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Spring 2023
Spring 2023
Alright, Jacole, thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insightswith us today. Let’s kick things off withyour mission — what is it, and what’s the story behind why it’s your mission? The story behind Vaspire316 is about love, loss, loyalty, and legacy. Dominic Hall was a Force Reconnaissance Marine, Army Special Forces soldier, Appleton police officer, father of twosmall children, and my faithful husband.
He had a few combat deployments during his time of service, including responding to the 2011 nuclear power plant disaster in Fukushima, Japan. An earthquake knocked out power to the plant, and a tsunami wiped out backup emergency generators.Three of these generators exploded, releasing an enormous amount of radioactivity into the environment. It is said to be the second-worst nuclear accident in history.
In May 2021, my 31-year-old husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After a few weeks of shock and determination to fight, we were connected with Chelsey Simoni of the HunterSeven Foundation. We were told Dominic’s tumor was onthe head of his pancreas and only at stage 1B. We felt so blessed to have caught it early! It was wrapped around some blood vessels, so the plan was to shrink it — first
with chemotherapy, and then later with a different mix of chemotherapy and radiationmtreatment. Dominic was told to have a genetic test done to see if there was a more reasonable answer as to why this 31-yearold, young, fit, and healthy veteran had cancer. His test came back positive for Lynch syndrome, which is an inherited genetic mutation causing individuals to be prone to cancer at an early age — “early” being 50, and “cancer” being colon cancer. It didn’t make any sense to me. We were told the chemotherapy was not working.
After all that vomit, diarrhea, weight loss, and suffering, it didn’t work. After the discovery of Lynch, the team of doctors switched his treatment to immunotherapy, letting his body fight the cancer cells naturally. Dominic’s family was then told to be tested so we could get to the bottom of where it stemmed from. The bizarre part: Neither of his parents tested positive. No one else in his family has it; now, only our
children have a 50/50 chance of inheriting the gene. Immunotherapy seemed too good to be true, and you know how that saying goes.
Right before starting chemo/radiation, we were told another heavy load of news: There were some new spots on his liver. On November 1, 2021, Dominic was taken off the all-too-good-to-be-true immunotherapy, which we were once again told did not work. Perhaps the first round of chemo may have worked, but by this point in the game, it was too late to go back. Moving forward, it was time for Dominic to face the demons of a new kind of chemo-plus-radiation therapy. For five-and-a-half weeks, we would travel two hours from home to his appointments Monday through Friday. Chemo/radiation was a slow-burning beast, and by the fourth week, Dominic was down 14 pounds. He was admitted to the hospital for a week, where he would be put on a nutrition plan called total parenteral nutrition (TPN). In short, this was a feeding tube placed in his vein to build his body back up so he could stay in the fight. Due to Covid rules, I could not stay overnight with my husband at the hospital, so I drove back and forth daily. On the night of December 1, 2021, he called me and said he was having one of the worst days of his life. For my incredibly strong military husband, those words had serious weight. During our treatments, we experienced days where Dominic would go in for an appointment and could not receive treatmentdue to low blood counts, low white
cell count, and weight loss. Once in a while, he wasn’t on the schedule when he should have been; someone forgot to add him. At times, it felt like we were at the mercy of the roll of a dice whether we were getting treatment that day or not— being “forgotten about” was always a hard pill to swallow. And speaking of pills, by this time we had worked out a routine where we could skip 3 a.m. pills (previously, Dominic needed to take pills every three hours). This allowed me to go to bed at 11 p.m. and wake up at 6 a.m. for the next dose of pills. By this time, he was taking roughly 32 pills a day. December 27, 2021 was our seven-year wedding anniversary. We had an appointment at 6 a.m. on December 28 to discuss the mysterious spots on his liver. We were told it could be either an infection or cancer. So, we decided to make the most of our anniversary and stay overnight in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, at a hotel across from the hospital. We had pizza delivered and watched the kid’s world bake-off on TV. It was a perfect night.
