A Life In Motion: Looking Back From 64

When I look back now, at 64 years old, widowed and living in Bowling Green, Kentucky with my Australian Shepherd dog Mr. Jude, it doesn’t feel like a straight line. It feels more like a long road with a lot of turns I didn’t see coming — but each one mattered. It really starts back in Hernando High School in Mississippi, where I graduated in May of 1982 as senior class president. I didn’t know it then, but that early responsibility — being involved, being present, being trusted — was going to follow me for the rest of my life. But even before that foundation fully formed, there was another quieter thread already being woven into my life. In 1980, I lived for about six months in Savannah, Tennessee with my sister and brother-in-law. That’s where my sister first introduced me to the Catholic faith in a meaningful way. It planted an early seed — something I didn’t fully understand at the time, but something that would stay with me. From there, I went straight into the University of Mississippi in Oxford, where I attended from 1982 to 1987. Ole Miss wasn’t just college — it was a defining chapter. I joined Sigma Pi fraternity, Beta Mu chapter, where I served as pledge class president my freshman year and later as treasurer my sophomore year. I also worked with the Daily Mississippian as a reporter and entertainment editor which shaped the journalist in me more than I realized at the time. And I was involved with Campus Crusade for Christ, where faith, service, and purpose started to take deeper root. One of the most powerful experiences of that time was KC83 in Kansas City, Missouri, where 27,000 college students gathered under one roof. The event featured speakers such as Billy Graham, Christian author Josh McDowell, and Bill Bright, who was the founder of Campus Crusade for Christ (Cru). From there, students went into surrounding neighborhoods working alongside outreach efforts and the Salvation Army. That experience left a lasting impression — faith wasn’t just something you talked about, it was something you lived and carried into action. Somewhere in those Ole Miss years, I met Patty when I married her in April of 1986. Faith continued to grow in the background of life, but it became more personal and intentional when Patty came into my life in 1986. She became the one who helped deepen that early foundation my sister had planted years before. Together, we began attending St. John's Catholic Church (Oxford, Mississippi), where my faith began to take clearer shape in daily life. After college, life shifted quickly. Patty and I moved to her hometown of Russellville, Kentucky in 1987. For about six months, I worked as a sports writer for the Logan Leader-News Democrat. That was a return to journalism in a small-town setting — covering local sports, people, and community life. During that time, our Catholic faith continued through Sacred Heart Catholic Church (Russellville, Kentucky), and it became a steady part of our life together. When we later settled in Bowling Green, we became members of Holy Spirit Catholic Church (Bowling Green, Kentucky), and have remained connected there since around 1988. I was confirmed in the Catholic faith in 1990, and I have remained faithful and active in the Church ever since. From Russellville, we moved to Bowling Green, where a long stretch of working life began. I went into life insurance sales with Commonwealth Life Insurance, based out of Louisville, working through the Bowling Green branch. After that, I worked for Kentucky Central, headquartered in Lexington. That job came with a lot of training — a week in Louisville staying at the Brown Hotel, and another week in Lexington at the Hyatt, with classes at Kincade Towers. It was structured, intense, and built around learning how to serve people through something as serious as financial protection. After that chapter, I stepped into what I’ve always considered my dream job — working for The Daily News in Bowling Green, Kentucky. There I served as a reporter, book reviewer and news clerk. It brought me back to journalism in a deeper way — not just covering stories, but shaping them, editing them, and living inside the rhythm of a newsroom again. It felt like coming home to the work I was meant to do. After that period in journalism, I transitioned into pest control — first with Orkin, where I spent 11 years. That career took me all over the Southcentral Kentucky, including training schools in places like Atlanta, Georgia. It was hands-on work, long hours, travel, and steady responsibility. You learned discipline quickly in that field. After Orkin, I moved into Ecolab, which brought another chapter of training and travel — including flying up to St. Paul, Minnesota for training at the Ecolab tower. There was lots of training also with Ecolab that seemed to come with classrooms, airports, hotels, and new faces — learning, always learning, adapting, always adapting as well as the strict demands of taking care of the customer. Altogether, those years across Orkin and Ecolab became about 27 years in pest control and service work — a long stretch of providing for my family, building stability, and staying in motion. Somewhere in that life, my son Tony was born in Mississippi before we moved to Kentucky — another anchor point in the timeline that changed everything about what mattered. After retiring from that long 27 year pest control career in 2021, I didn’t really stop working. I began working part-time at Walmart as a door host in asset protection. I’ve been there going on almost five years now, minus the time I stepped away to care for Patty. That period of caregiving — about 20 months as her full-time caregiver — is one of the most defining parts of my life. Nothing in all those jobs, schools, or travels compares to that time. It changed how I understand love, responsibility, and presence. Patty passed on May 1, 2025, and that absence never really leaves the room. It just becomes part of the quiet you learn to live with. Now, I live in Bowling Green with Mr. Jude, my dog and man's best friend and companion as they say, and I fill my days with work, walking, writing, and karaoke. Singing covers on social media isn’t about performance — it’s about expression. It’s about keeping something alive inside me after loss, after change, after all the miles. And looking back across all of it, I’ve come to believe something simple but steady: that everything in life happens for a reason and a purpose. Even the hard things. Especially the hard things. The good and the bad both teach us something if we’re willing to see it. Sometimes life feels like a road where you hit a dead end, have to turn around, and find a different path — learning along the way what fits and what doesn’t, and learning patience in the process. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve also learned that wisdom might be one of the greatest gifts that comes with time. Not because life gets easier, but because you begin to understand how to carry it. You learn how to deal with crisis, stress, disappointment — and still keep moving forward. That’s one of the quiet gifts of retirement, too. After decades of working, traveling, training, and responsibility, there’s something meaningful about finally being able to slow down, breathe, and reflect. To rest the body and quiet the mind after years of motion. Of course, I miss Patty deeply. That kind of loss doesn’t leave you — it just becomes part of who you are. And as for the dating world, it feels like uncharted waters at this point in my life. Even after a year as a widower, I don’t think I’m fully prepared for that chapter yet. There are people I care about, people I find myself drawn to, but I also understand that timing matters. I try to trust that God knows what’s ahead, and I’m simply trying to walk in His will for whatever comes next. When I put it all together — Hernando High, Ole Miss, Savannah, Russellville, Bowling Green, journalism, insurance sales, pest control, caregiving, Walmart, and everything in between — I don’t see separate lives. I see one continuous journey of learning, working, loving, losing, and growing. It wasn’t a straight road. But it was a meaningful one. And I’m still walking it.