I will forever remember Thomas as the 4-year-old with golden locks and an incredible look on life. He was someone that was in every single part of my life, beginning with pre-kindergarten classes, and to realize that he is gone absolutely breaks my heart.

He was there when I failed my first test: seventh grade, Italian class. I was so embarrassed and felt down on myself. Thomas told me he would help me every day until I passed, sensing that I was disappointed in myself. Up until I finally stopped taking Italian in 11th grade, I would get help from Tom. Many times I would tell him that he didn't have to, but he insisted that he wanted to help a friend. That is something that I will never forget.

We always joked about how when we were little, we were in a preschool relationship. We were absolutely infatuated with each other even as 4-year-olds, attached at the hip in class and out. My mom and I thought back on those times and smiled. And I wanted others to do the same, so I invited anyone who knew Thomas to share some favorite memories, thoughts or anything, to put into this article of remembrance. This article isn't for me—it's for Thomas, and for everyone who has been touched by his incredible, positive light.

Helen Pham

I was going through a really tough time ninth and 10th grade, with losing my friends and my family falling apart. I felt so alone, and I hated going to lunch, but then one day, Thomas and Jasper invited me to sit with them, and that's how we became friends. He made me feel like I belonged and included. And I never told him about the issues I was facing, so he didn't know. He always made me laugh, and I met incredible people because of him. The only thing I looked forward to was lunch, and if I were asked what were my happiest times in high school, I would say lunch with Tom. Nothing since then has topped the happiness and joy he gave me. And I never got the chance to thank him.

Meghan Prchal

"So, two elephants are in a bathtub. One elephant says, "Pass the soap." The other elephant says, "No soap….Radio!"

Throughout the majority of my years in high school, Thomas would greet me with this joke (sometimes spoken in Italian, sometimes in English). The simplicity of this joke is what stuck out to me. Its point was not to have a witty pun, a great punch line or even make sense, for that matter. In fact, many people would probably think it’s a horrible joke, but Thomas knew it made me laugh. Lucky for me, he chose to make me and so many others laugh every day. I’ll never forget those precious memories we had together. How he crossed his fingers every year, hoping "Mr. Maue Wowie" would dress up as Tom Cruise for Halloween. How Mrs. Maiello would yell "basta ragazzi" at us every time he made me laugh just a little too hard. The countless hours we spent trying to sell huge chocolate snowmen for the Italian club, despite never selling even one, I believe. How he would constantly beg me to help him with his Sims gardening obsession; and who could ever forget his hilarious Sasquatch impression. He never failed to make me smile. He still makes me smile. I strive to see more beauty in the simple parts of my day and life. Embrace simplicity. Enjoy the little things because sometimes the little things are what you remember the most. Thomas’ creative, beautiful, insightful, and kind heart will never be forgotten. Just remember…"No soap…Radio."

Bridget Donnellan

Daniela Plunkett

April 3rd

I wish I could call this my best friend's birthday
Or the hardest it snowed all winter
But instead
When people ask me what I titled this
I will say nothing
Instead, I will tell them about how his hair was too long for any of us to know better
And how suburban summers raked through our fingers
The dirt on the elementary school playground
clinging to us
like gravity was trying to give us a reminder
That the Long Island block was too small to keep us safe for much longer
We used to have a nickname for him that I'm afraid to say out loud now
Called it over the sound of bodies hitting chlorine pools
Surfaces like cracked quartz
Our mother's voices telling us to come in for dinner
When all we could see were fireflies congregating around limbs of trees
And the minstrel line of vagabond middle schoolers
Waking my street up from a heatwave slumber
How he spent years doing everything with only three fingers
Then I will use my remaining four as bargaining chips
I had a dream last night where my cuticles were plucked to pieces
I will wilt when I talk about how I used to chide him for biting his nails
But I will hear him laugh at me anyway
Be well, Thomas

Conor Williams

Dan and I were over at Thomas's house one time—we were in his basement, and he had a computer room. And I think I had the idea, we started watching the show "Arrested Development." I had heard about it and maybe had watched the first episode by that time. I wanted to share it with the guys, and so we sat down at Thomas's computer and watched the first episode. And then we watched the next episode. Before we knew it, we had nearly blown through the first season. (Keep in mind, this was before "binge-watching" was a thing that was commonly talked about.) Something about that show resonated with us. The jokes were quick. They were smart. They were definitely strange. And that was Thomas. He operated on an entirely different level than any of us. He lived in a world of his own, a world that we were only so lucky to get glimpses of. The show became something of a source of bonding between Thomas and I, with both of us passing lines back and forth every time we met. One bit he was especially good at—and I can only hear in his voice—was when Will Arnett's character mishears the word "beads" and exclaims "BEES?!" with a nearly angry sense of bewilderment. It's...hard to explain, and I'm sure it doesn't translate well in writing. YouTube it. And then try to imagine Thomas repeating it. You'll laugh, I promise.

