Well today, if my dad were still alive, we would be at some restaurant celebrating his 88th birthday. He was born on June 3, 1936. The last restaurant I was with him however was the Panera at Hamilton Town Center just after his chemotherapy appointment we picked him up from. He died from the cancer about a week later.
Many people might be surprised to learn that I do not have much of a memory of my dad growing up. My parents divorced when I was probably about 9, and in that day and age you got to see your dad only occasionally. So most of my memories are from college on, as I came down to Butler in 1981 supposedly for school, but mainly to get to know him.
I will confess that it would have been tons easier for the both of us if we had not been so much alike. People tend to think both he and I were either wonderful or hot-headed. He was from Brooklyn, NY and when he would get mad you knew right where he was from. I on the other hand was from Mishawaka, IN and have only ever visited Brooklyn a few times. To this day I will never understand why when I get going on a rant I have a clearly distinguishable Brooklyn accent. Go figure.
But my decision to come to Indianapolis to finish college (not all of my education, just college) was a good decision in a life up to that point that had a not so good record in the decisions department. It was the beginning of action in changing my life, and although many times my dad and I struggled to understand each other and get along, it provided me with a solid 38 years to learn how to be a son. I want to confess that I am a far better man because of it.
Many of the stories and adventures I could never tell here, but when he left this life in April of 2019, I lost a big piece of me. Maybe I can write about his ridiculous quest he sent Mike, Anna, and I on to spread small urns of his ashes (in the Gulf of Mexico at Hudson Beach in New Port Richey FL where his mom was interred, in Liverpool where his closest friends are, and on Long Island on his his father’s grave). We JUST finished this about a couple of months ago). Most of his ashes are in the columbarium at Trinity Episcopal Church in Indianapolis.
I do not know why, but I had not been there since his funeral. It was something however I did do a couple of weeks ago before a doctor’s appointment for my right elbow which I managed to shatter during Holy Week. That’s a story for another time.
But although his name is up there, I know he 
is not really there. It is just a place to go. I am pretty sure I will be there again too, at least someday.
But today as I reflect upon him, I know he lives on in me. I may not get to the columbarium often, but he is still on my phone on speed dial and I have never been able to erase it. I still have the Brooklyn accent when I get mad. I still have the Rich Tirman sense of humor, and I still wish he were alive to tell him how thankful I am to be his son.
I still remember moving to Indianapolis and for years people asking me if I was related to Rich Tirman. I learned to ask before I answered if they liked him or not. Then regardless, I would tell them the truth. My dad and I often laughed at that. At the end of his life, I was able to take part in getting him places and sometimes even wanting just to leave him in those places when he 
was difficult. In fact, a couple of years before he died he got mad at me (Brooklyn mad) for getting lost after I had driven him to my Uncle Mickey and Aunt Judy’s way out on Long Island. It was maybe 1 in the morning. I finally pulled up, got his stuff out of my vehicle, hugged my Uncle Mickey and Aunt Judy, and told my dad to take a plane home! Yep, I left! It is a legendary Rich and Tom Tirman story that we all still laugh about! And within a week of him coming home, we were again fine.
Anyway, Happy Birthday dad, and thanks for the memories. Two of our sisters, Stephanie and Sarah, should have been there to greet you. We all know you missed them both terribly. So I pray that that have given you all much joy. And I will likely see you soon, or at least sooner than Mike and Anna! You are both loved and missed.
https://www.indystar.com/obituaries/ins091988
Love,
Tommy+