“I’m not here to sell you anything, preach politics or religion This isn’t a website. This is a place to breathe.”

Welcome

I’m Marc.
Take a breath.
You’re in the right place.

If you’re facing a major life transition — loss, caregiving, illness, or a moment when life has tipped sideways — this page was created for you.

My name is Marc Messinger, and I help people navigate the moments no one ever prepares for — the moments when life turns without warning.I built this page because I’ve lived those moments myself in Southeastern Wisconsin. And if you’re here, you might be living them too.

INTRODUCTION

My Story

Part 1 The Years I Lost Control

Sixteen years old, Visually impaired, Deaf, Lost. This is where the framework for my life began.

The First Time I Lost Control

There are years that shape you quietly, and years that shake you to your core. For me, the first time I truly lost control was the year I turned sixteen.

I woke up on my birthday and couldn't hear well. Within days, it was like someone was slowly closing the blinds over my eyes. My world went dark and silent. Panic took over. I felt like Helen Keller — trapped inside my own mind, desperate to understand what was happening.

I was shuffled between hospitals — first West Allis, then a rehab center that looked more like a nursing home than a place for a teenager. Most of the patients were in their eighties and nineties. I remember the smell of antiseptic and loneliness. Eventually, I was sent to Marshfield Clinic, and finally to Mayo Clinic, where the poking and prodding felt endless.

One of the countless nights where I learned that control isn’t something you hold — it’s something you navigate

They diagnosed me with Lyme disease and spinal meningitis. Steroids, tests, wires — all part of trying to save what was left of me. My vision came back first, then slowly, pieces of sound. But even as I began to heal, I was changed. I wore hearing aids that squealed and whined, a constant reminder that life could tilt without warning.

Lying in that hospital bed, I learned something that would stay with me forever: we can't control results — only our effort, our attitude, and our faith.

I didn't know it then, but that season was building something deep inside me — a framework for survival. A way to find meaning in pain and rebuild from within.

Years later, when life tested me again through my daughter's diagnosis and my wife's cancer, that same framework would become my lifeboat — my way to navigate chaos and steer toward purpose.

Part 2 The Years I Lost Control

Before the diagnosis — a fearless girl who loved to climb higher

When My Daughter's World Changed

Years later, I felt that familiar helplessness again — the same loss of control I'd known as a teenager — when our daughter, Marina, started to stumble on her own path. She was eight years old when it began.

We had taken our kids to Disney World, just a normal family trip. But halfway through the day, Marina started to limp. She said her hips hurt, and before long, she couldn't walk. We chalked it up to excitement, heat, and exhaustion. We rented a wheelchair so she could still experience the magic — not knowing it would be the first of many she'd need.

What followed were years of doctors, testing, and sleepless nights. My late wife, Kathryn, became a force of nature — researching, calling specialists, refusing to stop until someone gave our daughter answers. Between hospitals in Milwaukee and Children's Hospital in Madison, we finally heard the words that would change everything:

- Central Core Muscular Dystrophy -

Marc Messinger and Family - Family picture with three children and two adults posing on hay bales inside a barn or stable. The children are sitting and standing, smiling at the camera.

Back when life still felt ordinary — before we learned how strong we could be.

I'll never forget the silence in that room — the kind where the clock still ticks but time stops anyway. Every instinct in me wanted to fix it. To trade places. To carry her pain. To take the weight off her tiny shoulders.But I couldn't change the diagnosis.

What I could do was help her build a plan — a roadmap for independence, courage, and belief. We decided this wouldn't define her life; it would simply reshape it.

Mother and daughter finding strength together—navigating life with muscular dystrophy in Wisconsin

Years later Mom & Daughter— strength redefined.

Together, we learned that gravity doesn't always win. We learned that even in a wheelchair, you can still rise. We learned that strength isn't only in muscles — sometimes it's in the soul.

She was my first love.

