Forgive me while I again look back and make a post about my dear friend, Tom Prasada-Rao. I have two memories, and one regret, rattling around in my head today that I want to share.

Perhaps a decade ago now, I told Tom of my regret that we didn’t get together more often when he lived in Dallas. For those who don’t understand the geography, Tom, Cary, and the girls, lived for a time in Richardson, literally across the street from my high school. Further, during that same period, our family lived in the North Dallas “parsonage” of Northaven Church. We were literally 2 miles from each other, on a straight shot down Arapaho Road.

Sure, we got together some. We had dinner with them at their place, and vice versa. I went to songwriting groups there, but only occasionally. If I am being honest, our family was busy with church, politics, raising a kid…that truly insane middle-passage of life. I probably should be gentle with myself in this memory.

But I cannot stop myself from some level of lament over this missed opportunity. And ever since the day they moved away, I’ve carried that regret with me.
The house they lived in there was amazing. And one of the features that made it perfect for Tom was that it had a kind of “granny flat” out back where Tom could set up his studio.

Tom called his studio “The Wildwood Tofu Bar,” and it felt like a magical, holy place to me
But on the very first time I walked into it, my soul was slapped awake by something on the wall: A framed picture of Rachel Bissex.

Rachel, for those who don’t know, was yet another folk music legend, and Kerrville regular. She, like Tom, eventually succumbed to cancer. She and Tom were great friends. But, also like Tom, Rachel was one of those incredible souls who just sort of drew people to her.

Rachel was one of the first humans to invite me to song circles at Kerrville. She would literally get up from HER chair, and invite you to come sit in her place….a remarkably generous gesture.
She had a welcoming spirit that drew people to her, and made you feel like you were her best friend. (You can replace “Rachel” with “Tom” and that last sentence would still be true…)

I have memories of a time Rachel came through town and had a gig in Fort Worth.
She needed a portable sound system, I volunteered to lend her mine, and offered myself as her roadie for the day. I drove her over to Fort Worth and so we had an adventure of the day, checking out the cowboy hat shops and western curio stores in the Stockyards. She seemed genuinely tickled by this obviously different culture, so close to the more urban Dallas.

Later that same trip (she was around for some days….) she agree to come in the studio with me and record background vocals on two songs. (It’s a long story, but those songs never got released…but I hold that memory with me…)
That said, I apparently was getting a cold that day, and a few days later Rachel got sick too. She was very generous not to be angry with me for messing up her tour. (Or, if she was, she was very generous to never tell me…)

One of my favorite early Kerrville memories is of a post-rainstorm moment, right next to Camp Nashbill. It was a typical May supercell that had dumped a ton of rain in a very short time.
As water still dripped from the camp canopies, Tom, Rachel, Cary and maybe others I have forgotten, gathered together and wrote an impromptu song called, “Big Ass Rain.”
I don’t remember anything about it except the online chorus that dragged out the the three words…

“BIG…ASS….RAIN!”

Pure joy.

I remember Rachel singing her stunning song, “In White Light,” in a song circle just outside the canopy of Camp Singkerrnicity. The circle had moved outside to take advantage of the glow of a full moon, creating a meta-moment no one could have planned in a milion years.

And so, all these memories came flooding back to me, as I looked up at the wall of the “Wildwood Tofu Bar,” and saw a framed picture of Rachel Bissex.
Tom was honoring the friendship, remembering his own “balcony person,” and in a very real sense living out the meaning of “The Communion of Saints.”

And now, years later, Tom is the one who is gone, and an entire community of friends is still working through their grief.

But it struck me immediately upon his death that I would do the same thing in my studio that Tom did in his: I would hang up a picture of him.

I call this space, “Selfish Giant Studios.”

I’m well aware that I’ll never be as prolific here as Tom was in his space. But this little holy space is where I do *my* playing, my long-form writing, my recording. The record of mine that will, eventually, come out soon was mostly recorded here.

I recently got a new rug because our dog shit all over the old one. (TMI, I know…) But with the new rug, and this new picture, it somehow feels like it’s coming together in a new way.

And so, it feels like an appropriate move…to honor the saints…the balcony people…to put up this picture of Tom Prasada-Rao.

The picture you see here was taken by Alan Gann during the same trip of Tom’s last “Uncle Calvin’s” show in 2019. This picture has great meaning to me, because it’s Tom playing my own beloved Santa Cruz guitar.

