The morning of the ceremony, I went to the hardware store and bought material from the garden center and turned some red posts, cinderblocks, and old rope into a wedding arbor. Florist, photographers, videographers, cake decorators volunteered their time and talents to turn my mother’s house into an amazing wedding venue. We had no timeline for when things were to happen, it all unfolded organically. And on a perfect day in April in front of a handful of crying family members and friends, we became husband and wife. It was the best day of my life.
It was only a few weeks after that when a trip to the emergency room would reveal Elizabeth’s organs were being compromised by the growth of the cancer. The team of doctors declared that there was nothing more they could do about Liz’s cancer and began to make arrangements with hospice. I knew this day would come, but hearing it out loud broke me. Hope had been dashed that a miracle would ever take place and that Liz being the fighter that she was, would persevere. It was then that I started to plan how I would cope with losing her. What could I do after she was gone that would help my soul heal and honor her?
As the weeks went on, she grew skinnier and more depleted as cancer weakened her body. I walked her in the wheelchair around the neighborhood. I built a wooden box to help her get in and out of the truck easier. She would be too afraid to fall asleep, so I stayed up with her until she passed out from exhaustion. I wanted every ounce of my love, energy, and devotion to be hers. I had once imagined spending decades taking care of her and giving her what she needed. I now had to fit all that into the short time we had left together. I was tired but I didn’t care, I loved her with everything I was.
