Calling to say happy birthday.

When I was 12-ish, I made friends with a boy named Donnie Tomasso. Donald L. Tomasso, Jr., to be proper. I have many fond memories of Donnie, some of which include a trip to the Boston Museum of Science and Park View dances. After junior high school, Donnie and I went to different high schools, but we stayed friends. We didn't talk too often throughout the year, just once in a while here and there. However, one thing was always a guarantee. Every year, Donnie knew with almost 100 percent certainty I would be calling him on January 15 to say, "Happy birthday."

Once, shortly after high school, I ran into him at the supermarket where he worked and he we started hanging around again (our friendship was always platonic). We spent many nights with a few of his friends and a couple of mine, just laughing and goofing off. That year, he even gave me a Christmas gift: a warm, fuzzy pair of orange and blue Goofy slipper socks. I still have them and how my husband hates them. He thinks they are ugly. I think they wonderful - so cozy and they have served me well on many a winter night.

Somehow, Donald and I lost touch. As a matter of fact, I ran into him one night at the Keg Room and he commented on how he hadn't heard from me that year. It was true. I don't recall why, but I hadn't called him to wish him a happy birthday. After that, the annual birthday wish stopped. Until last year that is (2007). I was sitting here at my computer doing some work and I realized the date - January 16. Though it was actually the day after his birthday, I remembered it was his special day and I decided to see if I could find him. I went to www.whitepages.com and sure enough, there was a listing in Taunton, Mass. I wasn't 100 percent sure it was him, but I knew he had gotten married in recent years since I saw the announcement in the paper. I checked the ProJo Web site for it and sure enough, his new bride was named Julie, the same name beside his in the phonebook.

I hesitated for a second, wondered what his wife might think of a strange woman calling him out of the blue, but I did anyway because I knew Donnie would love it. I knew it'd warm his heart and make him smile a little, knowing all these years later I hadn't forgotten his birthday. When I made the call, I was connected to whom I later learned was his mother-in-law. I told her who I was and why I was calling. She told me she was there babysitting the couple's young daughter. I was happy to hear he had a child. I asked her to pass along my birthday wishes and she promised she would.

A year went by and before I knew it, it was Donnie's birthday again, this time his 33rd. I thought about him several times during the day and finally, in the midst of all the chaos here in this house, I found a moment to sneak on the phone and make the call. I felt a little anxious as the phone was ringing and I actually was a little relieved to hear the answering machine pick up. I said, "Hi Donnie! It's Kelly calling to say happy birthday! I hope it's a good one! Maybe next year I'll get to talk to you. Hope you are well." I hung up the phone and smiled, knowing full well he'd come home to that message and know I still thought of him on his birthday each year.

This afternoon, my brother called me with a message from a friend he ran into last night. "Kelly," he said, "I ran into Erin Hicks last night and she told me to tell you Donnie Tomassa died." He was saying the name wrong, so part of me thought he was msitaken. He couldn't mean my friend Donnie. I said, "Who?" He said it again, "Donnie Tomassa." Now, you should know Erin was one of the friends that spent a lot of time hanging around with Donnie and me back in 1994. So, after a moment's hesitation, I knew what I was hearing. I said, "You mean Donnie Tomasso?" "Yes. That's it," he told me. He told me what Erin had told him - something about a pain in his side and internal bleeding. That was all I heard. Instead, I was thinking in my head about my annual phone calls and how I wished he had answered the phone when I called three months ago.

I felt my eyes well up with tears. I hung up with him and called Danika. I referred back to the same Web site I had last year to check for his wedding announcement for his obituary. There it was, his big smile and squinty eyes staring back at me. I read about his family, his young daughters, one of whom was described as infant. I wondered how old she was and in an instant my heart broke for them and I felt compelled to call his wife, whom I've never met but did hear Donnie mention once when I ran into him at the Keg Room years ago.

As the phone rang, my heart started racing. What would I say to her? Would she even be up for talking to me? The call was answered and I am pretty sure it was the same voice I heard a year and 3 months ago when I called the first time. "Is Julie there?" I asked. "Who's calling?" she asked. I told her who I was ("the crazy girl who calls Donald every year on his birthday) and that I had just heard the news of his death. I told her I felt the need to call Julie to offer my sympathies and asked if she might be willing or able to speak.

She asked me to hold and in a few seconds came back to tell me Julie was changing the baby's diaper, but that she would be right with me. My heart pounded even harder as I waited for her to pick up, but once she did, the words came naturally. I told her who I was and how I had just heard the news. I told her how sorry I was and asked how she was doing. She told me she was still in shock, but that she knew she would get through it since she has two daughters to care for.

We talked for a few minutes. I asked what happened and she told me he was sick for a week in the hospital and had undergone several surgeries. At first it was thought he had appendicitis, but in fact they learned he had several tumors on his kidneys and one ruptured. She said it was a very stressful time for her watching, her husband suffer like that, and in the end, she was actually relieved. Both of his kidneys were in failure and he would have lived his life on dyalisis - something she knew his fun-loving, free spirit would never have been able to endure.

We laughed about my annual calls and she told me I was right - he did get a kick out of them. I asked about the baby and she told me she was a newborn. I asked how new and she hesitated. I could tell I wasn't going to like what I heard. "Donnie died Sunday and Amanda was born Monday morning." I nearly lost my composure right there, but I kept it together for her sake. Every part of me wanted to reach through the phone and give her the biggest hug I could. She told me she was induced shortly after he died and, to add insult to injury, her birthday was the day before he died.

I wasn't sure what else to say to her. After a brief pause, I said this: "I know you don't know me and I don't know what I could possibly do for you, but if there is anything you need, I don't know what, but --"

"Actually, Kelly, there is something you can do for me," she said.

"Sure. Anything," I answered, not sure what she was going to say.

"Call me every year on his birthday," she said, choking on tears.

"I will," I said, as I swallowed my own, "I promise."

And I will.



Rest in peace, my dear friend, Donnie. You will be missed.
1/15/75 - 4/6/08