She brought a Sesame Street coloring book to my hospital bed when I was sixteen. I didn’t know it then, but that small act would change everything.

Part 3 The Years I Lost Control

Kathryn and Marc Messinger - before the cancer diagnosis

Our ordinary, extraordinary life.

Kathryn's Story — The Third Storm

Kathryn and I had been together almost our entire lives.

I was fourteen when we started dating. And when I turned sixteen and landed in a hospital blind and deaf, she showed up with a Sesame Street coloring book — a small, silly gift that made a terrified teenager smile again. She didn't bring advice or sympathy. She brought presence.

She became my constant.
My steady place.
My best friend.
And eventually, my wife.

We built a life that wasn't perfect, but it was real — full of laughter, raising our three kids, and building dreams that looked a lot like normal, beautiful, everyday life.

The barn family photo — the last one before illness began.

And then, during the heart of COVID, the world went quiet again.

Kathryn was diagnosed with
Stage 4 colon cancer — terminal.

I can still hear the way the doctor's voice softened when he said the word "protocols," as if softening the tone would soften the blow. We were told to wait for staffing, to fill out forms, to be patient — as if time was something we had. It felt like steering through fog with a broken compass.

But Kathryn…
Even then…
She stayed calm.
Strong.
Graceful.

I had promised her we'd build a home for our future. Instead, we were learning a new language — one made of scans, infusion schedules, and statistics we never wanted to understand.

We were suddenly living between hospital rooms and hope.

When beauty took on new meaning.

There's a picture from August 2021 that captures her completely. Her hair was gone, so her kids painted flowers across her scalp. She stood in front of the mirror, smiling — still beautiful, still unmistakably Kathryn.

That was her: defiant, dignified, even as her body fought against her.

And then, in February 2022, we took one last trip together — Hawaii.

The air was warm. The ocean calm. We both knew what the calendar wasn't saying out loud. I slipped into a small shop and bought two simple rings. Later, on a quiet dock overlooking the water, I asked her:

"Will you marry me again?"

She laughed — that beautiful, contagious laugh — and told me I still made her heart race. We renewed our vows knowing our time was short… but our love eternal.

Less than 90 days later, she'd enter hospice at our home.

Marc and Kathryn renew their vow - holding hands - Hawaii

Two rings. One promise. Until the end.

Kathryn passed away
on Monday evening,
May 23rd, 2022,
at 6:02 p.m.

She took her final breath in our own bed, surrounded by our three children and our dog. Each of us was touching her — holding her — as she slipped from this world to the next. It was heartbreak and holiness all at once. Not many people get to leave this world on their own terms, but she did — calm, dignified, and still teaching us how to live beautifully right until the end. Even in dying, she showed us how to love with grace. That was the third time I lost control — but also the moment something new was born. Through her strength, I started to build something bigger: a purpose.

"Love doesn't end when life does.

It simply changes direction."

Life turns without warning.
Sometimes slowly,
sometimes all at once.

One phone call. One symptom. One diagnosis. One breath you wish you could take back. After three storms — my illness, Marina's diagnosis, and Kathryn's battle with cancer — I realized something that would shape the rest of my life:

When the world takes your control,
you don't break.
You build.

Somewhere between the hospital corridors, the wheelchairs, and the waiting rooms, I began to see a pattern. Not in the pain — but in the rebuilding.Every time my life collapsed, I rebuilt it using the same four anchors:

Health Family Purpose Finances

Those weren't just ideas. They were survival tools. They were the only parts of life you can actively steady when everything else falls apart. And over time, those anchors became something more —

A compass - A way to find my footing.
A way to help others find theirs.

Guidance

The Four Life Pillars

Your Foundation When Life Turns Without Warning

Every one of us is building a life on four pillars — whether we realize it or not. These pillars hold up our stability, our identity, and our sense of direction. And when life turns without warning — through illness, caregiving, grief, or major transition — one of these pillars often cracks first. This is the framework I built out of necessity, long before I ever taught it. It helped me survive my daughter's diagnosis. It helped me navigate my wife's cancer. It helped me rebuild my life in the aftermath of loss. And now, it's the framework I use to help others steady themselves when everything feels unsteady.

