So here we are, at the end of the book—but not the end of the conversation. Not even close.

If you’ve made it this far, I hope you know just how much I love you. These pages were never about me—they were always about you. I wrote this because I want to be with you when you need help figuring things out. When you’re facing a choice. When life feels exciting or confusing or heavy. I want to be a voice in your ear saying, “You’ve got this. I’m with you.”

You’ve read my thoughts on life—lessons I’ve gathered over decades of trying, failing, getting back up, and trying again. Some of it came hard. But every word was written with love. Not just any love—the kind that only a grandfather has for his grandkids. Deep. Fierce. Unshakable.

And while I may be the one writing this down, the real foundation of this family is someone else—your grandmother, Cookie. She is the matriarch of this family. The North Star. I have never met a more courageous, kind, and forgiving woman. All she ever did was support and love her kids and dedicate her life to them—and to you.

What you may not know is that for years, Cookie fed thousands upon thousands of meals to children. Every single day. And she did it anonymously. She didn’t want recognition. She just didn’t want any child to go hungry—or hangry, as she’d say—and be unable to learn. That’s her heart. Quiet, humble, unwavering love. Always giving. Always lifting. She poured her life out in service to others—and especially to all of you. If you ever wonder what love looks like, look no further than your grandmother. Her life is a living definition of it.

And your parents—well, I couldn’t more proud of them. They’re not perfect (no one is), but they are remarkable people. They have given you so much. Not just things, but their time, their care, their prayers, their laughter, their sacrifices. Love them well. Forgive them often. Cherish the time you have with them. And when you have a family of your own one day, remember how much they tried—and how much they loved you.

Let me leave you with this: put your family first. That doesn’t mean you’ll agree on everything or never hurt one another. But love covers a multitude of wrongs. Forgive. Don’t hold grudges. Life is too short, and love is too powerful to waste time being bitter.

Keep dreaming. And when your dreams fall apart, dream again. Use your gifts. Share them. Make people feel seen and known and safe. Speak life into the people you meet. Trust that God made you for something more than just watching life go by—He made you to step into it boldly, with purpose and grace.

And remember: happiness isn’t something you chase. It’s something you give. I once read that if you want to explain happiness, make someone else happy. That’s one of the truest things I know.

And finally—say a prayer of gratitude. Say it often.

You have so much to be thankful for, more than you might realize in the moment. Life moves fast, and humans aren’t always great at remembering what matters most. But you—you’re special. So I’m asking you to slow down, take a breath, and say thank you.

Gratitude is more than good manners. It’s the soil where joy grows. It softens your heart when the world feels hard. It helps you see clearly when life gets cloudy. Gratitude turns what you have into enough, and it turns ordinary moments into something sacred.

Say thank you when you wake up. Say thank you when the day doesn’t go your way. Say thank you for the people who love you, and even for the challenges that help you grow. Say thank you when you feel strong—and especially when you don’t. Gratitude is a kind of faith. It’s a way of saying, “I trust there’s good here, even if I can’t see it yet.”

Make gratitude your habit. Let it be the first and last prayer on your lips each day. If you can do that, you’ll never lose sight of what really matters.

Thank you for being my grandchild. 

This book may be finished, but my love for you never will be. Come back to these pages when you need to. Let them remind you of who you are, who you come from, and just how loved you really are.

And when my time comes and I head on home, you know who I’ll be looking for—my Pop, standing at the gates, jingling the change in his pocket. And when you get there one day—I’ll be waiting too.