The week before Christmas in 2006, on the same day I lost my job, doctors gave my wife six months to live. I had to be the one to break the news to her.
I sat in her recovery room following a lung biopsy surgery, waited for her to be awake and aware, and told her the doctors discovered she had an aggressive form of cancer that had spread to her lungs. There was nothing they could do. Merry Christmas.
That night, in the hospital, though my wife insisted she was fine, we had the talks you have only when you do not want to have them. We had a 1-year-old. Where would I move? Should I get remarried? How would I raise our daughter without her mom?
I remember my wife telling me she thought I was a catapult, throwing good ideas and people into the arena and I should find a way to keep doing that. I remember telling her I did not want to lose her.
Within 24 hours, the doctor…
