Yolanda is gone. The debt and the lawfare are still here. I’m trying to learn how to wake up without my wife while fighting to keep the home where we raised our daughters. They have already taken our beach house, seized our bank accounts, repossessed our vehicles, RV, boat, and WaveRunners. We lost our storage units, jewelry, collectibles, and artwork—pieces of a life we spent decades building together. And now they are trying to take our family home. The home our daughters grew up in. The home where I cared for my sweet Yolanda through cancer treatment, after her 10-hour double surgery at City of Hope, and through the recovery from a half-dozen additional emergency surgeries over the years. Under this roof, I helped her through days when she could barely move. I held her. I prayed with her. I would have cared for her for another fifty years if we had been given them. Now I walk through these rooms aching for her, and I have to face the possibility of losing them, too. I know a house cannot bring Yolanda back. But every room holds something of our life together. Losing it while I’m still struggling to accept that she is gone is more than I know how to carry. It hurts to ask for help again. It hurts worse to stay silent while what remains of our family’s life is threatened. If you can help, please help. If you cannot donate, please share this and keep our family in your prayers. I miss you, my sweet Yolanda. I wish I could sit beside you and tell you how truly scared I am. givesendgo.com/yolandas ❤️🙏