Edward Hunnicutt

Special to the USA Today Network

NOTE: The video above looks back at the life of Megan Zipperer, a young mom who battled cancer and inspired the world. It is not associated with the story below.

Elizabeth is my soulmate. I knew it the first time our eyes met. Well, I didn’t know it then, but looking back, it’s the only explanation for the feeling I got when I looked at her. My heart raced, my mind became dizzy, and there was an excitement surging from somewhere deep inside my soul that would remain there every time I saw her.

The start of our relationship was very organic and authentic. It started slow and fun. We flirted and alluded and built attraction for each other. The more we got to know one another, the more we saw that we were cut from the same fabric. We had the same sense of humor, got excited by the same things, had the same guilty pleasures. We stood for having good character and being good people.

As our relationship grew, so did our bond, our love for each other. It tethered us together. It was a connection that was deeper and more real than anything I had ever felt with anyone. A mysterious comfort and knowing between two souls, that you humbly trusted and wore with quiet gratitude, a secret to tell but kept to ourselves.

Elizabeth was stunningly beautiful, made more beautiful by the fact she had no ego. She put everyone else first.

We didn’t have much money to spend, so we would often just hop in my truck early on a Sunday morning and head out, get our favorite coffee, pick a direction and drive until it was time to return home.

I knew I wanted this woman to be my wife, and on one of those weekend trips, on a sunny day in October on a mountain peak, among purple wildflowers and butterflies, overlooking an ice blue lake, I asked her to spend the rest of her life with me.

Everything was moving along as naturally as it felt it should have. Until I got a call from Elizabeth that changed everything.

The beginning of 2016 started off like every other year. Optimism this year would be better than the last. We had started saving money for a fall wedding and I started to work on my health and career.

Everything was moving along as naturally as it felt it should have. Until I got a call from Elizabeth that changed everything.

She had complained of stomach issues over the Christmas break so we made an appointment with a doctor to get it checked out. Fibroid growth had run in her family and she had already had surgery to remove them once a few years before. Fibroids grow back, so we assumed the pain was related to that. She had just gotten health insurance from her job and we were able to go to the closest hospital to run tests. After the appointment was over, it was concluded there indeed was a growth in her abdomen and the results of what it could be wouldn’t be in for a few more weeks. We left thinking about going through another surgery to remove fibroids.

A few weeks passed. It was a Wednesday. I was on a phone interview with an investment firm when the phone clicked. On the other line was Elizabeth, which I thought was odd because she wouldn’t have called during that time of the day. I let it go to voicemail.

The phone call ended, I called her back, and she was crying. The doctors had gotten her blood sample and ultrasound results back … Elizabeth had cancer.

Nothing in life can prepare you for hearing the words "I have cancer" said by someone you love. At first, you think there’s been some kind of mistake. Cancer? It has to be something else. The doctors have mixed up the results or maybe we don’t have all the information, and it’s not that bad. The unknowns leave you confused, the knowns only subdue. And then the weight of reality starts to become heavy and the sinking feeling in yourself begins to pull on the realization that this is really happening.

I rushed home, fighting back tears and thoughts of what she must be going through. How scared she must feel. When she arrived, I met her in the kitchen and I held her as she cried into my shirt. My heart broke at the thought of her going through such pain and anxiety.

As we sat down, the look on her face said everything to me.

Surgery was scheduled that Friday to have the tumors removed. We were admitted and met the surgeon that would be conducting the operation. She assured us that from the CT scans it looked like ovarian cancer and that she would do her best to get in there and clean up everything she could see, then hit it with chemo, and we would go on to live a happy life. We felt a little calmer and ready to tackle this mountain.

The surgery came. Six hours later, I was talking with Elizabeth’s brother when the surgeon called us into the consultation room. As we sat down, the look on her face said everything to me. She began to tell us that it wasn’t what they thought it was. That it hadn’t originated from the ovaries, but from the lining of the uterus and was a type of smooth muscle cancer called leiomyosarcoma and it had spread to abdominal cavity.

Though the tumors were removed, the cancer would grow back and metastasize to other areas of the body. I asked if she would survive this disease. She shook her head, "No."

Elizabeth, my soulmate, my best friend, my partner, had stage 4 cancer - and it was going to kill her.

I had never experienced shock before. After letting the family know what the diagnosis was, I went to walk the halls of the hospital alone. I wanted to cry but the shock was so intense I couldn’t, it would just come out as a whimper. I made it to the lobby of the hospital and there was an old man playing piano. I just sat and listened, contemplating the feeling of knowing the only thing that ever mattered to me would one day have to leave me here on Earth. Tears started flowing down my face as I came to the conclusion I would help her fight this disease and would stop at nothing to spend every day with her, at her side. I would do anything for her.

All we’ve ever wanted was to be married to each other.

And that’s what I did.

In the beginning weeks, we continued to live as normal of a life as possible. We hiked, went for drives, had date nights, and watched our favorite tv shows. I gave her shots in the morning to keep the blood from clotting and we worked on a meal plan from the "Cancer-Fighting Kitchen Cookbook." Our lives were now dotted with trips to the oncology department for chemotherapy treatments to curb the pain and growth of the tumors. We had to keep in mind how food was prepared and avoid going into public places without a face mask and hand sanitizer. Following the first round of chemo, we began radiation therapy.

As the months continued, she grew weaker. The treatments were starting to take a toll on her body. We went for a hike one day and she couldn’t make it down the trail. That’s when I started to understand this was the beginning of the end. On the way home, her brother’s pastor called her and during the conversation joked about getting married at the courthouse. We laughed at the idea but then started to think about it some more. All we’ve ever wanted was to be married to each other. Before we got home, we decided we would get married in the backyard.

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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 situation 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. 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 sleep, 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.

I felt her energy pass through me, and a beautiful peace washed over me and filled my body.

It was during this time she made me promise I would be OK after she was gone. I told her life wouldn’t be the same without her, but that I would try for her. I told her I thought about maybe going on the road, for one last monumental drive, to visit all the places we always wanted to see, that I would see these places through her eyes or mine. She stared off into the distance and then turned back to me and smiled. She told me, "I want you to go. You need to go. You need to be out there… Nature is your cathedral." I will never forget those words.

I held her hand as I watched her die. She took her last breath and vanished into the air. I felt her soul leave her body. At first, there was anguish and grief, but I felt her energy pass through me, and a beautiful peace washed over me and filled my body. It was as if she was telling me, "I’m OK. I’m not in pain. It’s glorious here." She showed me where we go when our hearts stop beating. I was able to be strong and sad, a stoicism that she gave me.

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Two and half months after she passed away, armed with a map and her ashes, I set off on a journey of a lifetime. One that would take me 12 weeks, 19,000 miles, and from one end of the country to the other. I was on my own, but I wasn’t alone. Her urn, which was her old jewelry box, sat in the passenger seat, as she always did. Her spirit was there, guiding and comforting me. I had an idea of where to end up by sundown but no plan, the days were left free to explore.

Our love for each other transcends space and time and continues to grow stronger.

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 appears in its entirety at "Love What Matters." The author is now pursuing a career in cancer immunotherapy research in honor of his late wife.