With a heavy but grateful heart, I want to share the passing of my dad, Richard Hoak.
From January 8th until February 13th, he was missing, and during that time, we clung to hope and prayer, believing that no matter the outcome, God was in control. Though we longed for a different ending, we take comfort in knowing that my dad’s journey is not truly over—it has only just begun in eternity.
Richard Hoak was a free spirit, a man who lived life on his own terms and embraced every adventure that came his way. He loved riding bikes, scuba diving, skiing, and could pack up and go at a moment’s notice, chasing the next great experience. He had a passion for good food—Sonic milkshakes, warm sopapillas, smothered red chile, and perfectly cooked salmon were some of his favorites. But more than anything, he loved his family and friends fiercely. If you knew him, you knew he loved you. He always had the most meaningful, quirky gifts to give—things that showed just how well he knew you and how much he cared. Whether it was something sentimental, something funny, or something completely unexpected, his gifts were always a reflection of his love.
He was also a man of service. He proudly served in the U.S. Navy and later as a New Mexico State Police Officer, dedicating part of his life to protecting and helping others. His respect for fellow service members never faded—he could sit and talk with veterans for hours, sharing stories and swapping wisdom. He never met a stranger. Whether it was on a bus, riding his bike, or just out and about, he had a way of connecting with people. He especially loved making baristas and servers laugh, leaving behind smiles wherever he went.
He was also a fighter, in more ways than one. After surviving a near-fatal motorcycle accident, he faced lifelong disabilities, including losing peripheral vision on his right side. But rather than let it slow him down, he turned it into something to laugh about—especially during car rides when he was the one driving! We would make funny faces at him, knowing he couldn’t see us on his right side, and somehow, he always knew just when to look. The second he caught us, we’d all burst into laughter. It’s those little moments of joy that we’ll hold onto forever.
But there were battles he fought that weren’t as easy to see. My dad carried silent struggles—PTSD, trauma, and pain from past abuse. He never wanted to burden others with what he carried, so he fought through it in his own way. He had a quiet wisdom about him, knowing when to walk away from a crowded room or step away from a heated conversation. Why stick around if you don’t feel joy? That was his way of protecting his own peace, and it’s something we can all learn from.
He found peace in the simple joys of life—like flying his stunt kites. Some of my favorite memories with him were on the Oregon coast, watching him masterfully control the wind, his face full of focus and freedom. He also loved going to the movies—it was one of his favorite ways to unwind and immerse himself in a good story. And when he went, he did it right—he loved theater popcorn, always getting a big tub, and most of the time, we didn’t just watch one movie, we watched two! A double feature was just part of the experience, and those long movie nights together are memories I will cherish forever.
I miss my dad deeply, but I know he received the greatest gift of all. 2 Corinthians 5:8 says, “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” He is healed, whole, and more alive than ever. I don’t know exactly what Heaven is like, but I love this perspective from his wife—He is completely healed, probably skiing the steepest ski slopes, seeing things so crystal clear, beauty unimaginable in heavenly places, or diving in the deep waters of the oceans. And maybe, just maybe, he’s even watching the greatest story ever told, unfolding before his very eyes. Whatever he’s doing, I know he’s free, at peace, and in the presence of his Savior.
While his passing leaves an ache in our hearts, we are not without hope. We serve a good and faithful God, a God who promises that this life is not the end. John 11:25 says, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.” My dad’s journey didn’t end here—because of the love and grace of Jesus, he has stepped into eternal life, free from pain, free from burdens, and finally at peace.
If there’s anything I’ve learned through this, it’s that life is fragile and time is precious. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow, but we are all offered the gift of salvation through Jesus Christ. If you don’t know Him, I encourage you to seek Him. He is the greatest source of peace, strength, and love—even in the midst of sorrow.
Though we grieve, we do not grieve without hope. My dad’s love, laughter, and adventurous spirit will forever be a part of us. Fly high, ski the steepest slopes, and dive the deepest oceans, Dad. Until we meet again. 💙
-Love Brenda Kenyon