A Love Tested

Why I Believe in Marriage

“We pledge to cherish, support, and honor one another, cultivating a love rooted in faith and gentleness. We commit to being each other’s confidants, sharing our lives in both joy and sorrow, and deepening our love. ‘I found the one I love; I held on tight and will not let it go. ’

This is an excerpt from my Ketubah—a Jewish marriage contract—shared with my wife. In my previous piece, I reflected on the hardships we endured and the extraordinary kindness we received while I battled oral cancer. But this piece is different. It’s not just about illness; it’s a love letter to my wife, offered for the world to see. It’s the closest I can come to shouting it from the rooftops. More than that, I believe sharing this will help show why marriage—especially with someone who embodies the very best qualities of a wife or husband—is an institution worth cherishing, protecting, and fighting for.

After years of terrible dating app experiences and relationships that just did not end up making me happy, our connection was instant. I knew I would marry my wife on the second date, and I started planning my proposal less than two months into dating. Within less than a year, we were married. Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with cancer.

I felt like a shell of myself—numb, terrified, and consumed by a darkness I couldn’t shake. I sank into a fear and depression deeper than anything I’d ever known. My wife had every reason to fall apart, too. But instead, she found the strength I couldn’t. She stepped in without hesitation—scheduling every doctor’s appointment, taking careful notes, and becoming the steady shoulder I cried on, again and again.

My wife did everything she could to keep me grounded—present, hopeful, and hanging on. If I'm being honest, I wasn’t exactly a pleasure to have in class. She’d come home from a long, exhausting day at work to find me deep in depression, spiraling with worst-case scenarios—thought patterns I still struggle with today. Having her near me mitigates those feelings and gives me a little bit of beauty each day when I get to look at her while she sleeps, crossed over to my side because of the two large German shepherds in the bed with us.

Cancer isn’t just like being hit by a bus. It’s being hit by a bus and then limping away, only to realize the bus is still following you. During the early days of the diagnosis, especially during that first hospital stay for the surgery, there were moments when I didn’t want to be alive. The tubes down my throat were suffocating, and detoxing from the post-surgery fentanyl was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. In three days, I went through so many ice packs that they had to take from other floors.

She never left me. She slept in the hospital room during my long stay, always by my side. After my tongue surgery, I couldn’t speak for a while—the reconstruction meant grafting skin and an artery from my body. In those moments, she became my voice. Her background in healthcare was a lifeline, ensuring I got the care I needed.

Every single day, she was there—holding ice packs to my head, suctioning mucus from my throat, and somehow interpreting my grunts and gestures like a second language. I swear, we had a system down to a science. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was us—and in those moments, her love spoke louder than words ever could.

Now, I’m not saying you have to marry a doctor or a nurse—but having someone who knows how to advocate for you when you can’t advocate for yourself? That can save your life. She kept the medical team accountable, calmed me when I was overwhelmed, and stayed with me even when I was punching the hospital bed, shaking with anxiety.

One of the moments I remember most from the hospital was when they finally removed the feeding tube that ran through my nose and down my throat. It made everything worse—I choked on it constantly, and it turned an already miserable stay into something even more unbearable. I had been counting down the days until it came out. When it finally did, I was overwhelmed with relief.

I still couldn’t speak, but I pointed to her, trying to say what words couldn’t: I couldn’t have made it here without you. And I cried—not just because she was there, but because I felt unbelievably lucky. I couldn’t imagine going through that alone, or with anyone else but my wife.

There is no deeper love or stronger connection I’ve ever felt than the one I share with my wife. She is the most selfless person I know. That quality—genuine selflessness—is one of the most important things to look for in the person you marry. Someone else might have backed away, said it was too much, or let me face it alone. Not her. She leaned in. She stayed. She doubled down—just like I knew she would. Because when I married her, I already knew exactly who she was. It didn’t take five years of dating and a two-year engagement to figure that out.

When you strip away the distractions of modern dating, the curated profiles, the endless swiping, what really matters is character—kindness, resilience, loyalty, selflessness. The person you choose to marry isn’t just your partner for the good days—they’re your lifeline on the worst ones.

They are the steady hand when you're falling apart, the voice when you have none, and the strength to hold you up when yours is gone. They walk with you around the hospital as you hobble, and they encourage you every step of the way. You not only get better for you, but you get better for them.

I didn’t marry someone perfect. I married someone right. Someone who didn’t run from the pain, but met it head-on with me. Someone who turned the most difficult chapter of our lives into a living testament of love, devotion, and grace. Someone who prayed with me in the darkest of times. Marriage—real, rooted, tested marriage—isn’t outdated. It’s not transactional. It’s not disposable. It’s one of the most meaningful commitments a person can make. And if you choose well, it can carry you through the fire and bring you out the other side, not just surviving, but loved beyond measure.

That’s the kind of marriage worth believing in. And that’s the kind of love I’m lucky enough to live every day.

To my dearest wife, Sasha, I love you more than I thought humanly possible.

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.