The next morning at our appointment, we learned yet another tragic reality: If the spots were indeed cancer, Dominic would no longer be eligiblefor surgery. He would die. With that news, they sent us home. We were engulfed with back-and-forth news of the tumor growing, shrinking, and growing again. Some spots on his liver got bigger, and some shrunk. The back-and-forth tug of war on our hearts was paralyzing at times. But we remained faithful to God’s plan. “Jesus, I trust in you,” we would often say. Dominic brought others together for a nightly 7 p.m. Rosary and continued to believe that “something beautiful is going to come from all of this suffering, I just know it.” He often said this. January 12, 2022 was surgery day. We had learned the tumor shrunk enough for surgery — praise Jesus! The spots on his liver were looking more and more like an infection. We were told that some of the most renowned doctors were leaning toward them being an infection. We drove the two hours that morning to the hospital, not knowing whether Dominic’s fate was to live or die. He was briefly put underso the doctor could take a speed biopsy of the liver to determine if it was cancer or an infection. Once again, due to Covidrules, I could not be with him. He would wake up alone. It seemed like hours upon hours in the waiting room. I read Job from the Bible over and over again, and I waited for the phone on the wall to ring, with the doctor on the other end whispering my husband’s fate. The concierges behind the desk all wore red jackets, laughing with one another as they talked about cookies and emails. There were small meeting rooms behind me. I wondered how many wives, mothers, and fathers have cried in those rooms, and I reminded myself to be like Job. A couple sat a few chairs in front of me, waiting for the results of their son. My mother- and father-in-law were in the chapel across the hallway — they too were not allowed in due to Covid rules — waiting to learn their son’s fate. I heard a faint phone ring, and someone in a red jacketcame over to me. I clenched my Bible. “The doctor is going to call you soon,” the concierge said. “You may go stand over by the wall and wait for the phone to ring.” I was shaking. The black phone looked as if it was out of my reach, hanging on the wall at the entrance of the waiting room. I faced it, with the high-trafficked hospital hallway on my right, and others sitting in the waiting room on my left. I happened to see a familiar face in the hallway: a friend with his 85-year-old grandfather who also had pancreatic cancer. As I started to say hi, the phone rang — a loud, deafening ring. It was so loud it made me jump. I set down my notebook and Bible as it rang again, so loud that I jumped again. I did the sign of the cross and somehow was able to reach the phone to answer the call. “It’s cancer. I’m so sorry,” the person on the other end said. I was in instant shock. My body started shaking, and I could feel my fight-or-flight instinct start to take over. I hung up the phone, looked at my friend, and shook my head “no.” He instantly engulfed me in a hug. I let out three sorrowful sighs and pulled myself together. The doctor was coming down to talk with me, and I was ushered to one of those little rooms in the back to wait. The doctor came in and held my hand. “If we do surgery, the cancer will spread like wildfire,”he said. I thought, “can’t we just try?” I thought I was begging, pleading, screaming— maybe I was just thinking it. The thought of him waking up alone shook my soul. My heart broke. I needed to be with my other half. Those vows are sacred, we are one, and I need to be with him when he wakes up, I thought. He cannot be alone with a random nurse delivering his fate, or to look down and realize surgery did not happen. Death is the future. I was told to wait. I was told I couldn’t be with my husband. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I waited. I was calmly in shock. I decided to try to find him. I was determined to find him — I could not lethim wake up alone. The concierges drew me a map on a piece of paper. A map, whatever that meant. I held it in my hand in the exact same position as they handed it to me the entire time as I searched for where to go, not once glancing at it. I was frozen. I’m still surprised I found my way back up to him. I waited in line. I didn’t know who to ask for. I didn’t know which room he was in. Finally, it was my turn to be helped. “I’m sorry sweetie, but you cannot see him right now,” is what I
was told over and over. I finally started to weep. “We didn’t get good news,” I softly squeaked out. “I don’t know where to go or what to do.” My breaths got heavy, and the mask wasn’t helping. I had to hold the mask away from my mouth so I could breathe as it kept going down my throat as I tried to take deep breaths, I looked out the window and saw the organization Kathy’s House. “Am I supposed to walk
across the street and go there and wait?” That thought made me feel sick. Finally, I was able to see him. They led me back to him. It was such a maze. All I could think about was where he was; never in my life had I needed to see him as much as I did at that moment. He was waking up, and I rushed to hold his hand. “Hi mama,” he said with a smile. “Hi daddy,” I said with the deepest loving sigh and smiled. I knew that he knew, and he knew that I knew. He smiled and said, “It’s all going to be ok mama.”He closed his eyes to sleep off the medications, and I started making phone calls. I called his mother; it was the most dreaded phone call of my life. With each phone call that I made, the sound on the other end was friends and loved ones fighting back tears. It was gut wrenching. But if it helped my husband from having to make the calls, I would have gladly twisted the knife into my gut over and over again for him. I finally took a break from the calls. I
held his hand, and I just looked at him, the love of my life. The next nine months were equally grueling. We got into a good vomit routine
and rejoiced at the moments when he could fight it back. We celebrated his 33rd birthday on August 23, 2022. One of his goals was to make it to his 33rd birthday because that was how old Jesus was when he died. The next day, he wasable to see his oldest son, Victor, just 4 years old, off to his first day of school, something we used to dream about doing together.