It was taken at Julie Bonk’s house….on a night which contains my final story to tell today. It’s the story of how I was very glad that, once upon a time, Tom PR was wrong about something….

Many others have written about this Uncle Calvin’s show. The place was packed. As we know now, it ended up being a kind of “goodbye” to Uncle Calvins. I believe the entire show is up on YouTube, or somewhere. It featured Julie Bonk and Dirje A. Childs with Tom.

Looking back over my own FB feed, it seems saw the three of them at least twice there…and probably a few more times, elsewhere. There was something about the way they blended together that was always truly beautiful. In terms of solo (non band) TPR shows they are my favorites, hands down.

A few days after, Tom and Julie had some folks over to her house for food and a circle. It was a great night, filled with the usual warmth, love, and connection.

But, on to the memory…

As the night was winding down and we were getting up to leave, Tom pulled aside Dennise and me in the kitchen to say goodbye.

Except, it was clear it was more like a “goodbye/goodbye…”

With a look of some concern, he told us, “I don’t think I’m ever gonna make it back to Texas…”

Dennise’s memory was that she said “See you later…” And he interrupted her to make sure WE understood this was probably “goodbye.”

Again, this may strike some as odd. And, even now, we are still taken aback by it. I recently checked the memory with her, because it had seemed so odd during each of these last years. The three of us had spent some time together, as he had stayed with us during some of his trips back to Dallas after they let go the house. So we are both certain we are not misreading his meaning here.

Whatever was going on with his health journey, on that specific night in 2019 (and, he didn’t say…), it was clear Tom had a bad feeling about what was might be coming next.

Dennise and I were stunned, and didn’t know what to say. We gave him big, long hugs. We drove home, mostly in silence.
We genuinely thought this might be the last time we would see our friend.

As we all now know, it turns out that was not true.
Yes, the pandemic was just about to separate us all in ways that truly sucked.

But as I watched Tom’s memorial service the other day, his Brother read his obituary; and used the phrase, “bonus years” to describe these last five years of Tom’s life. That, it seems to me, was a perfect description.

Tom actually DID make it back to Texas. (Kerrville and Austin, at least, maybe more…)
Tom played Kerrville Folk Festival after this with the Fox Run Five…
He hosted the KFF memorial show…
Played other shows all over the country, based on the pics I can see…including for thousands of people in Denver.
Tom wrote the remarkable, and now iconic song, “$20 Bill” after this.
TPR posted DOZENS more song-videos of songs that just seemed to leap out of his soul, drop my jaw, and sometimes bring me to tears…these fully-formed and gorgeous that I will probably spend months, if not years, sifting back through.

He had always been a man who could open his emotional veins and find deep truth through lyrics and melody. But, I mean *every song* he wrote during these years, just felt like it came from a deeper, more existentially rich place…one that we can only stand back in awe of.

We hung to out together at Kerrville after this 2019 night…

Tom got to be present with his family for some very hard family times too…and no doubt, some private joys which are none of our business…

The point is, whatever else he was in life, TPR was profoundly wrong that night.
And I’m glad for it.

Look….let me say, very quickly, that I don’t mean to minimize the true hardship and challenge of these “bonus years.” I know enough about cancer to know they were incredibly painful, and a true hardship for many of his closest loved ones.

But those bonus years allowed Tom a space to do all those things I have just mentioned, and one thing more….

To leave this world with a kind of conscious awareness that —as I’ve written already— is incredibly rare.

Hundreds of folks got to say their goodbyes, virtual or in person. From my chair, he sucked the marrow out of those last years, got to do all the things I listed above and no doubt many more tender moments that are, frankly, none of my/our business.

From my professional chair (having now watched dozens of folks move through the death process) it’s incredibly RARE for folks to move through this journey with the kind of conscious intention Tom showed here. (The only person who comes close to it in my own experience was my dear friend, Kathleen Baskin-Ball. And that was more than a decade ago now…)

So while the loss is incredibly great…immeasurable, really…I am clinging to this beautiful truth.

Even as these last years were hard, Tom kept leaning in to life for every single moment. He kept loving, creating, and connecting, for as long as he humanly could. And there is something deeply, profoundly, inspirational about this.

And so today, I am grateful for the night Tom Prasada-Rao was wrong, and for the bonus years that came after it.

And I’ll think of all this, and many more memories, every time I look up at my wall.