Traci's Family Needs Your Help and Hope

Help Us Build a Safe, Stable Future

Hi, my name is Traci Wolfe, and I’m humbly reaching out to ask for help—something I’ve never been comfortable doing—because our family is facing a season of overwhelming hardships, and I no longer know what to do.

For most of my life, I’ve been the one who helps others. I was raised to work hard, to show up, and to push through, believing that if I did everything “right,” things would fall into place.

But life doesn’t always follow the rules we were taught to live by. Sometimes, even when you give everything you have—physically, emotionally, and financially—it’s just not enough.

My husband, Ken, and I have been together for over 30 years. If you know us, you know that softball has been the heartbeat of “Our Story”. Ken played four nights a week and in tournaments every weekend. My children were literally raised on the softball field.

When our daughter Ashley was born, there was a bet amongst his teammates about which base he’d be on when I went into labor. That’s how much this game—and that life—meant to Ken.

Unfortunately, five years ago, everything began to change. Our daughter went through a devastating divorce, which left her a single mom of three and no child support.

At first, she lost her home and moved in with us. Shortly thereafter, we lost our home due to the expenses associated with now being a blended households.

Please know that we wouldn’t trade the closeness we’ve built over the past few years with our daughter and grandchildren, the financial and emotional toll has been steep.

Ashley works hard and does everything she can for her children, but the system says she makes “too much” to qualify for governmental help, and the children’s father is unreliable and court proceedings are expensive

Then came the hardest blow: Ken was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease two years ago, at the age of 61.

At first, his symptoms were the basic Parkinson’s tremors and seemed to be pretty controllable.

However, we clung to our faith, family, and tried to stay positive and hopeful. The doctors have tried multiple medications, but nothing seems to slow the progression.

Now, Ken endures nearly every symptom the disease can offer. He describes it as being trapped inside his own body, as his mind is still sharp, mentally he is still him, but his body no longer listens to what his mind tells it to do.

It’s heartbreaking to watch the strongest man we know struggle with everyday tasks, knowing he feels and sees his daily decline as much as we do.

Ken, being the strong guy we know and love, still works full-time - not because he wants to - but because he has to.

Our current housing situation is provided by and through his job. This home is not only ours but is also shared by our daughter and three grandchildren too.

Eventually, Ken will reach a point he can no longer work. When this happens, we will lose our housing, as will our daughter and grandchildren.

Ken’s job offers no benefits, no insurance, and no disability. I work full-time as well, but between high-deductible insurance, newly uncovered medical expenses, and helping to support our multigenerational household, we are living paycheck to paycheck—with nothing to fall back on if and when Ken has to stop working.

Additionally, I’ve recently found out that I’m facing my own unexpected health issues—something I haven’t even told Ken the full extent of, because I don’t want him to carry that weight too.

But the truth is, it’s getting harder for me to keep being “the strong one”. I’m doing everything I can to hold us all together, but to tell you the truth, I am very scared. If something happens to me, I don’t know what happens to us.

We’ve explored every resource available to us. We continue to search for resources and ways to help ourselves, but I have just about run out of options.

We don’t qualify for any governmental assistance. This means that we just cannot afford for Ken to stop working - long enough to qualify for disability. We’re quite literally stuck—spinning our wheels while the cliff edge gets closer.

This is why I’m asking for your help—something I never thought I’d have to do. My friends and family tell me asking for help is ok but being the super strong woman, I’ve tried to be my entire life, I still struggle with accepting it.

What we need is to find a home that is ours. A place that can’t be taken away when Ken can’t work anymore. A place that gives us stability, peace, and space for healing. We also need help covering medical bills and expenses that keep piling up with each doctor’s appointment, each hospital visit, each prescription that insurance won’t touch.

Your donation—whether $5 or $500—will go toward securing housing, medical expenses, and giving Ken the ability to retire without fear for his family’s wellbeing.

We certainly are not asking for any luxury—we’re asking for safety and stability. A place to rest. A place to live without fear of eviction. A place to allow us to simply breathe again.

If you can give, thank you. If you cannot, that is ok too! If you can simply share this with others, we thank you. If you’re praying for us, this also helps, and we greatly thank you.

From the bottom of my heart—thank you for helping us hold on to hope.

With love and gratitude,

Traci