My mom, Mary, lived a long and beautiful life—98 years strong. She passed away on August 10th, 2020, leaving behind a legacy rooted in faith, resilience, and unwavering love for her family.

There are chapters in life that don’t fit neatly into “good” or “bad.” They’re layered. Complex. Full of both love and hardship. This is one of those chapters—the story of Cindy, the mother of our son Jake, and the years that shaped me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.

My story began on August 9, 1958, in the hospital in Virginia, Minnesota. Virginia was about sixteen miles from our hometown of Aurora, but it was a larger town and the nearest place where a hospital was. Like most newborns, I didn’t know much about the world yet—but I was already joining quite a crew.  I met my parents at 9:15 PM at 8 lbs 10 1/2 oz dripping wet. In fact the birth announcement mentioned my father now having enough for a basketball team.

Some love stories begin in youth. Others begin after life has tested you. Ours began in 2017 on July 26th. When I first met Pam, I didn’t know that the woman standing in front of me at Pinstripes would one day become my wife. What I did know was that there was something beautiful about her, inside and out.  She had an amazing smile.  She was warm. She was genuine. She was easy to be with. At a stage in life when both of us had already lived full chapters — raising children, building careers, walking through joy and hardship — we weren’t looking for fairy tales. We were hoping to fall in love again. To feel that spark, that closeness, that deep sense of choosing and being chosen. We wanted something real, yes — but also something tender, joyful, and alive. And that’s exactly what we found in each other.