On April 1, 2021, our lives changed forever when my wife, Felicia, was diagnosed with Stage 4 Breast Cancer. Since that day, she has fought with a strength that most people will never understand. Nearly five years of appointments, scans, tears, prayers, and quiet moments where we held each other not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

Felicia has endured 10 different chemotherapy treatments.

She has gone through 5 rounds of 10 sets of radiation.

She has done everything asked of her — everything doctors hoped might work.

And still… the cancer remains.

Recently, we were told there are no more treatment options left.

I’ve seen doctors deliver hard news before — but this time was different. The look in the oncologist’s eyes told me everything before the words came out. That look is something I will never forget. It was the moment I realized our time is no longer measured in plans for the future, but in memories we can still make right now.

Felicia is not just my wife.

She is my best friend.

She is my safe place.

She is the strongest, kindest soul I’ve ever known.

She has spent so much of her life fighting — fighting pain, fear, exhaustion, and heartbreak — and through it all, she has never stopped caring about others. Even now, she worries about being a burden. She worries about asking for help. She worries about everyone else… even while her own body is failing her.

I never wanted to do this. I never wanted to ask anyone for anything. But my pride doesn’t matter anymore.

What matters is her.

All I want — all I need — is to give Felicia the life she deserves for however long we still have. I want to take her on the bucket list trips she’s always dreamed about. I want to give her laughter, sunsets, oceans, and quiet moments that make her forget — even for a little while — that cancer is stealing her from me.

I want to help ease the weight of overwhelming medical bills that have piled up after years of fighting. I want our time together to be about living, not stress and fear.

Most of all, I want memories.

Memories that I will hold onto when the silence gets too loud.

Memories that will remind me of her smile when the house feels empty.

Memories that prove her life was so much bigger than this disease.

I don’t know how much time we have left. I wish I did. What I do know is that every single day matters now more than ever.

If you’re able to help in any way — whether it’s donating, sharing, or simply sending love — please know that it means more to us than I could ever explain. You are helping me give my wife joy, peace, and dignity during the hardest chapter of our lives.

Thank you for seeing her.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for helping me give Felicia the best life I can… until I can’t anymore. 💔