That's one thing that I cherished the most about Thomas. His ability to make me laugh. I've tried my entire life to exist and make myself known as someone who is funny. And I haven't always done a good job. But that's what was amazing about Thomas. He never had to try to be funny. He would just hit us at random with the most ridiculous, bizarre thing you've ever heard. And he would say it so casually. And it was always hysterical. Every single time. One of his favorite jokes—one which he actually turned into a short comic strip—was "Two elephants are sitting in a bathtub. One elephant says: Pass the soap. The other one says: No soap. Radio!" Every single time he told that joke, I never got it. I still don't. But it was funny as hell. And I get warm when I think about Dan, Thomas and I sitting in the basement, crying, shouting with laughter. It was a place of pure joy. To be in a room with him was to be in a place of pure joy. I never got to know Thomas as well as I would've truly liked, but I am so grateful for the simple moments we shared together. His love and gentleness affected everyone he met. And they continue to radiate in his wake. Thomas indeed left us with something to remember him by, something that only he could encapsulate so well in his time here—the sensation of pure joy.

Christina Lizzo

"A funny memory that Lex reminded me of….during Italian class Tom presented a PowerPoint, and because Ms. Maiello was so oblivious, she didn’t notice the hidden pictures of Kanye’s face on each slide! Also, just in general… i remember how I would always yell “THOMAS!” when I saw him just to be extra obnoxious, and he would give us a cute smile and laugh because he was always so quiet."

Alexa Kluepfel

When we were 12, I had Angelina, Avery and Thomas over my house a little before Christmas. It was a double date to watch "The Notebook" and exchange presents. During the movie, one of us would nervously reach for the other’s hand to hold. I’d rest my head on his shoulder, he’d rest his head on my head and then we’d clunk skulls. This happened over and over again, and we’d hold in our laughter every time it happened. We were awkward—what can I say?

I remember being really nervous about exchanging gifts. I asked Thomas what he wanted and he said, “I want to meet Santa.” I didn’t know what to get him, and his response didn’t help. I asked my friends what I should get him, and they all told me to get him cash. I didn’t. Instead, I took a piece of poster board. I went to the library to print out pictures. I wrote “MERRY CHRISTMAS THOMAS” surrounded by pictures of himself, Santa and, of course, sloths. It was the closest thing to him meeting Santa. I also bought one of those audio cards, but it wasn’t a Christmas one. On the front was a picture of the cast of "Friends" sitting on a couch and when you opened it, it sang their theme song, “I’ll be there for you.” I thought it was better than any Christmas card in all of CVS. I picked it out because that is how I truly felt. I wanted him to know I was always there for him.

We all exchanged gifts after the movie. He gave me a small, soft teddy bear wearing a Santa hat and holding a stocking. Underneath all the candy canes in the stocking was a penguin necklace. Just something small you would buy at Claire’s, but I wore that necklace every day for 10 months.

After Thomas gave me a wonderful gift, I was nervous how he would perceive mine. He absolutely loved it. He had an enormous smile when he saw the poster. I still remember his laugh, and I always will. He would open the card every minute and listen to it. He’d open the card and listen to the first phrase, word or sound and then close it immediately. This is my favorite memory because it highlights how Thomas found joy in non-material things. How he loved art and music. How our summer days were spent in Harley and Verleye. How he loved making people laugh.

If you are thinking about taking your own life or struggling with any forms of mental illness, please tell someone, anyone. Remember that it will get better and that you can never ever be replaced.

Thomas, I loved you. I still love you. I always will love you.

Angelina Gabrielli

I'm not quite sure how to begin a eulogy for a friend I don't feel is gone. I'm not certain which memory resonates more with an audience, or even which instance I can describe eloquently enough to deliver the appreciation and sorrow his life and passing deserve.

My first instinct is to allow a younger self to bring my mind back to middle school. My naive teenaged mind was vulnerable in the face of puberty and the inevitable splintering into concrete social groups that would carry us through high school. It was an awkward time where all the members of our social circle dated each other for periods ranging anywhere from 15 minutes to several months. A couple of us were able to snatch Thomas up, of course to the others' dismay. I watched Thomas, whom I had known since kindergarten, act as a kind and loving boyfriend to a couple of my best friends, and he quickly became an addendum to my mental list of "keepers."

