Today is the anniversary of my brothers death - he has now been dead for 19 years. Next year it will be 20 years dead which is a counter balance to his 20 years of life. The year after that he will have been dead longer than he was alive.
It deeply saddens me that my wife and children have never met this man who has paid an integral part in my development as person. My eldest son, who has his Uncles' name for a middle name - seems to be exhibiting some of Phillips' personality traits, which is very pleasing.
I've recently been doing family history stuff - I blame my mother for this -and have tracked strands of my ancestors back to the 1500s. As I'm researching and completing the family tree, it strikes me that I know nothing about these people except their name (John Toman), their approximate birthdate (born about 1750) who they married (Jane Lavis m14 Feb 1778) their children (John born about 1778, Jane about 1780, Samuel about 1782) and their death (12 July 1839). For a stretch of about 100 years, all my direct male ancestors were named John Toman, but I have no idea what they were called on a daily basis. Was John, Johnny, Jack, Little John, JT or Sam? Some of these people lived 80+ years, but all I have is a bunch of dates, no other record of their life.
My brother, the middle child, is Phillip John Toman. He was born 15 December 1970, and was killed whilst crossing a wet dark Melbourne road at about 6.30pm on Sunday the 15 September 1991.
For me, at the grand old age of 21 and some months, it was my first real experience of death. Since then of course death has come to me in various guises- suicide by car, cancer, old age and unfortunate circumstance. Victims have included favorite Aunts, Nan, work mates, the guy going out with your girlfriends best mate and guys you had a nodding relationship with. However, as my first real taste of death, Phillips' was a excruciatingly painful one.
For 18 or so years, we shared a room and I like to believe we were close-certainly in the last 18 months or so of his life we became closer. I don't have any great stories to tell you or some great insights into the meaning behind his death - the stories are kept alive in my memory for my own private reflection. I simply could not do justice to any story by writing it down.
In June 1991, Phillip, his girlfriend and I went for a holiday in Surfers - the first time I had flown or been to Surfers. I'm pretty sure it was the same for Phillip. We stayed at his girlfriends parents holiday apartment, a block from the beach on about the 15th floor. We stayed for 10 days, maybe 2 weeks. Phillip managed to set foot on the beach the night before we left Surfers Paradise - in some ways that typified him.
As a brother, he was hopeless with outdoor games - couldn't kick a football, wasn't interested in cricket. He was always more interested in reading, or playing board games or listening to music.
On Friday the 13th of September 1991, I was at work and thought that I should call Phillip, it had been a week or so since we had spoken the Bank could pay for the STD charges - Nah, I'll do it Monday I better serve that customer - Next please!
On Sundaythe 15th, Phillip and some mates went to the Daimaru Shopping Center that had just opened. I know they were there for some time and really enjoyed it. They all went back to his mates flat at the corner of Dandenong Rd and Williams Rd. Phillip went to the nearby shop to get something- I'm not sure what but probably the crappy clove cigarettes he was smoking at the time.
As nights go, this was pretty cold and wet. It was also the really dark dark you get when the weather is terrible, the sun has just gone down and your headlights really aren't having much effect. Phillip had some new shoes on, with little to no grip and dressed all in black. The little red man on the traffic light was red- not flashing red, solid red. Phillip pushed past the waiting pedestrian onto the wet road.
The driver of the car was a teacher, who had had a few over the course of the afternoon - I don't know his name and have never had cause to find out. Thankfully for him he was under 0.05 - I always felt he didn't need the extra guilt. The green arrow came on and he turned right into Williams Rd, crossing over the tram lines and other 3 lanes of traffic
The spot where Phillip was hit is innocuous enough in the daylight, and it is hard to believe that anything could possibly occur at that spot. He slipped, and was on one knee when the car hit him. He was dragged 20 meters down the road, and the car had to be lifted off him. The best guess is that he died instantly, though I have never seen a coroners report - I certainly hope he felt no fear or pain in his final seconds.
In some respects Phillip's death was the best thing to happen to me.
It took me some time to move my way through the some times paralysing grief. It wasn't helped that I was in the middle of a relationship break-up and all my support was 120ks away. Once I had managed to survive one day, it became easier to survive other days. Gradually over time, I was able to string good days together. His death led me to Buddhism and views on death.
Phillip was not a saint, had no real answers about life or special way about him. He was taller than me- close to 6ft, but ran like a girl and smoked his cigarettes in a really weird way. He hated being called Flip, tolerated Phil, preferred Phillip. He barracked for Collingwood when he was younger, but outgrew that. He was always the Elven Thief in Dungeons and Dragons games and liked to listen to Kylie Minouge and the Cure. He worked in a library and lasted one semester at Monash. He took pride in his hair and once helped me push a stubborn floater down his toilet.
As the circle of people who knew Phillip start to diminish, it saddens me that he will be a footnote in a future genealogists family tree. This is my attempt to use up some kilobytes in the hope that someone sometime will read this and have a sense of who he was.
His name was Phiilip John Toman, born 15/12/1970, died 15/9/1991.
His family still miss him everyday.
