WHEN TOMMY CHARBONNEAU received his first food stamps, he went to King Soopers, got a shopping cart, and filled it with groceries. Then he walked around downtown, handing out food to individuals living on the streets. Tommy was homeless, but he wanted to share the little he had. “That’s Tommy, he cared about people, big time,” his mom, Tammy Charbonneau, said. The dangers of homelessness eventually caught up to Tommy. He died on Mother’s Day in 2025. He was 35 years old. Paramedics found him in an alley near Denver Health. Charbonneau said the drugs that killed him had been cut with fentanyl, something he did not know and did not choose. “Tommy and I were stuck like glue,” Charbonneau said. “I love Tommy this much, with my two fingers, smashed together, not with my arms spread apart wide, but my fingers smashed together, because nobody could ever get in the middle of that. That’s how tight me and Tommy were.” Tommy grew up in Littleton and was the kind of kid who filled a house. His mom instilled a work ethic in him early, and he got a job at King Soopers at 16. He was promoted from cashier to working in customer service in just two weeks. “He was a hard-working kid,” Charbonneau said. “I’m talking hard-working.” After Tommy finished high school, he painted commercially for Charbonneau’s company and was one of her best employees. He enrolled at Arapahoe Community College to study architectural drafting. He hoped to join the Marines, so Charbonneau went with him to sign the paperwork. An arrest for marijuana and paraphernalia possession when he was a minor made him temporarily ineligible. He was told to come back in a few years. “If he would have been able to get in, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation,” Charbonneau said. “Any time Tommy is in complete structure, complete 110% structure, he excels beyond your wildest expectations.” Tommy spent hours playing guitar and making music. He would teach the guitar to anyone who was interested. At 25, Tommy was still figuring things out. He was working and earning good money. He was also in a relationship that had started pulling him sideways. Like many younger adults, Tommy and his girlfriend began using drugs recreationally. He had dabbled with pot in high school, but when he started experimenting with drugs at parties, he became erratic. Charbonneau said she thinks he was using meth a little. Tammy’s memorial to her son Tommy in her home with his guitar picks and hats. Tommy began to struggle. One afternoon, things came to a head. He and his girlfriend fought. She walked away from him at a park and left her keys on a picnic table. Tommy grabbed them and drove off in her car. He turned onto Alameda Avenue and headed toward Wadsworth Boulevard. He was driving fast. When he tried to make the turn at the intersection, the car hit a light pole at the southwest corner, and Tommy was not wearing a seat belt. The impact pushed the engine back three feet into the car. Tommy’s body was no match for the force of the collision. Both of his legs were shattered, and his pelvis was crushed. His face struck the steering wheel, shattering both eye sockets, both cheekbones, his jaw, and his nose. Surgical photographs show his skull held together with wire mesh and metal brackets. For three days after the accident, Charbonneau couldn’t find her son. She called jails. She called friends and family. Finally, she started calling hospitals. Charbonneau said the 45-minute drive to St. Anthony’s Hospital to see him was the longest 45 minutes of her life. “That’s where the mental problems started happening right then,” she said. Tommy sustained a traumatic brain injury. The brain injury rewired Tommy in ways medicine could not fully address. “He totally hopped out of his own body and was somebody else after that,” Charbonneau said. “He was still Tommy, but he wasn’t. He struggled with mental health problems, problems that made everything harder.” Surgeons repaired his legs and pelvis, but a nerve left unattached during surgery gave him a permanent drop foot, meaning he could not lift his left foot when he walked. The IN THE QUIET OF THE WALKS by Tammy Charbonneau He walked where mountains touched the sky, A place where silence calms the mind’s cry. Each step a whisper, a search for peace, A journey where the noise could cease. His guitar, a quiet friend in hand, Strummed softly, as only he could understand. Not for the world, but to quiet the fight, A way to find some gentle light. The voices in his mind would sometimes call, Heavy and relentless, a shadowed wall. But with his mom, when days grew long, He felt the safest, held so strong. Through valleys deep and skies so wide, My love stood steady, like the tide. A constant force, both calm and true, When the world felt harsh, he turned to me. Now in the skies, where he’s at rest, My love still wraps him, always blessed. He’s part of every breeze that blows, In the trees, in all that grows— The quiet strength, the love we knew, Will stay with me my whole life through. So when I walk those trails alone, I feel him near—I’m not on my own. An interpretation of Tammy’s poem by Denver VOICE vendor Rea Brown And in the hush, beneath the blue, Perhaps it wasn’t me who carried you— But you, my son, who carried me, That brought me peace to know you’re free. Fly high and free, Tommy—my strong, kind son, Forever my heart, forever my song. DENVER VOICE MAY 2026 5
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