We have made it to Friday afternoon in Fayetteville, three days until we roll out. Dogs are calm, my wife’s packing snacks, and I’m thinking about the mental side that doesn’t make headlines. This is for “Road to Hope”—the series launching Sunday—but first, the part that’s stayed with me since July 2022 in south Arkansas.
The Quiet Battles After My Heart Attack: How I Learned to Use Hope Every Single Day
The heart attack was a loud event. The quiet one was afterward: anxiety hitting random, chest tight, mind spinning, worst cases. Depression is turning good days flat, making me pull back. I hated it—felt like failing as a husband, as a journalist. But pretending didn’t help.
My wife saw through it. She’d sit with me, no pressure to talk. When I could, we did—about the fears, the doubts. She’d say, “Today’s okay, we’ll take tomorrow when it comes.” We walked the dogs together (four back then), their routine grounding me. My Memphis family texted or called—nothing big, just “thinking of you.” That consistency mattered.
I had to figure out hope as an active thing. Not waiting for better feelings, but doing the work: slow breaths when panic started, listing small wins (coffee hot, dogs happy, her hand in mine). Therapy helped catch negative patterns early. Talking to her openly, rather than bottling it up, made the biggest difference. Over time, the bad days got shorter. Not gone—still flare up—but manageable. Resilience came from that routine, from knowing she wasn’t leaving, from family staying connected.
That’s why this series feels important. On the road—Fayetteville to Memphis Sunday, Mobile Monday—we’ll talk to the Hogs about pressure and share foundation stories of parents who use hope daily through their kids’ illnesses. Mental health isn’t separate; it’s part of the fight.
If something feels off, start small. Talk to someone close. Lean on them. It builds over time. I’ll be posting honest updates from the trip @4StarSportsM starting Sunday. Appreciate you being here.
