By Drake Hunter | Commentary, Rocky Mountain Voice
Husband of Sherrie Hunter - Thriver of Life, not a Victim of Cancer
For decades, I’ve stood in uniform beside the flag-draped coffins of fellow servicemen. I’ve stood at the front of church sanctuaries to bless weddings full of joy and eulogize lives full of sorrow. I’ve held hands with the grieving, prayed over the broken, and offered words when there were no words.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for this.
On January 3, 2024, my wife, Sherrie, and I were pulled into a world no one ever wants to enter: the world of brain cancer. The diagnosis was brutal and blunt—Stage Four Glioblastoma.
It sounded like a sentence, not a diagnosis. And for over a year now, we’ve lived with it. Fought it. Prayed through it. Cried under the weight of it. And in moments of grace, even laughed despite it.
This journey has been a rollercoaster—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But over the last few months, the conversations have grown heavier. We’ve had to talk about things no husband and wife ever want to discuss—hospice care, final wishes, end-of-life plans.
It was in one of those quiet, soul-stirring conversations that Sherrie said something I will never forget:
“Don’t scatter roses after I’m gone. Give them to me while I’m still here.”
Those words hit me harder than the diagnosis itself.
What You May Not Know About Glioblastoma
Glioblastoma (GBM) is one of the most aggressive and devastating cancers out there. It doesn’t just impact the brain—it attacks the very center of your identity, your relationships, your routines.
It’s rare, it’s fast-moving, and right now, it’s incurable.
But statistics don’t tell the story. The real story is what it does to a couple who have held hands for nearly 40 years.
It’s what it does to a husband who still sees his wife as radiant and strong, even with a shaved, beautiful head and a chemo-wearied body. It’s what it does to a family trying to make every moment count—because you don’t know how many moments are left.
What It’s Like From This Side of the Bed
As a former military man, I’ve lived by codes of honor and sacrifice. As a pastor, I’ve sat with the dying and walked families through their grief.
But being the husband in the thick of it? That changes everything.
I’ve watched my wife fight like a warrior and smile like a saint. I’ve shaved her head. I changed bandages daily through Optune therapy. I’ve driven her to appointments and sat in waiting rooms that seem to pause time itself.
I’ve tried to be strong for her. But I’ve also wept—sometimes in the car, sometimes in the shower, sometimes into the pillow beside her.
What Sherrie reminded me of that day is something I want to remind you now: We all wait too long to say the things that matter.
We hold back the flowers for the funeral, instead of handing them over while love can still receive them.
Give the Roses Now
Awareness isn’t just about understanding brain cancer. It’s about seeing the people fighting it.
This month, during Brain Cancer Awareness Month, I want to ask you something bigger than wearing gray or posting a hashtag. I want to ask you to scatter roses today.
Tell the people you love that you love them. Show up for them. Speak words of gratitude while ears can still hear. Don’t wait for a memorial service to talk about someone’s impact—speak it now.
Offer your roses through time, care, attentive listening, joy, and your presence.
If you’ve been wanting to call, pick up the phone. If you’ve been hoping to visit, go see them. If forgiveness has been on your mind, FORGIVE! Do it to move forward with your life, not just for their sake but for your own well-being. In this way, like Sherrie, you’ll be a thriver rather than a survivor in life. No matter what!
A Final Word—From the Heart
This journey is far from over. And however it unfolds, we will walk it with the courage God gives us each day. But if I could pass on one thing Sherrie has taught me—not just as a husband, but as a man, a leader, a pastor—it’s this:
Life is not measured in years, but in presence. Legacy is not built by eulogies, but by love shown in the now. Awareness begins with opening our eyes, not just to the disease but also to the person who bears it, and life. Not in pity, but in complete surrender to love—yes, even love for your enemies!
So don’t scatter roses after they’re gone.
Scatter them now.
For Sherrie. For those like her.
And for the love – you still have time to give.
CLICK HERE for a special song of encouragement.
Editor’s note: Opinions expressed in commentary pieces are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the management of the Rocky Mountain Voice, but even so we support the constitutional right of the author to express those opinions.