Sometimes the greatest miracle isn’t healing—it’s a night off.
For families walking the road of Stage IV Glioblastoma Brain Cancer, even a few hours of rest can feel like a return to life. The weight is constant. The uncertainty is relentless. And caregiving, while sacred, can quietly drain every ounce of strength a person has.
Recently, my wife Sherrie and I experienced something we hadn’t felt in a long time—margin. Breathing room. A moment to simply be human again.
And it came through a story that could only be described as providential.
Where the Story Began
What makes this story remarkable is how it started—not through a formal organization or a well-funded campaign, but through a simple blog.
When I began writing “Don’t Eat Toast Naked,” a personal blog about my wife’s and my journey through Glioblastoma, it was a way to process life in real time—faith, struggle, humor, and the unexpected moments in between. Among the very first subscribers was a person I had never met: Kim Busch.
Not long after subscribing, Kim reached out and shared her story. Her husband, Andy, had been diagnosed with glioblastoma in the summer of 2023. In the middle of navigating that reality, she told me she was beginning to build something—a way to support others facing the same fight.
Her message was simple: “If you ever need anything, let me know.”
At the time, it felt like a kind and generous note from someone who understood. We stayed loosely connected—two families walking similar roads.
Then everything changed.
What You Don’t Always See
There’s a part of this journey that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
From the outside, people see strength. They see faith. They see moments we choose to share—updates, reflections, even glimpses of hope. And while those things are real, they don’t always tell the whole story.
Glioblastoma is relentless!
It doesn’t follow a schedule. It doesn’t ask permission. It slowly reshapes everything—your time, your energy, your relationships, even the simplest rhythms of daily life. What used to be normal becomes impossible. What used to be easy becomes intentional. And yet… you keep going. Love and presence are what sustain us through it all.
Amidst everything, there was someone meant to journey this path with us—my daughter-in-law, Crystal. More than a family member, she took on a vital role in our lives, ready to share the responsibility of this season as Sherrie's live-in caregiver. Her presence embodied stability, trust, and financial relief for both Crystal and us, as she too needed the support unique to family. Her unexpected passing changed everything.
It left a space in our home, yes—but more than that, it left a space in our hearts and in the journey itself. A role she was ready to fulfill… a presence we were counting on… suddenly gone. There aren’t easy words for that. But this is where the story takes a turn we didn’t see coming.
The Moment That Changed Everything
After reading about Crystal’s passing on the blog, Kim acted without hesitation. Even before her organization was fully formalized, she courageously and compassionately worked to help us obtain caregiving support through her emerging non-profit.
That’s how Jessica, now our caregiver, who started on April 15, entered our lives.
And Jessica didn’t just fill a role—she restored something we didn’t even realize we had lost: margin.
For the first time in a long while, I managed to step away—just briefly—and visit my grandchildren, first in Denver (Thommy-Boy [15 months]) and then in Kansas (Lilly-pad [12 years old]).
It may not sound like much. But for those living this reality, it’s everything.
Sometimes the difference between surviving and living… is one person willing to step in.
A Shared Understanding
After that brief time away, Kim sent a message that captured the heart of this entire story: “Let’s make a pact. We will enjoy a brief respite away… we will feel that momentary blip of guilt… but we will do it anyway and embrace and cherish that time.”
That’s not the language of an organization.
That’s the language of someone who knows.
Because Kim and her husband Andy are walking this same road.
Together, they own Folded Hills Winery—a place known for its beauty, craftsmanship, and now, something even more meaningful: compassion in action.
Out of their own struggle, something new was born.
From Vineyard to Vision
What began as a personal burden has become a growing movement: Grapes for Glioblastoma.
The idea is simple but powerful: Provide real, tangible support to families battling glioblastoma—especially in caregiving, where the need is immediate and often overwhelming. This isn’t abstract charity. This is the time. This is rest. This is dignity.
This truly highlights the difference between just surviving and truly living. A heartfelt thank you to Kim and Grapes for Glioblastoma for helping cover over 90% of the cost for a semi-live-in caregiver. Your support means the world.
The Rocky Mountain Voice of It All
At Rocky Mountain Voice, we often talk about the idea of “Many Voices. One Colorado.”
This story is exactly that. It’s a voice of faith—trusting that even in the hardest seasons, God is still at work. It’s a voice of family—fighting to care well for the people we love most. It’s a voice of community—people stepping in for one another without being asked twice. And maybe most importantly, it’s a voice of grassroots leadership. Because this didn’t start with a system. It didn’t start with a strategy. It started with a person who saw a need… and met it.
That’s leadership.
More Than a Cause—A Calling
Sherrie and I are the first recipients of what this movement can do. But we won’t be the last. And while there is still so much unknown about glioblastoma—still so much to fight for—there is something already breaking through the darkness: People showing up for each other. Not perfectly. Not with all the answers. But with presence, gratitude, generosity, and love.
Final Reflection
Maybe the cure hasn’t come yet. But something else has.
A caregiver named Jessica.
A vineyard that chose compassion.
A woman named Kim who acted before everything was in place.
And a family—ours—learning that even in loss, we are not alone.
And if this story does anything, I hope it helps you see—not just what we’re facing, but what’s possible when people choose to step in.
Because sometimes the most powerful form of love… is simply showing up.
How You Can Help
First, continue supporting Rocky Mountain Voice by engaging—reading, sharing, contributing, giving, attending events, leading initiatives, partnering, and ultimately using your voice to help shape Colorado.
You can also learn more or support families like ours by visiting Grapes for Glioblastoma.
Every share, every prayer, and every act of generosity reminds families like ours that we are not alone.
