Brother-in-law’s presence felt beyond the holidays

He had a rascal’s laugh, an opinion on every subject under the sun (even if it was something he knew nothing about) and a heart far more tender than he would ever admit to. He was the pepper in the Broyles family stew, and now that he’s gone, life is going to be a lot blander.

Every single thing about Tommy Scott Broyles was a contradiction. He was, without a doubt, one of the most frugal people I’ve ever met. (He was actually shocked when he asked me how much we paid for a gallon of milk and I couldn’t remember.) But he was also one of the most generous.

And thoughtful. He never – not once in the 19 years I’ve been married to Bill – missed my birthday. (My own family doesn’t have nearly as good a track record.) He also gave me lovely gifts when he got my name in the annual Christmas swap – expensive ones, things that I wouldn’t buy for myself.

His knack for generosity seemed to have a psychic aspect to it: He would be most generous at the moment you most needed it. During the calling hours, when I had persuaded my mother-in-law Bea to sit down for just a minute, Tommy’s friend Brenda came up and said, “Tommy was so generous. I remember one year – when things weren’t going well – he gave me a cashmere animal print throw. So luxurious. Totally soft and wonderful. And I needed it.” And her son piped up, “Even when Daddy didn’t come through with Christmas, Tommy did.”

We heard many stories like that.

And other stories about Tommy as a wild child, too, from friends of his and members of the extended Broyles family. I loved hearing stories about Tommy as a young man, because I had not known him then. It was especially fun to listen to Bill and his Uncle Larry talk about the summer that Larry, Tommy and some buddies dug out a cave near the creek as their camp/hideout. Lucy’s eyes were as wide as possible when Larry told us that the first kid in had to scare out the snakes.

Tommy could be difficult, as well, and one of the things I love most about being part of the extended Broyles clan is their great love for every family member, warts and all. Being a frog myself, I need a family that likes warts. And Tommy could drive you nutty at times. I asked Bill, after Tommy died, what adjective he would use to describe his brother. “Irascible,” he said. It was the same word I had written down.

Tommy liked to engage me in conversation about controversial topics. He really got on my nerves talking about illegal immigration, particularly about Mexicans. He was complaining to me about how they were all taking over all the jobs here, and I told him that the only Mexican people I knew were legal immigrants – and quite hard-working. Much to my surprise, he was interested in hearing about them.

On holidays, Tommy used to drive us crazy by clearing the dishes off the table the moment you set down your fork, even if it was just to pause before getting seconds. (We’re talking Thanksgiving here – southern Thanksgiving.) He couldn’t help himself. He was incredibly neat and hated being around a mess. When I explained to him that I am quite untidy by nature, he said, “I guess that’s why you and Billy get along so well.”

“Maybe,” I said, “But I married him for the accent. We Northern gals can’t resist the accent.”

He actually twinkled at me, laughed and, for a few moments, I could see the charmer he must have been in his youth.

Tommy had serious health issues. He had had three kidney transplants (one kidney donated by Bill when he first got kidney disease back in the ’70s), and when I first met him, he was undergoing dialysis while awaiting the third transplant. He did not complain. He worked incredibly hard to maintain his health. He adhered to his diet religiously and worked out when he could. When he got his last kidney, he was grateful for it. As my mother-in-law said to me, he was one of the few people she knew who was happy to get up in the morning to pee.

He was such a proud grandfather. If I ever had trouble making conversation – which, I must admit, never happened, because Tommy, like all the Broyles, can chat with the best of us – all I would have had to do was bring up Tyler or Nicholas. “Granddaddy’s little men,” he called them.

He was buried wearing a T-shirt that his son Scotty and daughter-in-law Nicole had specially made for him – airbrushed with “Granddaddy’s Little Man” and “Nicholas” that they got after Nicholas was born. They added Tyler’s name later. Tommy would have liked that.

At the calling hours for Tommy, there were more than 200 people there. All of whom loved Tommy, or Bea and James, his parents, or Teresa, Bill and Kim, his siblings. Or his son, Scotty, and Scotty’s family.

All I could think was how much Tommy would have enjoyed talking with everyone.

And I know that after Thanksgiving dinner, I’ll miss Tommy, even his rearranging the plates that I would put in the dishwasher.

“I don’t expect you have much practice at this,” he said to me once.

“And not likely to get any, with you around,” I answered.

I wish I didn’t have the opportunity to get more practice.

June Lemen is a freelance writer from Nashua. Contact her at june@junelemen.com.