On September 4, 2022, Dominic answered God’s call. He whispered his last words to me, his wife: “I love you too.” My heart filled with joy and sorrow as he was unresponsive for a few hours. In my heart, I knew these would be his last words. Once again, he gave his wife everything she needed, no matter his state. He arrived on a Sunday as I made the agonizing decision to transition from athome
hospice to hospital care. We were there for a week. He fought hard and was called home also on a Sunday — the Lord’s Day. It was very suiting for such a strongly Catholic man. He was surrounded by his family, once again giving me the opportunity to have what I needed. His breathing pattern changed, and I knew it was the end. With “Misty Mountains” by Peter Hollens and Tim Frost playing on repeat in the background, I made sure to fill his one last request: that I was holding his hand when he passed. At 12:23 p.m., Dominic peacefully took his last breath. Amid the tears from his passing, I was brokenhearted. I had lived all my vows tothe fullest: “For better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness or in health, I will love you.” I silently moved my weddingring from my left hand to my righthand. Our bond was broken. I now faced the world as a widow. Heartbroken, but refusing to be broken. During all this time of sadness, sorrow, pain, and suffering, my husband remained stoic, positive, and encouraging. The vibrant light he shone upon God was inspiring, always making sure everyone around him was happy and at peace. The support and love we were showered with from the community were overwhelming. We could never pay anyone back, so we decided to pay it forward. Thus, Vaspire316 was born, and Dominic’s legacy will live on. Wow. So, before we get to the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers? Absolutely. During the unexpected journey of morphing into a caretaker for my husband, I learned an entirely different level of love, devotion, pain, and respect for marriage. My husband was a decorated veteran, and he lived out the words “if not me, then who?” He happily signed his name in blood and was willing to die for you and his country. He did just that, and then some. Because of his never-ending selfless services, as well as the amazing organization HunterSeven, there is a new up-and-coming system called “The TRACE Model.” This new model will save many lives. Dominic Hall will never be forgotten. Just google his name and you too will instantly fall in love with my stoic masterpiece. As for me, his wife, I will continue to bring him good and not evil all the days of my life and raise his boys as strong, God-fearing gentlemen. I have been so blessed to have been married to Dominic Hall. The person I am today is because of his love for me. My blessings come from all over the country, from his brothers-in-arms who reach out frequently to check on me, to the police department making sure I was invited to the SWAT Team Christmas party, among other activities. My circle of friends, along with his family and my family, are absolutely nothing short of amazing. So, when Dominic and I created Vaspire316, we had all of them in mind. I grew up in a small town called Freedom, which I’d like to think adds another level of sweetness to our story. I am petite in frame, as some may say measuring in at a fierce 5′ 2″, but in my mind, I am 6′ 5″ and 250 pounds! I may be small, but I am fierce! Bringing others happiness and helping them see their own beauty and potential truly brings me joy. It has been my newfound mission in life to make sure every one of God’s children sees themselves in His vision. My beautiful fellow widows/widowers, you are not alone, and you are so loved. “Vaspire” simply means “do good things” — to live out the virtues of life and have virtuous aspirations. “316” stands for love — as in John 3:16. I have also been so blessed to have the Recon & Sniper Foundation take Vaspire316 under their wing and help with our mission — to raise funds for other veteran families diagnosed with cancer or other rare diseases from toxic exposures, and to raise funds for veterans to get prescreened for cancer using the Galleri Early
Detection Cancer Screening Test Kit by CureMatch. If we had known about this screening, our story would be much different, and my husband would be alive. Our goal is to write a check for $10,000, and I want to personally hand it to a cancer fighting family. It would bring me so much joy. I also am seeking monthly donors and sponsors to graciously add to our goal of funding the $950 Galleri Test Kits. Along
with fundraising, I am working on creating an online store and, someday, a physical store for Vaspire316 apparel. When you wear Vaspire316, you are honoring those who have gone before us, honoring those fighting cancer, and honoring the widows and children of those who gave their life. You are fighting right alongside them and Lifting them up in prayer. When you wear Vaspire316, you are
keeping Dominic Hall’s name alive. He is a true American hero. When you wear Vaspire316, you are showing his children that tragedy doesn’t define you. “Not this day. This day we fight.” Incredible. Thank you for sharing. Let’s talk about resilience next — do you have a story you can share with us? Me? Tell a story? Why yes, I most definitely can. Sadly, I lost my mother to breast cancer
