I'd like to tell you the story

of how Tom and I met. I was working in Haiti for a US based mission organization and it was my job to pick up the medical team coming in for the week. We had a team of 30-40 medical personnel coming in from Ohio and a few non-medical people from TN. I had a guest list and as we loaded the team up into 2 or three trucks I went to each vehicle and made sure everyone was accounted for. Tom’s name was listed as Tommy Tigar so when I got to that name I - of course - commented on what a cool name it was. He returned with a stony stare. O-kay. Later I found out he’d had a bad trip down. In the moment I just remember thinking, well, I'll have to work to win that one over. I was sort of the in-country ambassador for our organization and I usually had a good rapport with everyone who came down; I had a track record to defend.

I think it was later that day we went to the swimming hole in town - which to the locals was the bathing hole but whatever. We went with the young kids from a nearby orphanage to let the team and the kids get to know one another and play together. I had been in this role long enough that I no longer took part in the play but rather stood back and watched everyone and the locals around us. Tom must have noticed this. He walked over quietly and I’m sure we said a few niceties. I just remember thinking, in my near-burned-out mind, Great, now I have to small talk with someone else who is here for a week and gone. Someone who doesn’t understand at all what it’s like to live here, how much work and energy goes into providing for their vacation and how much less attention that allows for the people we’re supposedly here for. I said none of these things out loud. I stood where we were and he stood next to me. We fell into what I was surprised to realize was a rather comfortable silence. He just stood with me. And as we were going back to the compound (or the house?) he helped me round everyone up and, I think, rode in the back of the truck I was driving. The rest of the week he unobtrusively watched me as I worked to manage the week for 30 or so Americans while managing “my guys,” the 12 Haitian translators we used for the medical clinics and who worked with me the weeks we didn’t have Americans around. Eventually I realized he was quietly doing little things to help me out. Nothing major but something I needed would be sitting there for me. By the end of the week, when I walked into the space he was using to see patients in our  mobile medical clinics, he’d light up. Once he said, “there she is,” and I couldn’t help but smile. 

When it was time for them to return to the States, he rode in my truck, shotgun, to the airport. We exchanged contact information although I already had at least his email address. I had his passport information, too, and later I looked at his birthdate to place him. He had just turned 56 and I was about to turn 40. Not a small difference in age for sure but not too large of one, either. I didn’t really expect anything to come of it nor was I looking. I was happy with my life and with being truly, fully, single. But when he replied to my general thank-you-for-coming email that I sent to everyone on the team, I replied back. Then he replied. Then I replied. And we did that pretty regularly. Eventually we moved to texting. All the time, throughout the day. He said, “I love you” first, and it was over text. He was in Ohio and I was standing in a hot field in Haiti. I didn’t reply immediately and a few minutes later he replied, “breathe.” So I breathed, not realizing I was holding my breath. 

Before he said I love you, though, he didn't flatter me or try to ask me out. We just talked. Distance was a barrier to meeting for coffee or dinner, of course, but he didn't make it obvious he was wooing me in his messages. We just put a lot of words on screens and hit "send." When I was in the States, we talked on the phone for 2 hours. When he was in another part of Haiti a couple months later, I made my way up there to see him and meet his Haitian friend, Pastor Pierre, who I loved. He loved me, too, and to this day I call him Papa.

We first met in the States in New Orleans, where I was based. I showed him around my favorite places and my favorite people. Then he asked me on a proper date to a charity ball in Ohio where many of his peers would meet me. There had been a little gossip in the medical circles that Dr. Tigar had met a woman in Haiti. We enjoyed laughing that people may expect me to be an actual Haitian, not a girl from Mississippi. By the time my job became untenable due to problems in leadership, I was burned out physically and spiritually. He gave me a safe space to gather myself, recuperate, talk, and - yes - hide from the world. When everything was changing, falling apart within the organization, he told me once and quietly, "I'll take care of you. You're going to be ok. I won't let anything happen to you." Or some combination of that. I believed him.

Eleven years later, I still believe him. We founded our own nonprofit organization, fought my super crafty case of lymphoma for 5 years, have traveled so much, and run a 100-acre farm with a too-large garden, cats, a dog, and bees. He just retired; now we have room for more of it all. ❤️

3 July 2024