Thomas Jack Haley
July 30, 1948 ~ November 28, 2025
A cherished father, grandfather, and friend, Thomas Jack Haley, age 77, of Palestine, Texas, passed away on Friday, the 28th day of November 2025, at Palestine Regional Medical Center. "Bubba Jack" as he was affectionately known was born in Jefferson, Alabama on the 30th day of July 1948 to parents Leonard B. Haley and Whila Dene McKinney Haley.
A proud Marine and Vietnam Veteran, Mr. Haley served his country with honor and dedication, embodying the values of loyalty and bravery throughout his life. After his distinguished military service, Mr. Haley embarked on a career as a respiratory therapist, a role in which he demonstrated his commitment to caring for others.
Mr. Haley's passion for life extended beyond his professional endeavors. He was an avid enthusiast of Corvettes and Harley Davidson motorcycles, embracing the sense of freedom and adventure that came with riding. Music was another of Mr. Haley's great loves.
Mr. Haley's legacy is carried on by his devoted daughter Kayla Haley and husband Blake Edwards, and adored grandchild Erin Jax Haley, who will forever cherish the memories of his love. Mr. Haley is preceded in death by his father Leonard Haley, mother Whila Dene Haley, stepfather Dillard Strait, and his sister Jennifer Ann Haley.
Visitation will be held from 11:30a.m. until 12:30p.m. on Tuesday, the 2nd day of December 2025 at Rhone Funeral Home.
Following the visitation, graveside services with Military Honors to celebrate Mr. Haley's life are to be conducted at 1:00p.m. at Garden of Memories Cemetery in Elkhart, Texas.
Graveside services for Thomas Jack Haley are in care of Rhone Funeral Home, 3900 S. State Highway 19, Palestine, Texas. Please visit his online memorial tribute at www.rhonefuneralhome.com, where words of comfort and condolence may be shared electronically with his family.
View current weather.
Memories Timeline
Guestbook
Sign the Guestbook, Light a Candle
So very sorry for your loss my Sweet Angel Kayla
My dad gave me some of the most precious memories a daughter can hold onto. When I was young and would come visit him, he would take me on his motorcycle through the Dogwood Trails in Palestine when the blossoms were blooming. Those rides were our little world—just the two of us, the hum of the engine, and the trees lined with white flowers. I didn’t realize then how deeply those moments would shape me, or how often I’d look back on them with gratitude. They were simple, but they were full of love.
As I got older, his way of loving me didn’t change—it just grew with me. He gave me my very first Corvette, a gift that meant the world to both of us. And recently, we worked together to make it faster and better. He was so excited—like a kid again—researching the best parts, comparing reviews, and doing what he always did best: knowing exactly what worked and why. And if you knew my dad, you knew one thing for sure—he was stubborn, hard-headed in the funniest way, always convinced he knew best. But he was also the smartest man I’ve ever known, and most of the time he really was right.
One of the unexpected blessings of these last years was how close he became with Blake. Watching them talk back and forth about car parts, debating in that friendly, stubborn way about what was best, was something I’ll always hold close. It meant so much to him to have that bond—with the man I love, with the father of his grandson, with someone who understood him in ways only another car person can.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, meant more to him than Erin. He loved that boy with all his heart. He loved that Erin carried our last name, and he loved being able to say, “That’s my grandson.” Erin was his only grandchild—and he was proud of that in a way that showed in his face and in his voice. One of the greatest gifts God gave us was that he got to see Erin just last Wednesday. He got to watch him play, to see how much he had grown, to see those little sparks of personality coming through. That visit brought him joy, and I will forever be grateful for it.
My dad wasn’t a man who needed the spotlight or wanted a lot of fuss. He showed love in his own ways—through rides in the spring, through the projects we worked on together, through talking cars and technology for hours, and through investing his heart into the people he cared for. His love wasn’t loud, but it was steady. It was loyal. It was real.
Life wasn’t always easy for him, but he held onto faith even when the path was rough. And today, that same faith is what holds us up. We can rest in the promise that he is whole and healed now, wrapped in the peace of the Lord, free from every pain and limitation he carried in this life.
We thank God for the time we had with him—for every memory, every lesson, every moment of joy. And we hold onto the hope that one day we will see him again, when all the hurts of this world will be gone and only love remains
My dad gave me some of the most precious memories a daughter can hold onto. When I was young and would come visit him, he would take me on his motorcycle through the Dogwood Trails in Palestine when the blossoms were blooming. Those rides were our little world—just the two of us, the hum of the engine, and the trees lined with white flowers. I didn’t realize then how deeply those moments would shape me, or how often I’d look back on them with gratitude. They were simple, but they were full of love.
As I got older, his way of loving me didn’t change—it just grew with me. He gave me my very first Corvette, a gift that meant the world to both of us. And recently, we worked together to make it faster and better. He was so excited—like a kid again—researching the best parts, comparing reviews, and doing what he always did best: knowing exactly what worked and why. And if you knew my dad, you knew one thing for sure—he was stubborn, hard-headed in the funniest way, always convinced he knew best. But he was also the smartest man I’ve ever known, and most of the time he really was right.
One of the unexpected blessings of these last years was how close he became with Blake. Watching them talk back and forth about car parts, debating in that friendly, stubborn way about what was best, was something I’ll always hold close. It meant so much to him to have that bond—with the man I love, with the father of his grandson, with someone who understood him in ways only another car person can.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, meant more to him than Erin. He loved that boy with all his heart. He loved that Erin carried our last name, and he loved being able to say, “That’s my grandson.” Erin was his only grandchild—and he was proud of that in a way that showed in his face and in his voice. One of the greatest gifts God gave us was that he got to see Erin just last Wednesday. He got to watch him play, to see how much he had grown, to see those little sparks of personality coming through. That visit brought him joy, and I will forever be grateful for it.
My dad wasn’t a man who needed the spotlight or wanted a lot of fuss. He showed love in his own ways—through rides in the spring, through the projects we worked on together, through talking cars and technology for hours, and through investing his heart into the people he cared for. His love wasn’t loud, but it was steady. It was loyal. It was real.
Life wasn’t always easy for him, but he held onto faith even when the path was rough. And today, that same faith is what holds us up. We can rest in the promise that he is whole and healed now, wrapped in the peace of the Lord, free from every pain and limitation he carried in this life.
We thank God for the time we had with him—for every memory, every lesson, every moment of joy. And we hold onto the hope that one day we will see him again, when all the hurts of this world will be gone and only love remains
Kayla, God Bless you. Paul Haley…..Lovelady, Texas