on August 26, 2005, when I was 19 years old. I always say a part of my father died along with her. My father passed away on January 28, 2021. Two weeks after we buried my father, my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Going from wife, to caretaker, to at-home
nurse was incredibly challenging. I sort through layers of pain and anguish every day. My sister was the first person to say to me how resilient God has made me. However, if I had to go through the suffering and sorting of pain from the loss of my mother to help navigate my boys through their pain, I would do it all over again. A mother’s love for her children knows no bounds. Along with my mother’s
death, I was faced with a new level of challenge: Huntington’s disease (HD). HD is a combination of ALS, Alzheimer’s, and Parkinson’s disease all in one. I had just lost my mother when I learned I had a 50-percent chance of inheriting the gene and developing HD myself. One of the consequences of HD was possibly not being able to have children. The struggles of who would want to marry me crept over my soul. It was my mother’s dying wish that I wouldn’t get tested and instead just live life as normal. “Normal, what is that?” I thought. “I am already suffering the loss of my family. How is this normal?” I lived at risk and in fear of HD for 13 years. When I met Dominic, I knew
he was the type of man I could share this fear with. He supported and loved every ounce of me. We married in 2014, and after his 2015-2016 deployment, we decided it was the perfect time to get tested. The testing process for me took about a year. I had to talk with a counselor, see a neurologist, and talk with a therapist to see if I was in a good place of mind to receive the news if it was positive. Three
times a year, we drove three hours to the testing site to meet with a counselor and take my blood draw. If my blood numbers
were above 40/40, I would be considered positive for HD and would face an agonizing death. Going into 2017, I received my blood numbers. They were 20/17 —I tested negative. I could have children; the fear was gone. That was the moment my faith strengthened tenfold, and I knew God was good. Our first son was born in 2018, and our second in 2020. I believe in facing your fears and living your life to the absolute fullest. Every day is truly a gift. Ask, seek, knock, find, and create joy, even if it’s for a brief moment between the stream of
tears, and even if you need to use a magnifying glass. I promise, it’s there. Again, thank you for sharing! Can youopen up about how you founded your business? I have been extremely blessed with the support system God has created for me. While my husband was sick, the community, our family, and retired local and non-local fire and police personnel went above and beyond to care for us. Because of the love they showered us with, I was so inspired to give back. My heart knew there was work to be done, and other cancer fighters, caretakers, widows, and widowers walking alongside us needed to be helped. I created the non-profit organization Vaspire316 while taking notes from
the homilies at church from Father Patrick Costello and Father Jim Jugenheimer. After helping my husband to bed with all his medications for the night and putting our 2- and 4-year-old to bed, I sat at the kitchen table and researched how to start a non-profit organization. It was therapy for me. My mind was able to escape the sadness of the day and focus a little bit on the good of helping others. Dominic deployed with the now-president of the Recon & Sniper Foundation, Chris Joliet, and they remained friends. I got a message one day from Chris sayinghe and the rest of the team from RSF wanted to help me with Vaspire316, take me under their wing, and invite me to be a part of their team. I couldn’t believe it. I was honored and humbled. RSF has been so good to me thus far. It reminds me daily that God is good.
One final note: We recently had a prescreening cancer testing event at our police department in Appleton, Wisconsin. Thirteen veterans who work for the police and fire departments were tested; all 13 tests came back negative. Praise Jesus. There are 45 veterans total between police and fire, and roughly $30,000 needed to be raised in order to test the remaining vets. With the help of some amazing friends who believe in Vaspire316’s mission, we were blessed to have two caring, loyal, and gracious donors to cover the costs. Within
a week, a donation of $10,000 and another of $20,000 was made! All the veterans in our department will be pre-screened for cancer. God is good. Take charge of your life and do what you can with what you have. Ask. Seek. Knock. Be better. You can cry about it, or you can be about it. With Great Love and Blessings,
Jacole Hall and Family
He had a few combat deployments during his time of service, including responding to the 2011 nuclear power plant disaster in Fukushima, Japan. An earthquake knocked out power to the plant, and a tsunami wiped out backup emergency generators.Three of these generators exploded, releasing an enormous amount of radioactivity into the environment. It is said to be the second-worst nuclear accident in history.
