Help My Dad Live Comfortably In His Remaining Time With Us

In the quiet backwoods of southeast Georgia, there's a story I need to share – one about my father James, my baby brother Levi, and a dream that started fifteen years ago with nothing but hope and a worn-out cotton field.

Dad had this vision, you see. He'd work his fingers to the bone during the day, juggling multiple jobs, then come home and pour his heart into building our family home from the ground up. Every nail, every board was a promise for our future. But life has a way of rewriting our carefully laid plans.

It started slowly at first – a cough here, a shortness of breath there. Before we knew it, Dad's body began failing him in ways we never imagined. Now he's tethered to an oxygen tank 24/7, fighting a brutal combination of pulmonary fibrosis, COPD, and a list of conditions that would make any doctor's head spin. His once-strong hands, the same ones that were building our future board by board, now show the cruel signs of Raynaud's Syndrome, with clubbed fingers and locked joints that barely cooperate.

When Mom left – taking both the construction money and Dad's car – it felt like the final nail in the coffin of our dreams. But if you knew my father, you'd know he's not one to give up. Even as his body betrays him, his spirit remains unbroken. He's been fighting these illnesses with everything he's got, all while trying to give us boys the home we deserve.

I've picked up two jobs to help keep us afloat, watching as Dad struggles with the guilt of not being able to do what he once could. The hardest part? Seeing him gasp for breath in our current living situation – a tiny 26x12 space that's been battered by hurricanes and time. The poor air quality in this makeshift home is slowly suffocating him, turning what should be peaceful moments into struggles for breath.

Then came the news that shook us to our core. The doctors suggested a double lung transplant, along with palliative and hospice care. After soul-searching and research, Dad made the bravest decision I've ever witnessed – choosing quality time with his children over a risky surgery that might rob us of our remaining days together.

We've had to let go of the dream of finishing that house he started. Instead, we're reaching out for help to secure a down payment on a manufactured home – something that won't steal his breath away, where we can sit down for family meals without the soundtrack of coughing and struggle. A place where Dad, Levi, and I can just be a family again.

I dream of the day when we might go fishing again, like we used to. But for now, I'd settle for seeing him breathe easier, for watching him smile over breakfast without fighting for air. Hurricane Helene may have taken some of our possessions, but it couldn't take our hope or our love for each other.

Every moment with Dad is a gift now – one we don't take for granted. I know there are skeptics out there (and I'm happy to provide any proof needed), but this is our reality, our story, our fight. Even if you can't help financially, your prayers and sharing our story would mean the world to us.

Because at the end of the day, this isn't just about a house. It's about giving a father the chance to spend his remaining time with dignity, surrounded by the sons he loves, in a home where he can breathe. It's about making whatever time we have left count.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story. From our family to yours – we appreciate you.