him. Rob was the sort that if you were hungry,
you’d never want him to pray over a meal. You’d
starve before he finished. It wasn’t that he was
long-winded just for the sake of being long-
winded. My husband took every opportunity to
talk to God about everything ... even down to
blessing the food. He was the go-to deacon in our
church. The pastor’s right hand and the man the
young people always looked up to and respected
highly. His favorite scripture was Psalm 37:25, “I
have been young, and now am old; yet have I not
seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging
bread.” My quiet giant clung ferociously to his
belief that he had a big God that would honor his
faithfulness and service and take care of me, and
our children, grandchildren, and great grand.
that it was discovered that the cancer had lay
inside me since 1986 to this day still amazes
me. I still cannot understand why God allowed
this gentle giant to go through the misery of a
cancer treatment and that I didn’t have that type
of experience.
April 2013, Rob was told his kidneys were
failing, and he would need dialysis. He never
murmured. I did, but not to him. He still wouldn’t
complain. He went through that procedure three
times a week. Often he would pass out, and
several of my neighbors would rush to lift him
into the house. Our youngest daughter, who is a
Registered Nurse, relocated from North Carolina
to help with his care. There wasn’t anything our
daughters wouldn’t do for Rob.
One of our greatest tests of faith came in
2005 on my husband’s birthday. He’d gone back
and forth to doctors about a year complaining of
a pain in his ribs and other parts. He was told that
he must’ve bruised a rib. That day, September
21, 2005, proved otherwise. My husband was
told he had cancer—Multiple Myeloma. We’d
never heard of such a cancer. My husband took
it in stride. Not me. I immediately broke down
and gave God a list of about ten other people
who I deemed more worthy of such a disastrous
diagnosis. On August 18, 2013, I received “that call”
around nine in the morning. His kidney doctor
told me to get him to the hospital immediately.
He was in the process of dying. I was floored,
but there was nothing I could do but comply. I
remember Rob asking me, “Am I dying?” I didn’t
pull any punches and told him, “Yes. The doctor
says you are. But I want you to fight.” One thing
Rob and I always had between us was honesty.
We never lied to one another, no matter how
much it might hurt.
My husband went through chemo, radiology,
stem-cell transplant and other treatments and
in 2008 he went into remission. The following
year, 2009 it was my turn. I was diagnosed with
cancer. However, unlike Rob, I never took a pill,
chemo, or radiation—surgery was all. The fact Rob didn’t panic. Instead, he told me to call
the precinct and tell them to come and get all
the guns out of the house. I don’t think I would’ve
thought of that. Yet, he lay dying and still
protecting me was on his mind. Because Rob was
sort of a celebrity with the local police, several