How do you write a story about the love of your life battling a disease at 52? When he should be in his prime. He’s too young, too strong, too full of sarcasm and pithy wisdom.

David is not just my husband; he is the clown, the caretaker, the stay-at-home dad, the stay-the-course provider, the son, the brother, the uncle, the cousin, and the very best friend. He’s played all those roles with grace. Some were a struggle that he perfected with perseverance, while others came so naturally he was an instant expert. He’s even an expert at being the anal-retentive housekeeper—yes, I still load the dishwasher wrong, and he’s right there to let me know it.

I met David 29 years ago. He was a student getting his engineering degree at Virginia Tech, living with two other students. By chance, one of them met a girl on AOL in Oregon, 2,700 miles away from Blacksburg. They talked all the time about how two people who'd never met - online, in-person, or otherwise - were soulmates. David mocked them from Virginia while I did the same from Oregon, right up until the night a chance phone call connected the two of us. It was an eight-hour marathon that changed everything. It was like Sleepless in Seattle meets You’ve Got Mail. I flew to meet him, and this month, we will be married 25 years.

He chose to adopt our son Lucas from a former marriage. He taught him to ride a bike, to fish, and to navigate virtual worlds like Kingdom Hearts and Gauntlet. At a baby shower for our daughter, Madison, someone asked if he wanted his real firstborn to be a boy. Without missing a beat, David stood up and said, "My firstborn is a boy."

Twenty-one years ago, he was the first person to hold Mia when she was born. This was just after hitting our roommate’s car on the way to the hospital, initially mistaking it for a 'boulder' in the driveway. Between the lack of sleep and the excited adrenaline, it was chaotic, but the love shining in his eyes when he held her tiny fingers and let himself be wrapped around them was absolute. All these years later, that hold hasn't changed. They share his dark sense of humor, his large head, and they both openly weep at movies featuring incredible friendships, magical maps and beautiful shires.

Cancer came calling in the dark, without permission. It snuck its way in, taking hold of parts of him reserved for his family and his friends. We don’t know where this will lead or what the ultimate cost will be, which makes asking for assistance an incredibly hard request to make.

It feels impossible to put a monetary value on a life that is so priceless to so many. He is, without question, my best friend, my person, and the love of my life. He makes us better just by being with him and wanting to be like him.

Please, do not give what isn’t there. Know that any funds raised that are not used or needed by our family will be completely paid forward to the next family that cancer decides to wreak havoc upon.