Finding Thomas

‘That was the last box. Michael, can you take it out to the car?’ Lucy swiped the sweat from her brow as she stood up.

‘Sure, Sis. Are you okay?’ Michael, standing next to her, put an arm around her shoulder.

‘I’m okay. I'm just a little sad that this is all that is left of Grandma Lily. She was more than just a pile of boxes,’ Lucy sighed.

Michael gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before bending down to pick up the box. Lucy watched the smooth action of her dark-haired brother. She still often saw him as the snotty six-year-old who used to follow her around. She smiled, and then something caught her eye on the floor where the box had been.

‘What’s that?’ she pointed to something on the floor. Michael followed her gaze and squinted at the object.

‘Looks like an old photo.’

Lucy bent down to pick it up.

‘I’ll take this out to the car and give you a minute,’ Michael said, making his way to the front door.

Squatting on the floor, Lucy stared at the photo in her hand. It was an old faded black-and-white image, the paper quite stiff but torn on one side. She ran her fingers over the image of a little blonde-haired boy about three years old sitting on a chair, looking a bit sad. Lucy turned the picture over; there was something written in a neat hand in pencil.

“Thomas, 1940”

‘Thomas, I wonder who you are?’ Lucy said to the empty living room. She looked around at her beloved grandmother's home; she could still smell the lemon cake that Lily used to make, and her and Michael's childish laughter echoed off the walls. Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered a quiet goodbye.

****

‘Mum, I found this when we cleared out Grandma’s house. Have you seen it before?’ Lucy asked the following night after dinner, handing her the photo.

Florence took it from her daughter to examine it closer. Lucy watched as her mother inspected the photo. Silence enveloped them for what seemed to be a lifetime. Eventually, Florence looked up into her daughter’s blue eyes, which matched her own.

‘I’m not sure, but your grandmother told me something once a long time ago about…’ Florence's soft voice, tinged with sadness and uncertainty, trailed off.

Lucy leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. ‘What? Tell me.’

Florence took a deep breath, her eyes distant, recalling a memory. ‘At the time, I thought maybe it wasn’t real as she said a lot of strange things when she was ill. But it seemed a painful memory for her. I think she said she had a son born during the war. She had to give him up for adoption. Your grandfather said they had too many mouths to feed. I think he was adopted by a couple in America.’

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Grandma had another son? I have another uncle out there somewhere that we never knew about?’

‘I remember she said it was the hardest decision she ever had to make. She wanted to find him, but she never knew where to start,’ Florence explained.

Lucy felt a strange pull to find out more. ‘We have to find him, Mum. If he’s out there, he deserves to know he wasn’t forgotten.’

Florence nodded, a tear escaping down her cheek. ‘But where do we even begin? We don’t know his name or where he might be.’

‘We could start with Grandma’s old letters and journals,’ Lucy suggested. ‘There might be something there that gives us a clue.’

They spent the next few days sifting through the remaining boxes of Grandma’s belongings. They found letters, postcards, and old journals, each piece of a puzzle that might lead them to solving the mystery. One evening, Lucy came across an old leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, and the pages were yellowed with age. She opened it carefully and began to read.

June 15, 1940 

Dear Diary, Today was a difficult day. Little Thomas cried again. I cannot manage to calm him. He needs food, but we don’t have enough. The war has taken so much from us, and I fear what the future holds.

Lucy looked up, her heart pounding. ‘Mum, I think I found something.’ She handed the journal to Florence, who read the entry with a furrowed brow.

‘Little Thomas... it must be the boy in the photograph,’ Florence murmured.

They continued reading the journal, piecing together the fragments of Lily’s past. The entries painted a picture of a family torn apart by war, of loss and longing, and of a little boy named Thomas.

Finally, they reached an entry that made their hearts skip a beat.

August 22, 1940

Dear Diary, Today, I finally had to give Thomas up. David says it’s for the best, but my heart aches. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. The lady from the adoption society told me that he would go to a good family in America, the Dawsons she said. I pray he will be safe and happy. One day, I hope we can be reunited, and I can tell him how much he means to me.

