Volunteer

Terry always wanted to be helpful. Not in the showy way. In the quiet, roll-up-your-sleeves way. He believed usefulness was a form of kindness, and he practiced it daily, the way some people practice piano or prayer.

When he was younger, he helped anyone who needed a hand. Sometimes even before they asked. Especially before they asked. Terry understood that asking for help is often harder than lifting the thing yourself. So he just stepped in. Casually. Naturally. As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

When MS slowed him down, it did not slow his spirit. He simply changed lanes. He became the first build manager for our local Habitat for Humanity. He built homes. Real ones. Walls, roofs, places where lives would unfold. He gave his time, his expertise, and his deep satisfaction in seeing something solid stand where nothing had been before. He felt good about that. Rightfully so.

I came along later, when his body had slowed further but his eagerness had not. That eagerness simply found new outlets. Frequently through me.

If someone mentioned a computer problem, Terry would say, with absolute confidence, “Pepper will fix it for you.” And somehow, at midnight, a computer or two would appear in our living room, blinking accusingly.

If someone needed pants hemmed or a shirt rebuttoned, Terry assured them, “Pepper can do anything.” My sewing machine agreed, working overtime that weekend.

He coached people through electrical installs over the phone. Entire houses wired by voice alone. I still do not know how that worked, but it did. Perfectly.

One Tuesday night, he took me to the firehouse where he volunteered. Paperwork only. No fires. At the meeting, the chief said they always needed volunteers. Terry nodded and said, “Pepper will do it.” That was how I became a firefighter and EMS First Responder.

And you know what. I loved it.

I loved the work. I loved the people Terry volunteered me for. I loved learning how to be useful in ways I never expected. I became a builder myself. Not just of structures, but of skills, confidence, and quiet service.

Terry taught me that helping is not a burden. It is a gift. One you give freely. One you pass along.

I am endlessly proud of him.

And grateful.

Shall we build something today?