Some Dreams Are Worth Finishing

Some people have skydiving on their bucket list. I’ve had it on mine for as long as I can remember.

I’m not exactly an adrenaline junkie, but growing up, when it came to roller coasters, there were really only two options: you rode in the very front or the very back. The middle never seemed nearly as interesting. I suppose that’s always been part of my personality; if you’re going to do something, you might as well experience all of it.

My brother was much the same way. Our mom knew it, too.

Somewhere along the way, skydiving became one of her dreams as well. I don’t know exactly when it first landed on her bucket list, but I do remember one thing that fueled it. She had watched President George H.W. Bush celebrate milestone birthdays by skydiving, including his jump at age 90, and admired the idea that age didn’t have to define adventure.

From then on, she’d occasionally tell my brother and me that someday she wanted the three of us to go together. It wasn’t something we talked about constantly, but it came up often enough that it became one of those family dreams you simply assumed would happen eventually.

Life has a way of reminding us that “eventually” isn’t guaranteed. My mom passed away last October.

Christmas was different for everyone in our family, but one gift stood out. My brother and I each received skydiving gift certificates, having pestered our spouses enough about the dream, I am sure. It was a simple idea with a profound meaning: if Mom couldn’t make the jump with us, we could still fulfill the dream she always talked about.

Schedules didn’t line up until Father’s Day this year. It seemed fitting.

From Left to Right: My brother Cody Kitchen, my father Bryan Kitchen, and I

It was an exhausting day. Originally scheduled for 3 pm, weather delay after weather delay ultimately meant we didn’t even get to board the plane until after 6:30 pm. It turns out that was a blessing. It was as if God was saving his best artwork just for us to witness. Several people who were scheduled to jump on the same plane grew exhausted of waiting and left, which meant when we finally boarded the plane, it was a pretty light load.

As the plane climbed higher over North Texas, I found myself looking out the window more than thinking about the jump itself.

People have asked if I was nervous. Honestly? Not really. I was excited. I’d waited years to do this. The anticipation far outweighed any fear.

At about 14,000 feet, the door opened. One moment, you’re sitting inside a relatively empty airplane. Next, you’re stepping into the open sky. It’s impossible to adequately describe that feeling.

Movies make it look like a terrifying plunge. It wasn’t.

The freefall was surprisingly smooth, almost peaceful. They say you reach up to 120 mph. Maybe that’s true, I was more focused on the serenity of it all. There wasn’t time to overthink anything.

There was simply the wind, the horizon, and the realization that you were seeing the great state of Texas from a perspective very few people ever experience. Mom would have loved it.

Skydiving somewhere over Whitewright, Texas, on June 21st, 2026

Then we reached about 6,000 feet, and the parachute opened. Everything became quiet.

The timing couldn’t have been better. As we floated toward the ground, the sun began to sink below the horizon. The Texas countryside stretched for miles in every direction, washed in the warm colors that exist for only a few fleeting moments before sunset.

It was, without question, one of the most beautiful views I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something. I’ve lived in West Texas, where sunsets paint the sky with shades of pink, orange, and yellow, unlike anywhere else. Even then, watching the sun set from thousands of feet above the Texas countryside was on an entirely different level.

No photograph or video can truly capture it.

You simply have to be there.

Skydiving somewhere over Whitewright, Texas, on June 21st, 2026

As incredible as the jump itself was, what I’ll remember most isn’t the adrenaline. It’s the reason we were there.

For years, this had been something Mom wanted to experience with us. Life didn’t unfold the way any of us expected, but dreams don’t always have to end because the person who dreamed them is gone.

Sometimes we get the privilege of carrying them forward.

That’s what Father’s Day became for my brother and me. Not a day of sadness. Not even really a day of remembrance.

A day of fulfillment. A promise kept. A dream completed.

I like to think she would’ve loved every second of it.

If you’d like to experience the jump with us, I uploaded the full video below.

Every picture tells part of the story. The real story started years ago, when our mom would tell my brother and me that she wanted to go skydiving with us someday.

This Father’s Day, we finally did.

Not because we stopped missing her, but because some dreams deserve to be honored, even when the people who inspired them are gone.

For a few minutes, somewhere between the plane and the ground, it felt like we were carrying a piece of her with us.

❤️ Mom, this one was for you.