In May 2021, my 31-year-old husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After a few weeks of shock and determination to fight, we were connected with Chelsey Simoni of the HunterSeven Foundation. We were told Dominic’s tumor was onthe head of his pancreas and only at stage 1B. We felt so blessed to have caught it early! It was wrapped around some blood vessels, so the plan was to shrink it — first
with chemotherapy, and then later with a different mix of chemotherapy and radiationmtreatment. Dominic was told to have a genetic test done to see if there was a more reasonable answer as to why this 31-yearold, young, fit, and healthy veteran had cancer. His test came back positive for Lynch syndrome, which is an inherited genetic mutation causing individuals to be prone to cancer at an early age — “early” being 50, and “cancer” being colon cancer. It didn’t make any sense to me. We were told the chemotherapy was not working.
After all that vomit, diarrhea, weight loss, and suffering, it didn’t work. After the discovery of Lynch, the team of doctors switched his treatment to immunotherapy, letting his body fight the cancer cells naturally. Dominic’s family was then told to be tested so we could get to the bottom of where it stemmed from. The bizarre part: Neither of his parents tested positive. No one else in his family has it; now, only our
children have a 50/50 chance of inheriting the gene. Immunotherapy seemed too good to be true, and you know how that saying goes.
Right before starting chemo/radiation, we were told another heavy load of news: There were some new spots on his liver. On November 1, 2021, Dominic was taken off the all-too-good-to-be-true immunotherapy, which we were once again told did not work. Perhaps the first round of chemo may have worked, but by this point in the game, it was too late to go back. Moving forward, it was time for Dominic to face the demons of a new kind of chemo-plus-radiation therapy. For five-and-a-half weeks, we would travel two hours from home to his appointments Monday through Friday. Chemo/radiation was a slow-burning beast, and by the fourth week, Dominic was down 14 pounds. He was admitted to the hospital for a week, where he would be put on a nutrition plan called total parenteral nutrition (TPN). In short, this was a feeding tube placed in his vein to build his body back up so he could stay in the fight. Due to Covid rules, I could not stay overnight with my husband at the hospital, so I drove back and forth daily. On the night of December 1, 2021, he called me and said he was having one of the worst days of his life. For my incredibly strong military husband, those words had serious weight. During our treatments, we experienced days where Dominic would go in for an appointment and could not receive treatmentdue to low blood counts, low white
cell count, and weight loss. Once in a while, he wasn’t on the schedule when he should have been; someone forgot to add him. At times, it felt like we were at the mercy of the roll of a dice whether we were getting treatment that day or not— being “forgotten about” was always a hard pill to swallow. And speaking of pills, by this time we had worked out a routine where we could skip 3 a.m. pills (previously, Dominic needed to take pills every three hours). This allowed me to go to bed at 11 p.m. and wake up at 6 a.m. for the next dose of pills. By this time, he was taking roughly 32 pills a day. December 27, 2021 was our seven-year wedding anniversary. We had an appointment at 6 a.m. on December 28 to discuss the mysterious spots on his liver. We were told it could be either an infection or cancer. So, we decided to make the most of our anniversary and stay overnight in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, at a hotel across from the hospital. We had pizza delivered and watched the kid’s world bake-off on TV. It was a perfect night.
