February 12, 2026

By Jamie Towey

A couple weeks ago, Dad and I were stuck in Jacksonville; delayed flights had thrown a wrench in our travel plans, and we needed to kill an afternoon. Normally, that’s a treat in Jax. But this week was a frigid one. Just that morning, we had stopped by Landon Park in San Marco, where flowering trees and shrubs lay molten and shriveled from the previous night’s hard freeze. And so, we fell back on an old standby – AMC 16. Pickings were slim, except for one gem – and bona fide time suck – Lord of the Rings, Return of the King… the extended edition. Two hours later, (and only halfway through!) we left for the airport.

Return of the King didn’t exactly land with Dad. He hadn’t read the books and had seen the movies decades ago, so starting in media res with the LOTR saga was a steep climb. But in that theatre, as I sank into my plush recliner, errant pieces of popcorn staining my work clothes with grease, I was reminded of how much I loved this world J.R.R. Tolkien created. Masterpieces like his are wells to which we return again and again for wisdom, and this time I was struck by how refreshing, irrational, and pervasive the theme of hope is in LOTR.

If we squint, I think we can find reasons aplenty for hope in a world that actively seeks to snuff it out. Those two hours in the theatre made me squint, and I want to fill you in on what I saw.

Nearly a month ago, I spoke on the closing panel at the Cardinal O’Connor Conference for Life at Georgetown University, the 27^th annual gathering that attracts speakers and attendees from around the world. Prior to my remarks, I had lunch with the student organizers and some of the speakers up in Georgetown’s Riggs Library, an ornate cast-iron scaffolded gem in the heart of the Healy Hall. The students were arresting in their passion, optimism, and smarts. Amid the caricatures of Gen-Z as iPad babies grown-up (not always an unfair depiction), these young men and women were lively. They understood that the world is a real place that needs real people to make a real difference.

My student guide, a senior from Miami, recounted his family’s ongoing experience of caring for his dementia-ridden grandfather, and how that experience had brought them closer together and changed his outlook on how to treat people at the end of life. And at the closing panel, after eight hours of programming, the ornate Healy Hall auditorium was still filled with hundreds of passionate young people, who braved the plummeting temperatures and impending snowfall out of a commitment to protect human dignity. I found myself walking with a bounce in my step when I departed the campus.

Fast forward two weeks and I found myself, along with Dad and our Director of Media, Frank Barnes, in the home of Dad’s old FSU roommate, Bob Hughes. Bob has lived with Multiple Sclerosis for nearly 40 years and is now without the use of his arms or legs. We were there to interview him and his wife, Susan, on their journey together with MS.

Our powerful exchange with them will be coming soon in a video, so no spoilers here. But I’ll say this much – Frank and I were simply floored by their raw, dogged, and inspiring experience with suffering and love. These two individuals are living rebukes to the throwaway culture pervading American life. The beauty of their lived experience surpasses any description I can give here, so stay tuned. The hopeful vision they impart on all whom they contact is an antidote to modern maladies.

Yes, AI and physician-assisted suicide are here. And storm clouds gather on other fronts, too. But JRR Tolkien, and Bob and Susan Hughes bolster our vision for hope, hope that the Truth always wins, that Good triumphs over Evil, that each of us matters. Like Aragorn on the ramparts of Helm’s Deep, shouting at the swelling ranks of foes arrayed against him, “I look out to see the dawn… None knows what the new day shall bring him,” we, too, must shout hope. Instead of shrinking from the challenges of the world, we must rise to meet them like those Georgetown students, like Bob and Susan Hughes, like Frodo.

(The views expressed herein are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of Aging with Dignity and/or its Board of Directors.)