To Dad,
You were my rock, my guide, and my greatest supporter. To simply call you a good man wouldn’t do you justice—you were an extraordinary man with a humble heart. You had the rare ability to turn ordinary moments into lifelong memories and leave a mark on everyone who had the privilege of knowing you.
You were a son, a brother, a husband, a dad, and a grandfather—but above all, you were a source of unwavering love. You gave of yourself endlessly, always the first to step up to help, to offer advice, or to lend a hand. You had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered, and for that, we are all better people for having known you.
When I think about you, Dad, what comes to mind isn’t just one memory but a collection of them—each filled with warmth and laughter. Whether it was working on projects together in the garage, cheering on our favorite sports teams, or taking road trips to explore the great outdoors, every moment with you was special. You taught me the importance of resilience, hard work, and most importantly, how to find joy in the little things.
One of my favorite memories is of us sitting around the table eating pot pie, a family recipe you cherished and passed down to us. I can still hear your laugh when you saw how much we loved it and how I would shamelessly use the grandkids to get you to make it again. Don’t worry, Dad—I’ll make sure the tradition lives on, even if my version will never quite taste as good as yours.
You were more than just a father—you were “Grandpa Bubbles,” the hero and best friend to Jackson and Noah. The love you had for your grandkids was endless. From tickle fights to singing lullabies, you cherished every moment with them, and they adored you just as much. Your bond with them was magical, and I promise to keep sharing your stories with them so they never forget how much you loved them.
Some of the lessons you taught Adam and me weren’t just about woodworking or fixing things—they were lessons in life. Like the time you accidentally handed me motor oil instead of wood stain for a project we were working on. That box, with its unexpected finish, still sits in my room, a reminder not just of that hilarious mistake but of the countless hours we spent learning and building together.
Your wisdom wasn’t just in your words but in your actions. You taught us the value of helping others, of always showing up, and of living a life filled with kindness and integrity. I found a letter you had written to Adam and me, one you intended us to have after you were gone. In it, you said: “If I could have imparted one thing it would be to help others, be a participant and not a watcher. Pay it forward and in the end, it will come back to you a thousand times over.”
Dad, you lived those words every single day. Your actions spoke louder than any speech ever could, and your love radiated in all that you did.
You also wrote: “Remember that words are quickly forgotten but deeds are always remembered. Be careful with your actions and you will never regret it.”
That is the legacy you leave behind—not just words but a lifetime of deeds that have touched so many.
I’ll miss our trips to the hardware store, our talks in the garage, and the way you always managed to make me laugh even when I didn’t feel like it. I’ll miss seeing you in your “King’s Chair,” supervising every project with a smile and a comment to make it better. That chair will always have a place, so you can check in on us from time to time.
Dad, you were an extraordinary man who never needed to say it—because you showed it, every single day. Thank you for everything you gave us, for the lessons you taught, and for the love you shared so freely.
I love you, Dad. Forever and always.
