Ryan’s Story*
*Names changed to protect privacy.
Mr. Ryan’s life has been a long road marked by service, hardship, and loss—but also resilience, hope, and the healing power of community.
Born in New Jersey, Mr. Ryan knew from an early age that life up north wasn’t meant for him. “I got here as quick as I could. I wouldn’t have survived up there,” he said. He describes himself as “more of a country boy” and credits his love of the outdoors with giving him a sense of grounding.
Family life was far from easy. Mr. Ryan was the third of four children, growing up under a father he says was harsh and demanding. “Out of four kids, I was singled out to do the most, to work the hardest,” he recalled. His relationships with siblings were strained and often toxic. “Everyone has used me, tried to call and steal from me, caused me other issues,” he said.
Growing up, Mr. Ryan didn’t always feel valued. “I’ve been told I’m worthless, I don’t know anything,” he said. “I wanted to learn everything I could, not to shove it in anyone’s face, but to prove I wasn’t stupid.”
After high school in 1980, Mr. Ryan faced limited options. “I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. The best thing I could do was serve my country,” he said. He had a personal connection to the military: he was named after an uncle who died coming home from the service when Mr. Ryan was four. “I didn’t necessarily admire my dad, but I admired men like my uncle. I wanted to follow in their footsteps,” he said.
Mr. Ryan trained at Great Lakes, Illinois, before being stationed in Japan. He excelled in his work, completing a three-month training course in just two weeks and scoring near the top of the Navy’s nuclear power entrance exam. “The Navy impressed me enough. It gave me discipline, purpose, and pride,” he said.
In adulthood, Mr. Ryan’s generosity often left him vulnerable. He worked tirelessly for his brother’s family without pay, surviving on minimal food and losing 60 pounds in the process. He rebuilt motorcycles, fixed tractors, and cleared 43 acres of land, all without compensation. When his efforts were no longer needed, he was discarded. “They crushed four classic motorcycles worth tens of thousands of dollars. I was thrown away again,” he recalled.
With no safety net left, Mr. Ryan ended up living in his SUV. One night, alone and ill, he collapsed. “The world started spinning on me. I hit the floor and grabbed a trash bag. I was on the floor for two days, throwing up and screaming for help. Nobody came,” he said. The illness left him dizzy and disoriented, with lingering effects that still affect him daily. “I have trouble walking sometimes. Some days are worse than others. I stumble. Concentrating is ten times harder than it was,” he explained.
Finding Catholic Charities
Mr. Ryan’s life began to change when friends connected him to the Montague County Veterans Service Office. There, he was referred to Catholic Charities in Wichita Falls and met Janis, his Veterans Case Manager.
“From the very first day, Janis took me seriously,” he said. “She got me out of my SUV and into a hotel room so I could finally rest. At my age, with busted-up joints and dizziness, it was hard getting in and out of that SUV. She kept in touch with me, lined me up with the American Legion, and got me talking to the right people.”
Through the Supportive Services for Veteran Families (SSVF) program, Mr. Ryan was approved for an apartment of his own. Community partners—including Base Camp Lindsay, the American Legion, and the North Texas Relief Fund—rallied around him to provide furniture, food, and essentials.
Janis also helped Mr. Ryan enroll in VA healthcare and refile a long-denied disability claim. Within two and a half weeks, he was approved. “I’d been trying since 1984. Janis made it happen in weeks. Honestly, without her, I don’t think I’d even be alive today. She’s my guardian angel. She went above and beyond her job because she has such a beautiful heart,” he said.
Trust had long been a struggle for Mr. Ryan. “I’ve learned I can’t trust people because even family throws me away. Trust is extremely difficult for me,” he said. Yet through Janis and the Catholic Charities team, he has begun to open his heart again. “If there’s one person I trust more than anyone, it’s her. Everything she’s done has been for my benefit,” he said.
Janis also introduced Mr. Ryan to a new companion, a puppy named Davina—“Davi” for short. From the moment she arrived, she bonded deeply with him.
“From the minute she stepped out of the car, she ran straight to me and never left my side,” he said. “I’ve never connected to any animal like that. She wakes me from nightmares, distracts me when I get overwhelmed with VA paperwork, and reminds me I’m not alone. Loneliness was killing me. Now, I have someone with me all the time,” he said.
For Mr. Ryan, Catholic Charities has become more than a safety net—it’s a lifeline. “You have people working here who care so much they put aside any kind of preconceived notions and make you feel like you matter. I didn’t think I mattered at all. My own family threw me away. But here, I feel like family,” he said.
Looking forward, Mr. Ryan has something he hasn’t felt in decades: hope. “Now, I want to live. I want to go on. And I want to help other people the way I’ve been helped,” he said.
