Wednesday, December 31, 2025 - Day 505

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

Good morning, everyone. Happy New Year’s Eve.

2025: A Year of Reflection

When I look back on 2025, it’s impossible to separate the year from the diagnosis that arrived the summer before. ALS was already part of my life when this year began—quietly changing what my body could do while, at the same time, forcing me to pay closer attention to everything else. This year became more than a medical timeline. It turned into a year of adjustment, support, and figuring out how to keep moving forward when things don’t go as planned.

Early in the year, I was learning a new normal—one that kept changing. Walking took more focus. Eating required more planning… just to avoid choking. Sleep stopped being something I could count on. Independence didn’t disappear overnight; it faded gradually, which in some ways made it harder to accept. Each change brought frustration, but it also came with a lesson I didn’t expect: adapting isn’t giving up, and it isn’t embarrassing. It’s working through problems, often with help, and finding ways to stay involved.

If this year has a backbone, it’s Cindy—my wife, my friend, and my caregiver. She handled appointments, equipment, schedules, and the thousand small things that come with ALS. She did it with patience, humor, and a steadiness I rely on more than she probably knows. I know it wasn’t easy for her, but she showed up every day and carried more than her share. She embodies the phrase: “for better or worse”

Family stayed at the center of everything. 2025 included a wedding, Fence Lake, the Chicago Marathon, birthdays remembered (and sometimes missed), and traditions that didn’t disappear just because circumstances changed. Watching Alex and Nicole build their life together, seeing Nikki and Zack juggle parenthood with patience and grace, and spending time with Wyatt and Coco reminded me that the future is still there—and that I’m still part of it.

Somewhere along the way, the blog became more than a place for me to write. It turned into a way to stay connected. Friends from every chapter of life showed up with messages, meals, humor, and steady check-ins. That support turned into action through the Chicago Marathon, where Andy’s Army helped raise $64,000 to fight ALS, and through the May 31 celebration, when many of you gathered in one place just to show support.

Another simple but meaningful symbol was the Bracelet Brigade—a reminder that Andy’s Army isn’t just a phrase, but a group of people who genuinely care.

What I’ve learned is simple: life doesn’t stop for a diagnosis, but it does narrow your focus. Gratitude matters more. Love makes this journey easier. Asking for—and accepting—help becomes necessary. And the people around me matter more than ever.

I don’t know what 2026 will bring. ALS is still part of the picture. But so is a lot of support, patience, and perspective. I’m still here. I’m still writing. And I’m grateful for the people walking into the next year with me and the 15 who are running the 2026 Chicago Marathon to raise money for ALS United. Let’s crush this disease!

Thank you everybody for being a part of this journey and being a part of Andy’s Army

Happy New Year! Love you guys!❤️