Thomas Lewis III

In Loving Memory of Thomas Lewis III

Sunrise: August 17,1993 - Sunset: May 1, 2025

On May 1, 2025, my son, Thomas Lewis III, left this world. And I felt it in my body, in the silence of that morning, in the shift of the air around me. The pain that chased him for so long was gone. He was no longer here, but he was home.

Tommy wasn't perfect. None of us are. But he was rare. Raw, real, and unforgettable. He was my zebra-impossible to miss, impossible to replace. There was no one like him. He loved fiercely, protected without hesitation, and showed up with everything he had when you needed him most. He was both softness and fire, joy and storm. And his smile-God, his smile-it could break your heart and put it back together all in the same breath. When he smiled, it was like the sun cracked through the darkest sky. My Tommy was beautifully human in EVERY way and in ALL of his parts.

When addiction didn't have him in its grip, Tommy was full of light. Thoughtful. Gentle. Ridiculously Hilarious. He would give you his last dollar, his last ounce of energy, just to make sure you were okay. Addiction is a brutal, lying thief. It took from him, and it took from all of us who loved him. It robbed him of time, clarity, and peace. But it never touched his soul. That part-the deepest, truest part of him-was always intact. His brother Josh and I ALWAYS saw it.

Tommy is survived by me, his mother, Patricia Smith, and his brother, Joshua Rahn, who I see the same strength and heart in. And now, he is with his father, Thomas Lewis Jr., who passed in 2021. Their bond wasn't perfect-it was complicated and deeply rooted in shared pain. But Tommy loved his dad more than anything in the world, he was his PERSON. I believe he longed to make his father proud, whatever that looked like in the end. And I believe-with everything in me-that his dad came for him that that morning. That they are both whole now, flying free, side by side in grace and light.

Tommy loved his girlfriend Zotie, and her two children, Jessica and Anton, meant the world to him. He loved them like they were his own. He wanted to create a life with them-a home, a future, something better. And I know, without question, that he would want their pain to stop here. He would want healing for them. He would want Zotie to find her strength, to get healthy, and to raise her children with her full heart, in a home full of safety, love, and stability.

If Tommy could speak now, I believe with everything in me that he would say this:

Zotie, I love you. And I need you to rise now. For those kids. For yourself. I know what pain looks like-I lived it. I don't want Jessica and Anton to carry any more of it. I want them to feel safe, to feel held, to have a home full of peace and presence. I want you to heal, to keep going, to believe you are capable of more than this pain. Take care of them the way I know you can. With your own heart. With your own hands. They need you. And I'll be with you-just from a different place now.

Tommy found his peace in nature-in the quiet of fishing, the rhythm of the ocean, the warmth of the sun on his back. His cat MooMoo was always close by, a quiet little shadow who gave him unconditional love. He had a temper like fire and a heart that could make you weep. He was complicated. He was beautiful. He was ours. My Tommy was BEAUTIFULLY HUMAN.

To everyone who saw through the chaos and loved him for who he truly was-thank you. Thank you for holding space for the messy, tender, loyal, funny, passionate human he was. That's the part we carry forward. That's the part we keep.

We will be gathering soon to celebrate his life. In lieu of flowers, we ask that donations be made in his name to addiction recovery or mental health organizations. It's one way we can fight for others still here, still trying.

Fly free now, my zebra. My heart, my storm, my light. You are safe. You are whole. You are home. And we will love you forever-through every breath, every memory, every beat of what's left of our hearts.