My son Jack was nearing the end of his cancer treatment and sadly, life. I was pregnant with my last child, our gift, and I genuinely believe that welcoming another brother gave Jack a reason to hold on longer during his final months, days, and hours, providing joy and excitement in anticipation of his arrival. Thomas was born on October 10, 2006—Jack passed away on November 18, 2006. They shared forty days, completing our family of five.
Eighteen years later, Thomas is heading off to college, starting his freshman year, where he will study neuroscience and child psychology. If you have a child preparing for college, the process is not for the faint of heart. College tours, the Common App, and essays – so many essays. The second time around, I learned to step back and let him handle the essay process on his own. The night before the applications were due (last minute, of course), Thomas shared his essay with our family. His story collectively blew us away. Although we have been with him through all aspects of his life, hearing it in his own words was unexpected—if not shocking—in a good way. An accomplished writer in his own right, he was able to turn his experience as a bereaved sibling into a story of resilience, growth, and hope.
With his permission, I would like to share it with all of you.
I. Hate. Thomas. The. Train. I was born on October 10th, 2006, and named after a train by my four ½-year-old brother, who passed away two months later on November 18th, 2006. As a kid, I resented my name because every time I met someone new, they’d connect it to a train. I was constantly given toys from a show that I would never watch and wore pajamas with characters I would never play with, always wondering if I’d ever escape the shadow of a silly blue train.
Growing up in a bereaved family so soon after their loss, I often felt uncertain about my place within it. At times, I was the center of attention— a distraction from a family trauma so profound that no one else could understand it. Other times, I was lost in that sorrow, mourning someone I had never met but to whom I felt deeply connected. I asked for the same thing with every shooting star or birthday candle, telling my family, “I wish Jack came back.” I was the new train on the island of Sodor, wanting to be that “Really Useful Engine” like Thomas, yet feeling like a fraud—a child of loss without truly having lost anything. I felt isolated, and that alienation followed me into my early school years. When I went around promoting our family’s blood drive in Jack’s memory, instead of being known for who I was, I became known for him.
I had no community other than my family and the friends I had made in my head, but I kept on chugging, searching for that belonging that I so desired. Soon, I was being dropped off at a foam-floored, sweat-scented former nail salon. Here, I wasn’t the kid with the brother who died— I was the kid who got punched in the face on his first day or the one who missed the punching bag and accidentally kicked the wall. In this new dojo, I was no longer stuck at the caboose of my life; instead, I was the conductor, charting my own path and picking up others along the way. Through martial arts, I connected with people, and they truly saw me in return. I found my own Percy, James, and Gordon.
Eventually, the train kept moving, and I hit my next station. No longer seeking sanctuary in the company of others, I embarked on a journey to discover myself. “Who is Thomas the Human?” I wondered. So I joined everything, adding more railcars to my train. But what would be the mechanism to connect these cars together, ensuring that things ran smoothly? It would need to be strong and flexible enough to get me over the many hills, curves, and dips, keeping me balanced, especially when the track got rough. For me, that “coupler” was service. I was captivated by volunteering at my local youth center from a young age and have continued since. I learned what it means to give back, but I also found myself. I found purpose somewhere between picking up glass behind an apartment complex and accidentally knocking over a 12-year-old kid while running a flag football game. I discovered that, while cleaning off graves can be messy, uncovering a Korean War veteran’s headstone from five inches of dirt is worth the effort. These experiences helped me realize that as long as I understood what fueled my engine, I would be all right.
I started my journey alone, and eventually found a community, but nothing was as important as finding myself. Time has allowed me to reflect, embracing the origins of my name and finding my place within my family, which shrank too quickly. Though I hated that blue tank engine from Sodor, I now realize how alike we truly are, chugging along with a goal and finding value in failure, forever moving forward to achieve our dreams.
- Thomas J. Lynch
We have always felt we honored Jack properly, allowing our sons to decide how they wanted to participate in his memory or even legacy. Thomas’s essay was a poignant reminder that perception and reality don’t always align; yet, through love, community, and service, we can gain a deeper understanding of ourselves, heal, and become stronger.
I'm a very proud Mom.
