About Tommy (2008-2020)

In March 2020, I met a boy through one of my online students. Tommy was 12 years old and had late-stage leukemia. They had stopped treatment so he didn’t have much time left, and for reasons I may never fully understand, he quickly decided that he wanted to spend those final moments with me.

Tommy loved video games, and that’s what we did together. We played, we laughed, and we escaped into worlds where his illness didn’t matter. Through him, I also came to know his parents. Saying “no” to time with Tommy was impossible - not just because of his situation, but because of the kind of person he was. And in the back of my mind, I always knew that any request to play could be the last. That made it unbearable to ever turn him down.

It’s impossible to put into words what it feels like when a dying 12-year-old chooses to spend his final moments with you. And even more humbling was the fact that his parents let it happen. They gave up precious time with their own son so he could spend it the way he wanted. That kind of selflessness is nothing short of extraordinary.

In September 2020, Tommy passed away. I was devastated. His parents asked me to come to the UK to give a eulogy at his funeral, but I didn't have the courage to do it. I stayed in touch with them for a while after, but as time went on it became clear that the only thing connecting us was Tommy. It was too hard for them to talk, and I understood.

Before he died, Tommy asked me never to remove him from my game's friends list. To this day, when I login, I can still see his name. It’s his way of being there, reminding me of him every time I play.

I believe that my time with Tommy was the defining moment of my life. My gift was no longer a curse. The thing I try to bring into every interaction was incredibly strong with him. He didn’t want me to follow some script, or show up as a polished version of myself. He wanted me.

That’s when I realized something important: when it comes to things like this, the rules don't matter. Forget the boundaries of what you’re “supposed” to do, or how you’re “supposed” to act. If a dying 12-year-old wants you to play video games, you do it. Of course there are always consequences for our choices, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered to me was his dying wish.

And because of that, I want to dedicate Project Gerson to him. Because this whole mission is about the same thing: showing up, no matter what, even when it doesn’t fit neatly into anyone else’s expectations or societal norms.

Tommy reminds me that presence, love, and trust can matter more than anything else. He taught me that sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is simply show up. And that’s the heart of this mission.

Project Gerson is for Gerson, yes. But it’s also for Tommy and for every child who deserves to know they’re not alone.

Michael

michael@projectgerson.org