The road is a place for quiet contemplation. For me, a place to philosophize and to think about the universe, to come to terms with the joy and sadness that is life, the comedy, and the tragedy, and its beautiful, wonder-filled mysteries.
Now, when my life becomes too hectic or too fast, I hop in the truck (his name is Tac), and take off on the road. It’s an opportunity to slow down and reflect and to just be with Elizabeth again.
The pain of losing her to cancer never goes away. It only ebbs and flows. Gets louder or softer. But is never absent. I’ve come to look at the pain and grief as a gift. It stands as a reminder of how Elizabeth and I viewed life, from a perspective of value. No longer do I chase material possessions or put my identity in attachments. You can’t take it with you. I value the pain just as much as I value the memory of our happiness together. The best definition of happiness is fully understood in the absence of happiness, which is pain and sadness. Without the pain, happiness has no meaning. Without the sadness, life would not have the beautiful and complex significance that it does. I feel blessed to have had the chance to love and to be loved by someone unconditionally.
There are many things to be grateful for. Sarcoma makes up one percent of all cancers. Leiomyosarcoma makes up seven percent of all sarcomas. Forty people out of 1 million will be diagnosed with this disease. I can’t help but acknowledge that an ultra-rare form of cancer would afflict an ultra-rare type of person. But losing my wife to a rare cancer only pales in comparison to something even more rare. Of the 7 billion people on this planet, I found my soulmate. That fact helps me to keep my life on track and to be grateful for what I have and to give love to friends, family, and strangers around me. The world will move on, as it should, but that doesn’t mean I have to. I miss my wife more than anything this universe can hold, but our love stays strong. I miss her every moment of every day. Her ashes now reside next [to] my bed, so when the grief becomes too much I can reach out and hold her again. Events and phenomena have led me to believe there is more to this life than the reality we make it out to be. There is something more. When we take our last breath is not the end of the story.
Our love for each other transcends space and time and continues to grow stronger. She is around me always. She nudges me in the direction I need to go, puts people in my life that help me further my passions and goals, and opens doors for me at the proper times. I just need to do my part and walk through them. I need to live the life I’ve been given to the ultimate edge of human flourishing. In turn, I will continue to love, honor, and protect her. I will drive the peaks and valleys of happiness and sadness, an emotional landscape filled with dangerous curves, steep cliffs, and serene overlooks that lead to moments of clarity, comfort, and understanding.
My soul would never be the same once Elizabeth entered my world. I knew it the first time our eyes met.”
**This story was written by Edward Hunnicutt of Sunnyvale, California and originally appeared on Love What Matters. Edward is currently pursuing a career in cancer immunotherapy research to honor his late wife and her cancer journey.
