A memorial campaign for Paul Allabaugh
But There's Always A Bridge.
Paul Allabaugh spent years handcrafting wooden rainbow bridges for people who lost their pets. He died by suicide before the world could find him. Now his bridges are finding new homes, and every one sold funds suicide prevention right here in Volusia County.
A text message to Amber. The morning after.
Age 72 · Passed March 30, 2026
A native of Plymouth, PA. A lifelong welder. A craftsman who built bridges between grief and memory.
It started with three Chihuahuas.
Mickey, Jeffy, and Chico. Paul and Pat's dogs. When they passed, Paul saw a rainbow bridge on Facebook. The kind people put in their yard where a pet is buried, so the family can stand at the edge and remember. He wanted to buy one. Couldn't find any that looked solid. So he built one himself.
Paul was a welder. He spent his career at Lyn-Weld in Pennsylvania before moving to New Smyrna Beach. Building things was what he did. He made one. Then another. Then he couldn't stop. About fifty of them, in different sizes, filling his garage and every room he had.
He showed one to his vet, Dr. Ginger, because that's where all the dogs went. She loved it. Asked him to make a bigger one for the clinic. That bridge still stands in her parking lot today. Two years through Florida storms. Still there.
What he couldn't find was the selling.
Paul had social anxiety. Pat tried to help. She suggested Facebook Marketplace, the flea market, social media. Paul couldn't do any of it. He'd sit in a room full of bridges that nobody knew existed.
Jason called Paul on March 8, 2026. They talked for an hour. Paul was going to send pricing. Jason was building Volusia Business Network, a directory for local businesses, and offered Paul a free page. No revenue split. No fees. A gift to a friend, born from the friendship between Pat and Amber.
Paul's last words to Jason were: “Sounds good. Okay, bye-bye.”
He was supposed to send the pricing. He never did.
The bridges Paul built
He made about fifty before he died. Every sale goes 100% to Pat.
Every bridge. Handcrafted. One of a kind.
Paul's porch in New Smyrna Beach, Florida
I'm not building this from above the valley. I'm building it from inside it.
My grandfather died by suicide in the 1950s when my mother was eleven. She carried it her whole life. When I was seventeen I promised her I would never break her heart the way her father did.
I've kept it. Through CPTSD. Through ADHD. Through a year where our home was stripped from us. Through a friendship of two decades that ended in court instead of forgiveness. Through $2.26 in the bank. Through filming Paul on his porch while our own life was being dismantled in plain sight.
The Lord walked me out every time. He's walking me out now.
There's only two kingdoms, and they both want you.
That's what I told Amber the morning we found out Paul was gone. What the enemy meant for evil, the Lord turns into something.
Paul was the second time I realized that helping someone sell their work might be saving their life. Chase was the first. I'm not going to wait for a third without trying everything I have.
They put their names on this before there was a single donation in the account.
Glencoe Veterinary Hospital · Founding Sponsor
“He couldn't cross his own bridge.”
Paul's biggest bridge is in her parking lot. She and her sister are bringing this to every vet who'll have it.
Combat Veteran · Golf Breath Mastery
“Golf saved my life.”
Navy, 2000-2003. Survived an IED in Afghanistan. The first time Jason realized helping someone sell their work might be saving their life.
Realty Executives · Casper, WY
“Inaugural Sponsor”
Friend of the family for longer than this campaign has existed. Put his name on this before there was a single donation in the account.
Authority Publisher · The Cleanup Firm
“WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT OUR MENTAL HEALTH.”
The one who got the 8:52 AM text. The semicolon that means her story isn't over.
Paul built bridges for pets crossing the rainbow bridge. We're building bridges for the people left behind. Veterans like Chase, who survived an IED in Afghanistan and teaches combat breathing because golf is the discipline that pulled him out. Veterinarians like Dr. Ginger, whose profession surpassed dentists for suicide rate, and whose father (also a vet) died at the same age she is now.
Craftsmen like Paul. Pastors like Chad at Tomoka Christian Church, whose men's group is building Pat's ramp this month. The twenty-two small businesses in Volusia County who messaged Amber after she posted that her friend's husband had died. Counselors at the Counseling Center of New Smyrna Beach who walk with people considering suicide every single week. Service-dog teams at K-9line Inc, training dogs for veterans at no cost.
Anyone in the valley with a piece of the answer. Volusia Business Network is the local home. Rainbow Bridge of Hope is the doorway anyone in the valley can walk through.
Meet Dr. Ginger · Founding veterinary spokesperson
Dr. Ginger Bryant Hutchinson, DVM and her sister Robyn at Glencoe Veterinary Hospital. She knew Paul. She commissioned his largest bridge, the one still standing in her parking lot. Veterinarians die by suicide more than any profession in America. She and her sister are bringing this mission to every vet who will have it.
Sent through Amber Laird's Venmo. Amber is the messenger, not the destination. 100% reaches Pat Allabaugh. Personal gift via Venmo, not tax-deductible.
Pat still has the bridges Paul built. Every sale goes 100% to Pat. No split. No fees. His work. Her income. Real wood from a real craftsman who didn't get to see how much the world would have valued his hands.
Are you a craftsman, an artist, a veterinarian, a pastor, a veteran, a coalition partner, a donor with a story? Tell us who you are and what piece of this you carry.
I built this through the hardest year of my life. The copy isn't perfect. The site has rough edges. You're going to find things that don't work yet. The Lord put this in my hands and told me to ship it before it was polished, because somebody reading it tonight can't wait for polished.
If you want to help me carry this, write me. Share it. Donate $20 for Pat's ramp wood. Buy a bridge. Become a coalition partner. Bring your craft, your audience, your prayer, your skill, your name.
The goal is one million people pulled from the enemy before this is finished. I cannot do that alone. I'm not supposed to.
— Jason
For the makers
Paul made every bridge by hand. When the last of his finds a home, the inventory is gone — but the grieving pet owners don't stop arriving. The families don't stop needing something to hold.
We're looking for the next maker. A woodworker. A painter. A welder. A potter. A photographer. An illustrator. A sculptor. An artist of any medium who can build something a family keeps on their mantle for twenty years. You don't have to be Paul. Nobody can be. You can be the next chapter — under your own name, your own style, your own hands.
Photographers, illustrators, metalworkers, glass artists, weavers — the medium doesn't matter. The grief doesn't pick a form. Whatever you make, if it can carry someone's love for the animal they lost, this door is yours.