I’ll never forget that phone call. I was in Washington, D.C. for work, heading to a meeting when my phone rang. I was sitting in the car with a coworker, and suddenly, I just knew something was wrong. My stomach sank as soon as I heard Kyle speak.
His voice was soft and unsteady. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Kayla, I have to tell you something. Please stay calm it’s cancer. I froze. I couldn’t even speak. Tears rolled down my face as I sat there, trying to understand what I had just heard.
Kyle, even in that moment, was the one calming me down. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “It’s just a bump in the road. I love you.” I still had more than a day left on my trip, but I just wanted to be home. All I could think about was how I wasn’t there when he got the news.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were young, planning a future, getting ready to get married. Cancer wasn’t part of the plan. As soon as I got home, I hugged him tight, and we both cried. Everything had changed. We were scared.
But we were ready to fight. Kyle was only 30. He had so much life left. The doctors said he needed surgery, and soon after, chemotherapy. The surgery came quickly. It lasted longer than they thought. What looked like a small tumor had spread more than expected.
The surgeon told us they couldn’t get it all. I had to be the one to tell Kyle. He asked me how it went, and I told him the truth. “They got most of it, but not all.” His face stayed calm. “Okay,” he said, “so what’s next?” Chemotherapy was next. It was rough. The side effects hit him hard—weight loss, sickness, pain. Still, we had our wedding coming up.
Kyle hoped he’d be healthy and strong when our wedding day arrived. We paused treatment, and on February 22, 2014, we got married in a snowy wonderland. It was cold, but it was perfect. We had some time after that where things looked better.
But the cancer came back. More surgeries followed. Kyle kept fighting with so much strength and faith. Even when it got hard, even when hope was small, he stayed strong. In his final days, he told me, “I’m not scared to die. I worry that no one will remember me.
I promised him he wouldn’t be. He asked me to go on and be happy someday. He told me to find love again. Back then, the thought of him not being around felt impossible. On July 31, 2017, Kyle passed away. I was with him when he took his last breath. It was peaceful.
I could feel he was free. He was only 31. I was just 28. A young widow. But Kyle’s words stayed with me: “I’m Not Done Yet.” And neither am I. I’ll carry his story, his love, and his strength with me for the rest of my life.
