especially the chorus:
Safe Home, Safe Home, Safe Home will you go May the light of the moon smile down on your road Safe Home, Safe Home, Safe Home will you go Until I next see you, safe home will you go
Rest in peace, my friend!
* First published 5 February, 2012.
NOTE – this blog post even has some background music [ 
The glass cruet that mom kept filled with apple cider vinegar. I remember we poured it on sliced, fresh tomatoes in the summer-time and cooked, frozen spinach in the winter-time. I still love the taste of apple cider vinegar – often enjoying a spoonful of 
Speaking of good things to drink, how about the beer mug that mom kept cold and ready in the refrigerator’s produce bin? How mom loved her beer – especially if it included a bowl of peanuts!
And, with the beer, would come mom’s generous laugh. Oh, how I loved her laugh – so full and rich and filled with life. She knew how important laughter is in our lives. And I keep her little plaque in my kitchen window to remind me that “a giggle a day keeps the glums away.”
And as mom grew older, one of my favorite rituals included cranking the nose on the clown music box to make it begin to play “Send in the Clowns.” Looking back, I’m not at all sure anymore whether that ritual ever made her actually “smile” [other than with a smile of toleration for my own silly ritual!]. But I did learn that all it really took to gladden her heart and light up her face with her soul-melting smile was to look up from her chair and see one of her kids or grandkids standing in the doorway of her room.
She was rightfully proud of the family she had grown–or at least I hope we’ve done her proud. As we were growing up, we’d celebrate our birthdays with a cake that she had made, using an iridescent glass plate on which to display it. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered that she had an entire set of those plates, along with a matching serving bowl in the cupboard.
Besides growing people, mom also grew plants–mostly the in-the-house type, like African violets or philodendron or English ivy. And, for a long time (at least when I was a little girl), there were voluptuous sweet potato vines growing in her two matching Roseville “pinecone” vases. A couple of weeks ago, after “baby-sitting” a neighbor’s vine, I decided to give it a try. So far, no roots, but hopes still abound.
Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, a mysterious, tall green stalk magically began to grow two stories beneath my bedroom window. It had appeared in the flower bed, snuggled up so tightly against the sidewalk that we knew no human being could have planted it there. At the time, it seemed that no one even knew what kind of plant it was.
And then, wonders of wonders: yet another stalk began to climb—stretching upward toward the still-present blooms. And as this latest stalk (the bulb’s third in as many months) reached its lofty destination, the final bloom from the second stalk completed its own cycle.
