Uncle Tom was family in the truest sense of the word.
My first memory of him is from when I was about three or four years old. I loved Barbies, and Uncle Tom and Aunt Wanda bought me one, along with a big set of accessories. That night, after we got home, I had to go to bed and wait for Santa. I sat on my bed in the dark, quietly opening my Barbie and all her little pieces. I couldn’t really play because my room was dark—but I remember how happy I felt in that moment, and how deeply loved.
Many years later, when I was in my late twenties, Uncle Tom showed me that same love in a way I will never forget. After my house fire, when I had lost everything and didn’t even know where I would live the next day, my biggest worry was my German Shepherd, Nikki. I needed her to stay in the family—to be safe, loved, and treated like she belonged. Uncle Tom took Nikki in and treated her like his baby. Knowing she was cared for gave me peace during one of the most painful times of my life.
Uncle Tom was the kind of man you could count on. Saying “I love you” didn’t come easily to him, but when Uncle Tom loved you, you never had to question it—you felt it.
My last memory of him will stay with me forever. Uncle Tom said “I love you” to me—before I had the chance to say it to him for the first time.
He was steady, funny, outspoken, and full of heart. I will always be grateful for his love and for the quiet ways he showed up when it mattered most. I will carry these memories with me for the rest of my life.