Why I’m Rebuilding the Shield

Holding a battle-damaged Captain America shield signed by Chris Evans.

There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after.

Losing my dad was one of those moments. Losing my mom after watching dementia gradually take so much from her was another.

There were also family issues that affected my well-being more than I initially realized—or perhaps more than I was willing to admit. Those details aren’t all mine to share publicly, but they were part of what I was carrying and part of how I found myself in such a difficult place.

Grief came in many layers. It brought anger, guilt, sadness and a depression that became heavier than I wanted to admit. Combined with everything happening around me, there were stretches when I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I was getting through the days, but I wasn’t truly moving forward.

Even while I was experiencing all of that, I never lost sight of how blessed I was—and still am—to have a beautiful, loving wife and a healthy, thriving son. Their love and support didn’t make the hurt disappear, but they reminded me that I still had so much to be grateful for and so much worth rebuilding for.

The day after my mom died, I made a decision.

I wasn’t going to remain there.

That didn’t mean I suddenly felt better. It didn’t mean the grief disappeared, the family issues resolved themselves or that I had discovered some know-it-all plan for putting my life back together.

It simply meant that I was willing to take the first step—even if I couldn’t see exactly where it would lead.

That was the beginning of Rebuild the Shield.

WHY THE SHIELD?

To be clear, this isn’t about pretending to be a superhero or building something around a fictional character.

Captain America may have given me the symbol, but it was the message behind the shield that stayed with me: stand back up, keep moving forward and try to do some good along the way.

That message got me through many rough days.

I have always connected with what the shield represents: strength, protection, responsibility and the willingness to get back up after being knocked down.

But a shield can take damage.

It can become scratched, dented and nearly broken. Its history remains visible on its surface. Restoring it doesn’t mean pretending the damage never happened. The marks become part of its story.

That idea felt deeply personal.

I wasn’t trying to return to the person I had been before loss. That person existed in a life that had changed forever. I needed to take the pieces that remained, decide what still mattered and begin building something new.

I needed to rebuild my own shield.

WHAT REBUILDING LOOKS LIKE

For me, rebuilding isn’t one massive transformation. It happens through small decisions made quite often.

It’s putting on my running shoes when staying home would be easier. It’s challenging myself at Orangetheory, getting back on the Peloton, hiking another mountain or setting a goal that may scare me a bit.

It’s paying attention to my health, becoming stronger and realizing how different life feels after losing more than 20 pounds.

It’s returning to creativity through photography, video and 3D printing . It’s traveling, playing golf, laughing with family and allowing myself to enjoy things again without feeling guilty about it.

It’s also accepting that difficult days will still happen.

Rebuilding doesn’t require me to pretend that I’m okay every day. Some memories still hit hard. Certain dates, traditions and even football Sundays can make the absence of the people I love feel incredibly close again.

The work is not about escaping those feelings. It’s about refusing to let them become the end of my story.

WHY SHARE IT PUBLICLY?

That is the question I’ve wrestled with most.

I’m not a therapist, a motivational speaker or someone claiming to have all the answers. I’m a 59-year-old man approaching 60 who has experienced loss, struggled mentally, dealt with complicated family circumstances, made mistakes and finally decided that I’d had enough.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not the only person who has felt stuck.

Someone else may be grieving. Someone may be struggling with relationships or circumstances they don’t feel comfortable discussing publicly. Someone may have lost their confidence, their direction or their sense of identity. Someone may believe they are too old, too far behind or too damaged to start rebuilding.

If sharing my story helps even one of those people take their own first step, then telling it will have been worthwhile.

I don’t know exactly where this venture will lead. I’m not presenting a finished success story.

I’m sharing the rebuild while it is happening—the progress, the setbacks, the difficult days and the moments that remind me why I started.

The shield isn’t finished.

Neither am I.