Tommy was a movie fanatic, loved all things Cleveland, and hated mushrooms with a passion usually reserved for a worst enemy.   He loved anything with sugar, but nothing more than chocolate, and he would light up like a 5-year-old excitedly consuming anything that contained even the most remote trace, but then always complain there wasn't enough.  He had a wicked sense of humor that would sometimes come out of nowhere, and his laugh was unmistakable.  He loved his mother more than life itself and never met an animal he didn’t want to take home.

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And he loved music.

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For those of you that truly knew him, you know that when he struggled to find the words, he often turned to music.  Music was a way for him to experience joy, sorrow, and nostalgia; and it readily served as his escape, his therapist, and his friend.  Music became the way that he and I communicated best, when both of us strained to express our thoughts and feelings.

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It was through “Dirt” by Alice and Chains that I first learned the true depths of his despair.  It was through “F**kin’ Perfect” by Pink that I desperately tried to tell him how loved he was and how much I believed in him before I watched him take on rehab for the very first time.  And it was through “Remember Everything” by Five Finger Death Punch that I tried in vain to tell him that his pain was valid and that he wasn’t alone after he had experienced sobriety long enough to realize he had very real reasons for the darkness that overshadowed his mind.  

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Our musical dialogue, though sporadic, allowed me to experience a closeness with Tommy that I would have never known otherwise and one of the most heartfelt examples was when he sent me the song “Dead Sea” by the Lumineers.  It was 2013 and he was a year removed from his third stint in rehab when I received an email out of the blue in which the subject line simply stated: “This song makes me think of you like your [sic] singing to me.”  And with that, in the most pure and simplistic of ways, Tommy was telling me that he loved and appreciated me even though his mouth couldn’t form the words. 

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And that was Tommy, as outwardly simple as they come despite the complexities that swirled within.  To know him was to love him and for those of you that did, despite all his missteps and faults, you know the reward that came with his friendship and will forever be broken in its absence. 

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However, despite the pain of his loss, Tommy would never want prayers or tears shed for him now.  What he would want in place of them, is for everyone who loved him to take that pain and turn it into blindingly obvious displays of love for anyone still here that may be hurting and in need of help.  He would want everyone with a family, one he so desperately wanted for himself, to pull each other in just a little bit closer and be forever grateful that you have someone to walk alongside.

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Tommy would want to hear your laughter as you recount stories of his crazy antics.   He would want his family to remember his smile and continue to feel his love in their hearts.  He would want his friends to know that, despite his difficultness and sharp tongue, they meant the absolute world to him, and they were the difference in his life.  He would want his parents and his sisters, especially me, to know that he was who he was and that there is nothing more we could have done to save him.  But most of all, Tommy would have wanted us to all be free from the guilt, sadness, shame, and loneliness that consumed his tragically short life. 

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So please, in Tommy’s name, grab those you love and pull them closer.  Tell them over and over again that they are loved, even when they insist that they already know.  Be kind and compassionate to those you know are struggling and check in with those who always argue that they are “fine”.   Find a way to communicate, by whatever means necessary, because you never know when you might hear that final song.

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Tommy’s final song, “Sunshine” by Alice and Chains was playing on his phone the day I found him.   The song itself says so very much about where he was at in life and how dark it was in his world that I wish to God I would have heard it in time to press "pause".   Sadly, hearing it now will forever serve as a heartbroken reminder that sometimes those who seem to have the hardest shell, may also have the softest core.

 

Rest in peace baby brother and know that you were loved...even when you could not feel it for yourself. 

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Your loving sister,

Tanya