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The first day I saw him I cried.  I knew that even if I lived to be 100 and he 118 that it would never be enough time. I would never have enough kisses in rainstorms; hugs; laughter; road trips; love - there would never be enough time with him. Ever.

I was so devastated when I had to return to Minnesota, that he actually had to walk me onto the bus. I was sobbing so hysterically, that he had to walk me to my seat and tuck me in like a child. He kissed my forehead and whispered, “There is no love like this.”

He was right. There isn’t.

To be sure, there are beautiful love stories, but there are none exactly like ours. 

By this point, you may have heard, or suspected - Rico’s condition is terminal. His life will end with, and because of brain cancer.

We have held this information close for some time because we all needed to process it. We weren’t ready to be “that family”.  But we are that family, and we need to begin this new part of our journey together.

The prognosis is brutal, but chemo and radiation will buy us time to continue living his best and biggest life. The treatment will not be enough to buy us hope, not enough to buy us a cure, but it may buy us more kisses in rainstorms, hugs, laughter, road trips and love. 

As devastating as this is, we know we are lucky. We have a beautiful, supportive community; a family that loves each other fiercely; and a love that some people never find. We are lucky to love each other like we do, and lucky to be loved by you. Thank you for sharing our journey with us.