The next morning at our appointment, we learned yet another tragic reality: If the spots were indeed cancer, Dominic would no longer be eligiblefor surgery. He would die. With that news, they sent us home. We were engulfed with back-and-forth news of the tumor growing, shrinking, and growing again. Some spots on his liver got bigger, and some shrunk. The back-and-forth tug of war on our hearts was paralyzing at times. But we remained faithful to God’s plan. “Jesus, I trust in you,” we would often say. Dominic brought others together for a nightly 7 p.m. Rosary and continued to believe that “something beautiful is going to come from all of this suffering, I just know it.” He often said this. January 12, 2022 was surgery day. We had learned the tumor shrunk enough for surgery — praise Jesus! The spots on his liver were looking more and more like an infection. We were told that some of the most renowned doctors were leaning toward them being an infection. We drove the two hours that morning to the hospital, not knowing whether Dominic’s fate was to live or die. He was briefly put underso the doctor could take a speed biopsy of the liver to determine if it was cancer or an infection. Once again, due to Covidrules, I could not be with him. He would wake up alone. It seemed like hours upon hours in the waiting room. I read Job from the Bible over and over again, and I waited for the phone on the wall to ring, with the doctor on the other end whispering my husband’s fate. The concierges behind the desk all wore red jackets, laughing with one another as they talked about cookies and emails. There were small meeting rooms behind me. I wondered how many wives, mothers, and fathers have cried in those rooms, and I reminded myself to be like Job. A couple sat a few chairs in front of me, waiting for the results of their son. My mother- and father-in-law were in the chapel across the hallway — they too were not allowed in due to Covid rules — waiting to learn their son’s fate. I heard a faint phone ring, and someone in a red jacketcame over to me. I clenched my Bible. “The doctor is going to call you soon,” the concierge said. “You may go stand over by the wall and wait for the phone to ring.” I was shaking. The black phone looked as if it was out of my reach, hanging on the wall at the entrance of the waiting room. I faced it, with the high-trafficked hospital hallway on my right, and others sitting in the waiting room on my left. I happened to see a familiar face in the hallway: a friend with his 85-year-old grandfather who also had pancreatic cancer. As I started to say hi, the phone rang — a loud, deafening ring. It was so loud it made me jump. I set down my notebook and Bible as it rang again, so loud that I jumped again. I did the sign of the cross and somehow was able to reach the phone to answer the call. “It’s cancer. I’m so sorry,” the person on the other end said. I was in instant shock. My body started shaking, and I could feel my fight-or-flight instinct start to take over. I hung up the phone, looked at my friend, and shook my head “no.” He instantly engulfed me in a hug. I let out three sorrowful sighs and pulled myself together. The doctor was coming down to talk with me, and I was ushered to one of those little rooms in the back to wait. The doctor came in and held my hand. “If we do surgery, the cancer will spread like wildfire,”he said. I thought, “can’t we just try?” I thought I was begging, pleading, screaming— maybe I was just thinking it. The thought of him waking up alone shook my soul. My heart broke. I needed to be with my other half. Those vows are sacred, we are one, and I need to be with him when he wakes up, I thought. He cannot be alone with a random nurse delivering his fate, or to look down and realize surgery did not happen. Death is the future. I was told to wait. I was told I couldn’t be with my husband. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I waited. I was calmly in shock. I decided to try to find him. I was determined to find him — I could not lethim wake up alone. The concierges drew me a map on a piece of paper. A map, whatever that meant. I held it in my hand in the exact same position as they handed it to me the entire time as I searched for where to go, not once glancing at it. I was frozen. I’m still surprised I found my way back up to him. I waited in line. I didn’t know who to ask for. I didn’t know which room he was in. Finally, it was my turn to be helped. “I’m sorry sweetie, but you cannot see him right now,” is what I
was told over and over. I finally started to weep. “We didn’t get good news,” I softly squeaked out. “I don’t know where to go or what to do.” My breaths got heavy, and the mask wasn’t helping. I had to hold the mask away from my mouth so I could breathe as it kept going down my throat as I tried to take deep breaths, I looked out the window and saw the organization Kathy’s House. “Am I supposed to walk
across the street and go there and wait?” That thought made me feel sick. Finally, I was able to see him. They led me back to him. It was such a maze. All I could think about was where he was; never in my life had I needed to see him as much as I did at that moment. He was waking up, and I rushed to hold his hand. “Hi mama,” he said with a smile. “Hi daddy,” I said with the deepest loving sigh and smiled. I knew that he knew, and he knew that I knew. He smiled and said, “It’s all going to be ok mama.”He closed his eyes to sleep off the medications, and I started making phone calls. I called his mother; it was the most dreaded phone call of my life. With each phone call that I made, the sound on the other end was friends and loved ones fighting back tears. It was gut wrenching. But if it helped my husband from having to make the calls, I would have gladly twisted the knife into my gut over and over again for him. I finally took a break from the calls. I
held his hand, and I just looked at him, the love of my life. The next nine months were equally grueling. We got into a good vomit routine
and rejoiced at the moments when he could fight it back. We celebrated his 33rd birthday on August 23, 2022. One of his goals was to make it to his 33rd birthday because that was how old Jesus was when he died. The next day, he wasable to see his oldest son, Victor, just 4 years old, off to his first day of school, something we used to dream about doing together.
