Whatever their achievements, the Lynch boys were products of their upbringing. The children of Irish immigrants, Sean P. Lynch and his brother Farrell P. Lynch were strivers like their parents.
Both sons died in the World trade center.

“They never forgot where they were from,” said their sister, Ellen Lynch. Growing up in a family of seven in a two- bedroom house ‹ “all the boys slept in the attic,” she said ‹ they were a tight-knit group, and as adults with families, they often gathered in that same house, where their parents still live, for traditional Irish breakfasts.

Farrell Lynch worked at Cantor Fitzgerald; Farrell Lynch, he had worked there long enough to be around for the 1993 bombing, was a partner.

Farrell Lynch lived on Long Island with his wife, Eileen, and daughters Katie, 13, Meghan, 11, and Annie, 7. The couple met as sophomores in high school, and they were looking forward to their 15th anniversary this month. Farrell Lynch also looked forward to a day when he could retire and coach high school basketball, said his wife. “He wanted to get into coaching one day ‹ that was his dream. Simple, but that’s what he wanted,” she said.

The Delta Dirt had this quote from Ferrall Lynch’s daughter Katie.

“Farrell Lynch was a great man, and I’m not just saying that because I’m his daughter. If you ask anyone who ever knew him they’ll tell you how special he made them feel.
He treated everyone with the same type of respect, whether it was the head of a big company or a six year old on the soccer field.

People often refer to him as like a magnet, drawing people to him wherever he went with his energy and love for life. He loved sports and hoped to retire young and coach high school basketball. He put his all into everything he did and pushed my sisters and I to do the same.

He worked hard to create a wonderful life for his family and loved nothing more than coaching CYO basketball and driving us to school late after taking us to a special breakfast. He loved taking us sledding at the nearby country club which he nicknamed “snowball hill.” He loved to take us skiing in the winter (even though he was terrible at it), always saying how great it was that we got to spend that time together.

I’m a lot like my father in many ways and he related to me better than any other person in the world. He was the greatest, most giving man I’ve ever known and ever will know. Though it’s two-and-a-half years later, I can still hear his laugh and still think some nights that he’s gonna walk through the front door and give me a big hug.”

Please take a moment today, and offer up prayers for the families, who even today struggle to deal with their loss.
2996 tributes can be found here.