Looking back across the years recorded in these pages, I see a life shaped more by endurance than by ease. Nothing came without effort. Nothing stayed without being held onto. The path was rarely straight, and it was never simple, but it was mine to walk, one step at a time.
I lived through drought, hardship, and the breaking of a family before I was old enough to understand what any of it meant. I learned early that life could change without warning, and that the only way forward was to keep moving. I made mistakes, faced consequences, and carried responsibilities that forced me to grow long before I felt ready. I also saw God intervene in ways that were unmistakable, even when I did not yet know how to name them.
I became a husband three times, a father to three sons, and later a grandfather. I lost relationships I valued and fought for relationships I refused to surrender. I learned what it meant to stand alone in courtrooms, in hospitals, and in the quiet moments when no one else could make the decisions that had to be made. I learned what it meant to love someone enough to let go, and what it meant to love someone enough to stay.
The greatest blessings of my life came in the little bundles of love God entrusted to me—my children, my grandchildren, including McKenna—and in my marriage to Trish. None of those relationships were effortless; each one required patience, persistence, and the steady work of showing up even when it was hard. With Trish, I knew harmony, shared faith, and a companionship that lasted until the very minute God chose to end it. Caring for her in her final years was not a burden; it was the fulfillment of the vows we made. And the same truth has guided me with my children and grandchildren as well: love is proven in action, not in words. Whatever the cost, I have no regrets about the choices I made for them, or for her.
If there is a lesson in these pages, it is not about strength or success. It is about persistence — the quiet kind that does not draw attention to itself but keeps going anyway. It is about faith — not the kind that shouts, but the kind that endures. And it is about the simple truth that a life does not have to be perfect to be meaningful. It only must be lived honestly.
This is the record of my life as I lived it. I leave it here for my sons, for their children, and for anyone who may one day want to understand the road that led to them. Whatever comes after this, I rest in the hope of the resurrection and in the promise that the story is not finished.