Yesterday morning, Tabby passed away peacefully in her sleep.
I have written those words a few times now. I still don’t think my mind completely understands them.
For more than a year, since suffering multiple strokes, Tabby had been fighting a battle that tested her in ways no one should ever have to experience. Through hospitals, facilities, setbacks, small victories, fear, frustration, and hope, she kept fighting.
She was a fierce warrior through all of it.
But I don’t want the last year of Tabby’s life to become the story of her life.
Because she was so much more than what happened to her.
For 20 years, she was my wife.
We built a life together. We raised two wonderful children, Bella and Skyler. We faced battles together that I never could have imagined when we started this journey.
Through all of it, Tabby was the rock of our family.
When Bella was going through the hardest days of her own medical journey, Tabby was there questioning doctors, challenging decisions, demanding answers, and making sure our daughter received the best care possible.
That was Tabby.
When something needed done, she pushed until it got done.
Sometimes that meant pushing doctors.
Sometimes it meant pushing a system.
And sometimes it meant pushing me.
She loved her children fiercely, and she taught them something that will stay with them for the rest of their lives: how to advocate for themselves.
She also gave them a love of music and musicals, memories and pieces of her that I know will continue showing up throughout their lives.
But her love for children didn’t stop with Bella and Skyler.
Years ago, she served on the Head Start Policy Council. She volunteered through Second Harvest and its local outreach efforts because children shouldn’t have to wonder where their next meal is coming from. She spent time as a Girl Scout leader.
And then there were the families she helped navigate education.
IEPs. Special education. Gifted education. Meetings. Questions. Rights. Parents who simply didn’t know where to turn.
The last count I had was more than a dozen children and families she had directly helped advocate for.
But I know that number doesn’t come close.
There were countless messages she answered, phone calls she took and quick conversations where someone needed a little guidance, encouragement, or simply someone willing to listen.
When you count those moments, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tabby’s impact reached close to a hundred children and families.
She didn’t do it for recognition.
Most people probably never knew she was doing it.
She did it because a child needed somebody in their corner.
That was who she was.
And that same determination carried her through this last year.
There were moments when things looked impossible. There were setbacks that broke our hearts. There were days when progress was measured in the smallest possible ways.
But she kept fighting.
And we kept fighting beside her.
For 20 years of marriage, we were partners.
Not perfect. No marriage is.
We argued. We disagreed. We pushed each other’s buttons. We faced things that tested us individually and together.
But when life came at our family, we stood beside each other.
We fought together.
Yesterday morning, her fight ended peacefully in her sleep.
Mine now becomes learning how to move forward without my partner beside me.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet.
Right now, Bella, Skyler and I are simply trying to process losing the woman who was the center of so much of our lives.
We will have a small family funeral, and we are planning a Celebration of Life for a later date. I don’t have those details yet. When we do, I will share them.
There will be time for all of that.
Today, I just want people to remember Tabby.
Remember the wife.
Remember the mom who would fight anybody or anything for her children.
Remember the Girl Scout leader.
Remember the volunteer helping make sure children had food.
Remember the parent advocate sitting beside another family when the education system felt impossible to understand.
Remember the woman who could pick up a phone, answer a message, and make somebody feel a little less alone.
Remember the woman who fought for more than a year after multiple strokes and kept showing us what determination looked like.
Most of all, I want Bella and Skyler to always remember this:
Your mom loved you fiercely.
She fought for you.
She believed in you.
And she spent years teaching you how to find your own voices so that someday, when she couldn’t be there to speak for you, you would know how to speak for yourselves.
That may be one of the greatest gifts a mother can leave her children.
Tabby was my wife, my partner, the mother of our children, and the rock of our family.
Twenty years wasn’t nearly enough.
But I am incredibly grateful that they were our twenty years.
Rest peacefully, Tabby.
You’ve fought enough.
Your tribute to Tabby so beautiful… thank you so much for sharing at this difficult time. Blessings to you and your children.
I'm so sorry about your loss, this is a very beautiful tribute. You, your children and family have my most sincere condolences. ♥️