07/06/2026
Thank you to all who took part in the boat parade this weekend. Although it one of many things that happen around the 4th of July, it is a tradition we want to see thrive.
This year we extended the parade to visit Tanner who is bravely fighting pancreatic cancer. To ensure it doesn't get lost in the comments of old post from last week, we received a couple of messages from the Thompson family that I thought deserved to be reposted.
Sandy Thompson -
It was very emotional to see all the boats and signs for Tanner in the parade. We are very thankful for everyone’s support. Tanner was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer a year and a half ago at 44 years of age. He has fought a very brave battle more concerned about his wife and family than himself. He never gave up, he ran out of options. The drugs quit working and he went into hospice 2 weeks ago. He is failing fast, every day is worse. Several months ago, Tanner said that he thought heaven was like the 4th of July in Lake Nebagamon with all his family. He made it here, but was not able to get out of bed to watch the parade. We took videos and pictures to show him. We blew up each picture so we could see the people and signs. We are forever grateful for this support. You gave our family a very special 4th of July. Thank you all for a very beautiful memory. Much love from the Thompson’s.
Holly Ann -
Sometimes the parade isn’t for the holiday.
Sometimes it’s for the person who can’t make it to the shore.
Yesterday, Tanner never made it out of bed.
The pain was simply too much. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t watch the Fourth of July boat parade on the lake that has been part of our family’s story for generations.
So the lake came to him.
Boat after boat appeared, each one carrying handmade signs with his name. American flags danced in the wind. Children waved from the bows of pontoons. Friends, neighbors, and people we’d never met before became part of something much bigger than a parade.
Some families even trailered their boats from neighboring lakes just to be here—to dock in Lake Nebagamon and join the parade for Tanner.
They didn’t have to.
But they did.
And somehow that simple choice said everything.
Standing on that dock, we broke.
I wrapped my arms around my mom, my dad, and my sister in an embrace I don’t think we’ve ever shared so completely before. Around us, aunts, uncles, cousins, and lifelong friends held one another as tears gave way to gratitude.
Even the little ones knew something extraordinary was happening.
My nephews and nieces didn’t fully understand why everyone was crying, but they felt it. They quietly came over to hug us anyway. Little Cash wrapped his tiny arms around us with the kind of love that reminds you compassion is something we’re born knowing.
We filmed every boat.
Then we carried the parade back inside.
We gathered around Tanner’s bed and watched it together. He smiled. He cried. We cried watching him watch it.
Before bed, I squeezed his hand one more time and told him how much I loved him.
And even then, my brother was still thinking about everyone else.
He kept asking if everyone was having a good time. He wanted to make sure every person had a chance to come into the bedroom where hospice has become part of our daily life, to sit beside him and give him a hug.
That’s Tanner.
Even now, he is making sure everyone else feels cared for.
Cancer has changed so much.
But yesterday it couldn’t touch what mattered most.
An entire community reminded my brother that he belongs.
That he is loved.
That a life is measured not only by the years we’ve lived, but by the people who would move heaven and earth—or trailer a boat across counties—just to remind us we are not alone.
Lake Nebagamon, thank you.
You didn’t just organize a parade.
You became one long procession of love.
You carried our family.
And for one unforgettable afternoon, you carried my brother too. ❤️🇺🇸
Send a message to learn more
