Tom Norcross

Thomas Allen Norcross

July 16, 1952- Oct. 4, 1984

Today would have been Tom's 58th birthday. Happy birthday, Tom. I miss you still. We were very close, not only in our ages, but in relationship as well. There were 11 months between us ( I imagine that is a mom's nightmare) and we were often mistaken for twins. One time, my roommate and I went to spend Thanksgiving with him on his college campus. He had recently moved to an apartment, and I could not find it. I stopped into the dorm where he use to live to get directions to the apartment complex, and the person said, "Are you looking for Tom Norcross?" I replied, "Yes, how did you know?" He responded that I looked just like him.

Tom was always there for me. My philosophy was, if he could do it, so could I. It did wonders to help with my fears of new things, because he had done them and survived; I could as well. He looked out for me. Not only was he my brother, but a best friend. We often visited each other while we were in college. On one of his visits, I was trying to get a research paper finished for an English class, and needed to skip my classes to get it done; but I, also, needed to go to the classes. Tom went to my classes and took notes for me. Now that is love.

How I got my tricycle stuck under the sidewalk, I do not know,

but I was obviously upset and Tom was trying to help.

Since we lived across the street and down the field from the airport, we spent a lot of time there. Tom's love for airplanes and flying came at an early age and it never stopped. He hung around the airport so much, Callen's Flying Service hired him at the age of ten. By law, they couldn't pay him because of his age, so they gave him flying lessons rather than a paycheck. His first solo flight was when he turned 14 years old. He got his pilot's license before his driver's license. He worked as a flag boy for parking the airplanes, for the crop dusters, was a mechanic, and refueled the commercial airlines that flew in here. I imagine it was disconcerting to the passengers to look out the window to find a lad of 13 or so, fueling your plane. (There was always an adult driving the gas truck, Tom would ride his bike to the airport and meet the person on duty.)

Tom at 3 years with a DC-9 or 3 or some number

The love for planes begins

After we both got our driver's license, we shared a '56 Chevy. We used jet fuel in our car. The lines had to be bled as a preflight check to make sure there was no air in the gas line. He collected the fuel in a Coke bottle and put it in our car. That was pretty nice for our pocketbook.

When he was in college, he flew a mail route for free, so he could log the multi-engine hours. At one time he was the youngest pilot with the most ratings. As teenagers, we flew everywhere. He would pick me up from college and we would go. After I graduated, he would call me at all hours of the night, to invite me to a concert (he flew a lot of musicians around), or just to tell me he was flying by.

I learned how to cut hair using Tom as my guinea pig. He did not want to use his allowance on haircuts, and talked me into cutting his hair. I got pretty good at it and he'd ask me to bring my scissors when I visited him to cut his hair and all his friends.

Tom died doing what he loved dearly--flying. And while I wanted life to stop, it went on. It was the normal activities that helped my healing. Ian was twelve, Mark two, and Luke two months. Moms go on for their children. While Tom's death affected me greatly, it did not my children. Life went on as normal. In fact, we were planning the funeral when Ian took Mark outside and took a picture of him after he had eaten some chocolate pudding. It is one of my favorite pictures, and I am thankful Ian made life normal.

Picture of Mark taken by Ian, Oct. 5, 1984

I did not think I would recover from Tom's death, but I did. I was angry at God and angry at Tom for leaving me. I am so thankful we serve a big God, because He never left me or let me down. Warren was a tremendous support and encouragement. I still do not understand the why, but some things are not meant for us to know. God is God, and that is enough. Psalms 31:14-15 says, "You are my God. My times are in Your hands." Tom's time was in God's hand. I can say today, God is good.

One day, I will see Tom again. Until then, I have some great memories of our times together.

Happy Birthday.

Tom with a bib--he loved his hamburgers, fries, and ketchup