Bye Mrs. Tommie

Back in those days, Chelsea was five or six and would wake up when I woke up. She dressed quickly and was waiting on me when I walked into her room. Kissing her good morning, I took her tiny hand and we made our way to the car for the quick drive to the Breakfast Club. In those days it opened at six a.m. and my daughter and I took our seats at the counter.

Chelsea ordered the same thing every day. “The Chelsea Special” is what Bruce called it. A grilled cheese sandwich with “the rhine cut off” and bacon. I was already dressed for work with a shirt and tie on and Chelsea never mastered the art of a napkin back then. She used the shelve of my shirt to wipe her hands after eating.

On one side of me was Jake, the master of ceremonies; deaf as he could be but equally funny. On the other side of him was Georgia who delivered the newspapers to the island.

“God I’m tired,” Georgia exclaimed one morning. “I just want to go home and take my bra off and go to sleep.”

“That explains it,” Jake said.

We all stared at him.

“Those two loud thuds I hear every morning.”

Laughter exploded on every side of the counter.

Sitting on the other side of Chelsea was Tommie Pierce, a nurse with the Chatham County Health Department. Tommie would stroll in every morning with her newspaper, kiss Jake, kiss me, and then kiss Chelsea, softly wishing each of us a good morning.

Then she would open the paper to the obituary section, order a bowl of grits and a side of bacon, and intensely study who had had died.

After about ten minutes she would look up, make the sign of the cross and exclaim, “Whew! I’m not in there. It’s going to be a good day.”

She did this every day for the decade that she was a member of the Counter Crew, first shift of the Breakfast Club.

One day she called me to tell me that her freezer had stopped working and that we were invited to the party.

“Party” I asked?

“All of this stuff is thawing so Frank and I are cooking everything and having a party. Hurry on over,” she explained.

It’s hard not to love Tommie.

She counted the days until her retirement and knew it down to the minute. When that happy day finally came, I drove to the Health Department for her farewell party and we hugged and laughed as I listened to the stories about her career. After that she no longer needed to rise so early so she became part of the Counter Crew, third or fourth shift, depending on the day. Whenever I saw her she gave me the same kiss and wished me good morning.

So yesterday at the Breakfast Club I sat on the same stool that she used to sit next to me on and I read her obituary. My eyes filled with salt water from the sea as I pictured her daily ritual. And I stared at her picture and told it that I love her.

It was fitting last night that Chelsea and I went together to the funeral home to help send her off to heaven. Now finishing college, Chelsea hugged Frank and we made our way through the crowded room talking to this person and that.

At one point, Chelsea was talking to someone and I stood there a part of the crowd but in a different universe at the same time. And I remembered how Tommie used to laugh when Chelsea would finish eating and wipe her hands on my shirt shelve before I went to work.

“Homeless people are going to be hungry all day long because you smell like bacon,” she would tell me.

So bye Tom! You remain so loved. I’m glad that you and Jake and Blind Mike are all reunited. And do me one last favor. Whenever I show up, save my seat at the counter. And save Chelsea one too. And we’ll do it all again.