The love and longing in Grandma's words touched Lucy and her mother deeply, stirring their emotions.

Tears filled Florence’s eyes as she closed the journal. ‘She had to give him up to keep him safe during the war.’

Lucy felt a mixture of sadness and hope. ‘Yes, but we’ll find him now we have a clue. Grandma mentioned the name Dawson. That’s a start.’

Florence nodded but with a sceptical look. ‘But, it’s not much to go on.’

‘We’ll have to dig deeper,’ Lucy said determinedly. ‘There must be records of adoptions during the war. Maybe we can find something in the archives or contact adoption agencies.’

The journey to uncover Thomas’s whereabouts was not easy. They spent hours on the phone with various agencies, often hitting dead ends. Frustration would set in during those moments, but Lucy’s determination never wavered. She spent late nights researching online, scanning through old documents, and sending emails to historical societies and adoption agencies. Each small lead felt like a victory, even if it didn’t always pan out.

One particularly frustrating day, Lucy found herself on the phone with yet another agency. The representative told her they had no records matching her description. She sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the seemingly endless search. Florence, seeing her daughter's struggle, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘We’ll find him, Lucy. We just have to keep going,’ Florence said, her voice steady.

One afternoon, Lucy received a call that changed everything. ‘Mrs. Thompson, we’ve found a record that matches your description. A couple in New York adopted a boy who was named Thomas, and they changed it to Peter Dawson.’

Lucy’s heart leaped. ‘Peter Dawson... Thank you so much.’ She hurriedly scribbled down the address and closed the call.

Armed with this new information, Lucy booked a flight to New York.

The city was a bustling hive of activity, a stark contrast to her quiet, contemplative mood. She navigated the streets, feeling excited and nervous.

She arrived at an old brownstone building in Brooklyn. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. A moment later, it revealed an elderly man with kind eyes and a warm smile.

‘Hello, can I help you?’ he asked.

‘Mr. Dawson? Peter Dawson?’ Lucy asked, her voice trembling slightly.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ he replied, his brow furrowing in curiosity.

‘I’m Lucy Thompson. I believe... I believe you might be my uncle.’

Peter’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Your uncle? I think you’d better come in.’

They sat in the cosy living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Lucy explained everything—the photograph, the journal, and her search for Thomas. Peter listened intently, his eyes misting over as he processed the information.

‘I always wondered about my birth family,’ he said softly. ‘My adoptive parents told me I was born in England, but they didn’t have many details. I never knew my birth name was Thomas.’

Lucy reached into her bag and pulled out the photograph. ‘This is you,’ she said, handing it to him.

Peter took the photo, his hands trembling. ‘I remember this chair,’ he said, his voice choked with emotion. ‘It was in the house where I lived with my mother. I was so young, but I remember her singing to me, holding me.’

Tears streamed down Lucy’s face. ‘Grandma never forgot you. She loved you so much. She always hoped you were safe and happy.’

Peter nodded, tears in his own eyes. ‘I had a good life here but always felt like a part of me was missing. Thank you for finding me, Lucy. This means more to me than you can ever know.’

Lucy smiled through her tears. ‘It means a lot to me too. Our family is whole again.’

They spent the rest of the afternoon sharing stories and memories, bridging the gap that had separated them for so long. Peter showed Lucy photographs of his family—his wife, children, and grandchildren. Lucy felt a deep sense of connection and belonging.

As the sun set over New York City, Peter and Lucy stood on the brownstone stoop, looking out at the bustling street. ‘I’d like to come and visit you,’ Peter said. ‘To see where I came from, to pay my respects to my mother.’

‘I’d like that too,’ Lucy said, smiling. ‘We can go together. I’m sure Grandma would be so happy to see us reunited.’

Peter nodded a look of peace and contentment on his face. Lucy hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth of family enveloping her. The journey had been long and challenging, but it had brought them to this moment of reunion and healing. They both knew that Grandma Lily’s love had guided them here.