The Light That Doesn’t Go Out

There are people in life who remind you that you’re not invisible—who show up not with grand gestures, but with something far more powerful: consistency. They remember. They ask. They care. They don’t disappear when the hard days stretch on. And for us, those people are Patty and Scott.

In a world that moves too fast—where everyone is rushing to the next thing, where kindness sometimes feels like an afterthought—Patty and Scott have been a steady light. When Tim collapsed and everything changed, when our days became measured by seizures, exhaustion, and worry, the world around us kept spinning. People meant well, but as time went on, most stopped asking. It’s not that they didn’t care—it’s just that life pulls everyone in different directions. But Patty and Scott… they stayed.

They didn’t need to fix it. They didn’t need to understand every detail of PNES or the toll it takes. They simply remembered. They kept reaching out. They kept asking how we were doing—really doing. And that may seem like a small thing, but when you’re walking through something that feels endless, that question becomes sacred. It reminds you that you still matter, that your story is still seen, that your pain hasn’t been forgotten.

When someone continues to check in long after the crisis has faded from the world’s attention, it tells you something profound: their care isn’t conditional. Their friendship isn’t fragile. It’s built on love—the kind that doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

There have been days when I’ve felt like I couldn’t hold up the weight anymore—days when exhaustion wrapped itself around me like fog, when fear about the future sat heavy in my chest. But then a message would come. Or a question. Or a simple, “How are you holding up?” And in that moment, the fog would lift just enough for me to see light again.

That’s what true friendship does—it brings light into the dark places. Not by erasing the pain, but by refusing to let you face it alone.

Patty and Scott, your kindness has been a quiet miracle in our lives. You may not realize the impact you’ve had, but you’ve been God’s reminder to me that He still sends angels in ordinary clothes. You’ve carried a part of our burden just by caring about it, and that kind of compassion cannot be measured.

There’s a certain grace in the way you both show up—not demanding, not prying, just present. The way you listen without trying to fix what can’t be fixed. The way your words don’t rush to fill the silence but somehow make it softer. That’s the kind of friendship that heals—slowly, gently, faithfully.

When life narrows down to hospital visits, medical forms, and long nights waiting for calm after seizures, it’s easy to feel like your world has gotten very small. But you’ve kept it wide for us. You’ve reminded me that even in the hardest seasons, there are still good people, still warm connections, still laughter waiting to find its way through the cracks.

The truth is, love doesn’t always come wrapped in declarations or dramatic moments. Sometimes it looks like two friends who remember to ask how you’re doing. Who keep showing up. Who stand quietly beside you while the world feels unsteady.

Because friendship like that—it changes things. It doesn’t remove the struggle, but it softens it. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it gives strength to keep facing it. It’s a reminder that God still weaves goodness into the story, even when the storyline feels hard to read.

There’s a verse that says, “A friend loves at all times.” That’s you, Patty and Scott. You’ve loved us not just in the moments that were easy to enter, but in the ones that were hard to stay in. You’ve loved us through uncertainty, through worry, through the long silence between updates. You’ve carried that love not with fanfare, but with faithfulness—and that is a gift beyond words.

Sometimes I think about how people talk about light—as something that shines in the darkness, that guides the lost, that offers hope. And that’s what you’ve been for us. A light that doesn’t go out. A small, steady flame that keeps reminding us that even when the world feels dim, kindness still burns bright.

You’ve given us the gift of being seen. The gift of being remembered. The gift of not having to pretend that we’re okay when we’re not. And those gifts—they matter more than anything else in this world.

So today, as I sit here thinking about all the people who have crossed our path on this journey, I find myself most thankful for the ones who stayed—the ones who continue to walk beside us when the road gets long and steep. And at the top of that list, Patty and Scott, are you.

Thank you for asking. Thank you for listening. Thank you for being light when life feels shadowed. Thank you for reminding me, again and again, that no matter what happens, we are not alone.

Because of you, I see the truth that has carried us through every dark night: even when the road is hard, even when the future feels uncertain, love remains. And as long as love remains—through the kindness of people like you—there will always, always be light.