Pillar 1

HEALTH

Your physical and emotional well-being. This is where breakdowns often start — stress, sleep, chronic fear, burnout, or medical crisis. When your health shakes, everything else feels shakier.

Pillar 2

FAMILY

Your closest relationships — spouses, children, aging parents, support circles. When caregiving enters your life… when a marriage changes… when someone you love is lost… this pillar must be tended to with honesty and grace.

Pillar 3

PURPOSE

Why you get up in the morning. Meaning, identity, direction. When you're in survival mode, purpose often disappears first — yet rebuilding it is what pulls people forward.

Pillar 4

FINANCES

Your stability, clarity, and long-term dignity. This pillar often becomes overwhelming during life transitions — especially for widows, caregivers, and those making decisions alone for the first time.

Each pillar affects the others.

And when one drops into survival mode, the entire structure feels it. But once you can identify which pillar is struggling — you can start rebuilding with direction, not guesswork. This is how people move forward with clarity, dignity, and strength.

A pyramid diagram labeled with three levels: the bottom level labeled 'Survival' in red, the middle level labeled 'Stability' in yellow, and the top level labeled 'Significance' in green.

Guidance

Stage 1

Survival

This is the bottom of the pyramid — the place nobody chooses, but everyone eventually visits.

Survival mode looks like: Just trying to get through the day. Making reactive decisions. Feeling foggy, scattered, or shut down. Not knowing where to start. Grief, caregiving, medical crisis, major life shock. There is nothing wrong with being here. It is not a moral failure. It is a human response to being overwhelmed.

Your only job in survival is simple:

breathe, steady yourself, and avoid long-term decisions while your world is shaking.

Where You Are Matters

Survival, Stability, or Significance

Life doesn't move in straight lines. It moves in stages — especially during loss, caregiving, or major transition. Most people think they're "failing" when they're really just in the wrong stage for the expectations they've placed on themselves. This simple pyramid is the roadmap I built over years of real-life storms — my own, and those of the people I've been blessed to help. It shows the truth: You don't rebuild all at once. You rebuild in layers.

Stage 2

Stability

Stability begins when you finally catch your breath. It’s the moment you identify which Life Pillar is cracked — Health, Family, Purpose, or Finances — and start taking small, steady steps to support it.

This stage is quieter. More intentional. This is where routines begin to form again, even if they’re imperfect. It’s where the fog lifts just enough for you to say,

“Okay… I can do this.”

There is a sense of peace of mind returning, not all at once, but in pieces.

Emotionally, stability feels like:
• a little less panic
• a little more clarity
• the first signs of strength coming back
You’re not “back to normal,” but you’re no longer drowning.

Your only job in this stage:
Choose one small thing — one pillar — and support it consistently.Tiny wins create momentum. Momentum creates confidence. This is how you climb.

Stage 3

Significance

It's what makes life feel meaningful.
It isn’t lived every day — and that’s what makes it precious.

These are the moments that rise above the noise of life.
The moments you look back on and think, “That mattered. That changed me. That felt like joy.”

They are the memories we carry with us for a lifetime — the ones that reflect who we are, who we love, and why we keep moving forward.

Significance is the top of the pyramid.
It’s the gift you reach when your pillars are steady enough to lift you into meaning again.

And it always begins with one simple question:
“Where am I right now?”

Guidance

Illustration of a compass rose with a beige background and dark gray outlines.

Your Compass

How to Take the Next Step When Life Feels Unsteady

When life blindsides you — through loss, caregiving, illness, divorce, or any major change — your first instinct is to try to "get back to normal." But the truth is this: You don't need to get back to normal. You need a compass that points you forward.

That compass is built from the Four Life Pillars:

Pillar 1