On September 4, 2022, Dominic answered God’s call. He whispered his last words to me, his wife: “I love you too.” My heart filled with joy and sorrow as he was unresponsive for a few hours. In my heart, I knew these would be his last words. Once again, he gave his wife everything she needed, no matter his state. He arrived on a Sunday as I made the agonizing decision to transition from athome
hospice to hospital care. We were there for a week. He fought hard and was called home also on a Sunday — the Lord’s Day. It was very suiting for such a strongly Catholic man. He was surrounded by his family, once again giving me the opportunity to have what I needed. His breathing pattern changed, and I knew it was the end. With “Misty Mountains” by Peter Hollens and Tim Frost playing on repeat in the background, I made sure to fill his one last request: that I was holding his hand when he passed. At 12:23 p.m., Dominic peacefully took his last breath. Amid the tears from his passing, I was brokenhearted. I had lived all my vows tothe fullest: “For better or for worse, for rich or for poor, in sickness or in health, I will love you.” I silently moved my weddingring from my left hand to my righthand. Our bond was broken. I now faced the world as a widow. Heartbroken, but refusing to be broken. During all this time of sadness, sorrow, pain, and suffering, my husband remained stoic, positive, and encouraging. The vibrant light he shone upon God was inspiring, always making sure everyone around him was happy and at peace. The support and love we were showered with from the community were overwhelming. We could never pay anyone back, so we decided to pay it forward. Thus, Vaspire316 was born, and Dominic’s legacy will live on. Wow. So, before we get to the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers? Absolutely. During the unexpected journey of morphing into a caretaker for my husband, I learned an entirely different level of love, devotion, pain, and respect for marriage. My husband was a decorated veteran, and he lived out the words “if not me, then who?” He happily signed his name in blood and was willing to die for you and his country. He did just that, and then some. Because of his never-ending selfless services, as well as the amazing organization HunterSeven, there is a new up-and-coming system called “The TRACE Model.” This new model will save many lives. Dominic Hall will never be forgotten. Just google his name and you too will instantly fall in love with my stoic masterpiece. As for me, his wife, I will continue to bring him good and not evil all the days of my life and raise his boys as strong, God-fearing gentlemen. I have been so blessed to have been married to Dominic Hall. The person I am today is because of his love for me. My blessings come from all over the country, from his brothers-in-arms who reach out frequently to check on me, to the police department making sure I was invited to the SWAT Team Christmas party, among other activities. My circle of friends, along with his family and my family, are absolutely nothing short of amazing. So, when Dominic and I created Vaspire316, we had all of them in mind. I grew up in a small town called Freedom, which I’d like to think adds another level of sweetness to our story. I am petite in frame, as some may say measuring in at a fierce 5′ 2″, but in my mind, I am 6′ 5″ and 250 pounds! I may be small, but I am fierce! Bringing others happiness and helping them see their own beauty and potential truly brings me joy. It has been my newfound mission in life to make sure every one of God’s children sees themselves in His vision. My beautiful fellow widows/widowers, you are not alone, and you are so loved. “Vaspire” simply means “do good things” — to live out the virtues of life and have virtuous aspirations. “316” stands for love — as in John 3:16. I have also been so blessed to have the Recon & Sniper Foundation take Vaspire316 under their wing and help with our mission — to raise funds for other veteran families diagnosed with cancer or other rare diseases from toxic exposures, and to raise funds for veterans to get prescreened for cancer using the Galleri Early
Detection Cancer Screening Test Kit by CureMatch. If we had known about this screening, our story would be much different, and my husband would be alive. Our goal is to write a check for $10,000, and I want to personally hand it to a cancer fighting family. It would bring me so much joy. I also am seeking monthly donors and sponsors to graciously add to our goal of funding the $950 Galleri Test Kits. Along
with fundraising, I am working on creating an online store and, someday, a physical store for Vaspire316 apparel. When you wear Vaspire316, you are honoring those who have gone before us, honoring those fighting cancer, and honoring the widows and children of those who gave their life. You are fighting right alongside them and Lifting them up in prayer. When you wear Vaspire316, you are
