Until next time…

December was a busy month.

We left Florida and headed back to Kentucky to spend Christmas with family. Long drives, familiar roads, and the kind of time together that reminds you how much those moments matter. (More to come on that later.)

Not long after, we were back in Florida again—this time with most of our kids—for a week of family fun. Laughter, shared meals, late nights, and making memories we don’t get often enough. We rang in the New Year in Clearwater, grateful for time together and a fresh calendar ahead.

Then the call came.

This trip took us back to Kentucky for a funeral.

My grandmother—the leader of our family. The matriarch. Stoic, steady, unshakable. She didn’t need to raise her voice to lead. Her strength was quiet, her presence grounding. When things were uncertain, she was not.

She was the foundation. And when a foundation shifts, you feel it everywhere.

Funerals slow you down in ways nothing else can. They force you to stop, to look around, and to remember where you come from. This trip wasn’t about miles on the road—it was about standing still long enough to honor a life that shaped generations.

One unexpected gift came with the grief.

I saw family and friends I hadn’t seen in years.

Different chapters now, different lives, but the same roots. Grief has a way of pulling people back together—back home, back to one another. We hugged longer. We talked slower. We remembered stories we didn’t realize we still carried.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was real.

We didn’t just say goodbye to my grandmother—we stood inside her legacy. You could see it in the strength of her children, the grit of her grandchildren, and the way the family still gathers when it matters most.

That’s leadership.

That’s impact.

Some trips are heavy.

But they remind you who you are.

And sometimes, going back home isn’t about the place at all—it’s about honoring the people who made it home in the first place.

It’s not goodbye.

It’s until I see you again.

Love always,

Chris