On our 37th anniversary — August 6, 2025 — we didn’t clink glasses or share a slow dance.
We sat instead in an oncologist’s office, scheduling surgery to remove three large tumors from my wife’s uterus and ovaries.
When the results came back — Stage 3 cancer — time seemed to stop.
But she didn’t. She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and said,
“We’ll get through this. We always do.”
And she’s right.
We always have.
We married young, when life was mostly hope and hand-me-down furniture.
Our honeymoon lasted only two days — there wasn’t time or money for more.
We built a life out of small beginnings and stubborn love, raising three great children who’ve given us two amazing grandsons, now 10 and 8, who fill our lives with laughter and light.
In 2015, I had a heart attack.
In 2018, we traded square walls for wide skies, living full-time in our RV and volunteering in state and national parks.
We found peace in the simple beauty of the land, giving our time where we could, living lightly and gratefully.
Two years ago, another heart attack slowed me down again, and we’ve been parked on our daughter’s property since — together, as always.
Now, as my wife battles through chemotherapy and radiation, she dreams of one thing:
To stand in Ireland, the land of her (and my) ancestors — to walk the cobblestones of Dublin, to feel the mist on her face, to know she made it.
Not just survived — lived.
This trip will cost around $6,500, covering airfare, lodging, local travel, and modest meals.
It isn’t a luxury — it’s a celebration of life, love, endurance, and faith.
If you can give, we are deeply grateful.
If you can’t, sharing this means the world.
Every gesture — every word, every prayer — brings us closer to Ireland,
and to the promise of spring after a long winter.
Thank you for helping me give her this dream.
Thank you for reminding us that love still travels farther than fear.
Some moments change everything.
On our 37th anniversary — August 6, 2025 — we didn’t clink glasses or share a slow dance. We sat instead in an oncologist’s office, scheduling surgery to remove three large tumors from my wife’s uterus and ovaries.
When the results came back — Stage 3 cancer — time seemed to stop. But she didn’t. She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand, and said, “We’ll get through this. We always do.”
And she’s right. We always have.
We married young, when life was mostly hope and hand-me-down furniture. Our honeymoon lasted only two days — there wasn’t time or money for more. We built a life out of small beginnings and stubborn love, raising three great children who’ve given us two amazing grandsons, now 10 and 8, who fill our lives with laughter and light.
In 2015, I had a heart attack. In 2018, we traded square walls for wide skies, living full-time in our RV and volunteering in state and national parks. We found peace in the simple beauty of the land, giving our time where we could, living lightly and gratefully.
Two years ago, another heart attack slowed me down again, and we’ve been parked on our daughter’s property since — together, as always.
Now, as my wife battles through chemotherapy and radiation, she dreams of one thing: To stand in Ireland, the land of her (and my) ancestors — to walk the cobblestones of Dublin, to feel the mist on her face, to know she made it.
Not just survived — lived.
This trip will cost around $6,500, covering airfare, lodging, local travel, and modest meals. It isn’t a luxury — it’s a celebration of life, love, endurance, and faith.
If you can give, we are deeply grateful. If you can’t, sharing this means the world.
Every gesture — every word, every prayer — brings us closer to Ireland, and to the promise of spring after a long winter.
Thank you for helping me give her this dream. Thank you for reminding us that love still travels farther than fear.
With gratitude and hope,