keeping Dominic Hall’s name alive. He is a true American hero. When you wear Vaspire316, you are showing his children that tragedy doesn’t define you. “Not this day. This day we fight.” Incredible. Thank you for sharing. Let’s talk about resilience next — do you have a story you can share with us? Me? Tell a story? Why yes, I most definitely can. Sadly, I lost my mother to breast cancer
on August 26, 2005, when I was 19 years old. I always say a part of my father died along with her. My father passed away on January 28, 2021. Two weeks after we buried my father, my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Going from wife, to caretaker, to at-home
nurse was incredibly challenging. I sort through layers of pain and anguish every day. My sister was the first person to say to me how resilient God has made me. However, if I had to go through the suffering and sorting of pain from the loss of my mother to help navigate my boys through their pain, I would do it all over again. A mother’s love for her children knows no bounds. Along with my mother’s
death, I was faced with a new level of challenge: Huntington’s disease (HD). HD is a combination of ALS, Alzheimer’s, and Parkinson’s disease all in one. I had just lost my mother when I learned I had a 50-percent chance of inheriting the gene and developing HD myself. One of the consequences of HD was possibly not being able to have children. The struggles of who would want to marry me crept over my soul. It was my mother’s dying wish that I wouldn’t get tested and instead just live life as normal. “Normal, what is that?” I thought. “I am already suffering the loss of my family. How is this normal?” I lived at risk and in fear of HD for 13 years. When I met Dominic, I knew
he was the type of man I could share this fear with. He supported and loved every ounce of me. We married in 2014, and after his 2015-2016 deployment, we decided it was the perfect time to get tested. The testing process for me took about a year. I had to talk with a counselor, see a neurologist, and talk with a therapist to see if I was in a good place of mind to receive the news if it was positive. Three
times a year, we drove three hours to the testing site to meet with a counselor and take my blood draw. If my blood numbers
were above 40/40, I would be considered positive for HD and would face an agonizing death. Going into 2017, I received my blood numbers. They were 20/17 —I tested negative. I could have children; the fear was gone. That was the moment my faith strengthened tenfold, and I knew God was good. Our first son was born in 2018, and our second in 2020. I believe in facing your fears and living your life to the absolute fullest. Every day is truly a gift. Ask, seek, knock, find, and create joy, even if it’s for a brief moment between the stream of
tears, and even if you need to use a magnifying glass. I promise, it’s there. Again, thank you for sharing! Can youopen up about how you founded your business? I have been extremely blessed with the support system God has created for me. While my husband was sick, the community, our family, and retired local and non-local fire and police personnel went above and beyond to care for us. Because of the love they showered us with, I was so inspired to give back. My heart knew there was work to be done, and other cancer fighters, caretakers, widows, and widowers walking alongside us needed to be helped. I created the non-profit organization Vaspire316 while taking notes from
the homilies at church from Father Patrick Costello and Father Jim Jugenheimer. After helping my husband to bed with all his medications for the night and putting our 2- and 4-year-old to bed, I sat at the kitchen table and researched how to start a non-profit organization. It was therapy for me. My mind was able to escape the sadness of the day and focus a little bit on the good of helping others. Dominic deployed with the now-president of the Recon & Sniper Foundation, Chris Joliet, and they remained friends. I got a message one day from Chris sayinghe and the rest of the team from RSF wanted to help me with Vaspire316, take me under their wing, and invite me to be a part of their team. I couldn’t believe it. I was honored and humbled. RSF has been so good to me thus far. It reminds me daily that God is good.
One final note: We recently had a prescreening cancer testing event at our police department in Appleton, Wisconsin. Thirteen veterans who work for the police and fire departments were tested; all 13 tests came back negative. Praise Jesus. There are 45 veterans total between police and fire, and roughly $30,000 needed to be raised in order to test the remaining vets. With the help of some amazing friends who believe in Vaspire316’s mission, we were blessed to have two caring, loyal, and gracious donors to cover the costs. Within
a week, a donation of $10,000 and another of $20,000 was made! All the veterans in our department will be pre-screened for cancer. God is good. Take charge of your life and do what you can with what you have. Ask. Seek. Knock. Be better. You can cry about it, or you can be about it. With Great Love and Blessings,
Jacole Hall and Family