There was a particular moment during the three tumultuous years of middle school where Thomas and I were sitting at one of those ancient cafeteria tables with fake wood paneling on the top that was peeling away in more places than aesthetically acceptable. We silently embraced each other's company as I patiently watched him draw. His lean, careful fingers cradled his pen as if it were a delicate artifact. His long blond hair swept the front of his face, guarding his bright blue eyes from passing classmates. Only I, strategically positioned on his side, was able to peek at his furrowed concentration beneath the veil. His eyes were fixed as his pen effortlessly created magnificent art, flowing from his hand like a creek running to meet the ocean. Though his eyes pierced the paper, the rest of his face held soft purity. For minutes it seemed as if the world had stopped turning around us, like all of our friends and classmates had paused with their attentions elsewhere, leaving me and Thomas alone in a barren cafeteria. He would pull his eyebrows together from time to time as he ensured his pen knew the correct path, but any concentration was quickly replaced with his breathtaking innocence. In that moment, he looked to me exactly as he had in kindergarten, a sweet soul yearning to share its glory with the world.

Thomas shared his glory and light with each person his path crossed. He inspired and affirmed, and he could brighten any room simply with his smile. His genuine kindness has radiated through our community and through every new community to which our friends have moved on. I tell stories about Thomas so often, and now I know it's on me (and us) to take the beauty he gave us and live by it. Thomas taught me to find the beauty in everything and to unapologetically live a life true to myself. He showed me the embodiment of optimism instead of just talking about it. Thomas was astoundingly creative and unforgettably remarkable. Though it is difficult to rationalize with mental illness and emotional aching, I have faith that Thomas knew he was ready to move on to a warmer place. This world will never forget the brilliance Thomas gave to us.

Tara DuNaier

The first semester freshman year of college, Thomas’ and my schedules aligned. Neither of us had really made any friends yet and after sharing a lunch period senior year of high school, I guess it only made sense that we went to the dining hall for brunch every Monday and Thursday (and sometimes Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Almost every time I asked he came with me—even if it was awkward hours for food to be out, or he had just finished eating and wasn’t hungry—he never let me go alone). I remember one day we were sitting at a tall table, where the chairs were so high even I had to stand on tip-toe to hop up, and I spotted a friendly face from my comp class, Rachel. She had just sat down alone, and when I smiled and waved, she came over and asked if she could sit with us. I welcomed her and introduced her to Thomas, who smiled and started asking questions about her and making easy conversation. He told his jokes and made his funny faces and gestured enthusiastically with his gangly arms; he made her feel welcome in a wholehearted way, because that’s exactly who he was. He had a gift in the way he talked to people: always welcoming, always kind, always funny and always with an intense interest about what you had to say. I loved Thomas for many reasons, but a big one was that we would have talks about the things that really mattered, brought up by silly things that really didn’t. He never shied from the big stuff, and he listened and responded to every thought you had about yourself or your ideas as if they truly mattered. He made you feel important and welcome, always.

At one point during that brunch, Thomas got up to get more food, and Rachel turned to me and asked if we were together—was she crashing our date? A lot of people asked us if we were dating freshman year: we were always hanging out and always smiling when we were together. I told her no, like we told everyone: we never dated, and we never planned to. It came up a few times because of other people’s questions but we both agreed we didn’t see each other in that light. I would always be Tea-bag and he would always be Slothy. And while it was never like that, it would have been an honor to have had a deeper relationship with him. He was one of the most genuinely caring people I’ve ever known. It was impossible not to smile around him—he was hilarious and he made you feel happy to be alive. He made you feel important.

I drove him home for a break early last fall, and I made him promise to let me meet his pets. Rarely have I met anyone who loves dogs as much as I do, but he definitely did. No matter how many times his dog waddled over for pats, he always gave them. She would whine and stick her face in his if he scratched behind her ears—he joked that she was staring into his soul. He had a cat, Henry, that he went on and on about when he got him as a kitten senior year, and that Thomas loved just as much when he grew into a cat. Henry would stalk him around the house and sometimes start a scuffle with the dog over who got to be close to Thomas: an understandable thing to fight over.

Thomas was the kind of person who made you feel like you mattered, no matter who you were. Moments with him can’t be measured in time or content but in laughs and doodles and all the small things that build up to be so much more. Thinking about losing him before was unimaginable; trying to deal with it now is nearly impossible. We’ll miss him forever.

Christina Rinker

Thomas, where do I even begin with you. First off I have no bad memories of you or with you, every moment I think of is always positive and just leaves a smile on my face. Your personality was one of a kind—no one could ever compare to your uniqueness. Your creativity was beyond superb, your photography and illustration was something I always looked up to. You have always been one of my favorite artists and helped my confidence when it came to my own art. You were my best friend in high school. Thank you for being there for me and always being an amazing friend. Our summers ridding bikes, going to Harley, you eating all the ice pops in my freezer...how can I choose just one memory of us when we have more than four years of them. I guess one memory that stands out for me is the night Meghan, you and I went to Crab Meadow Beach at night. We all just hung out, brought food and listened to good music. It was such a peaceful night—it just warms my heart

Thank you, Thomas for being part of my life. All the years of friendship and memories will be cherished forever. Rest easy, Thomas, I hope you finally found peace

Love and miss you forever.

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National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1 (800) 273 8255