December 31, 2018, was the day I became Mrs. Candess Myers.
It was the first day off we’d had in a long time, and John convinced me it was the perfect day for a courthouse wedding. We had always dreamed of a beautiful, intimate ceremony surrounded by close family and friends, but money was tight and life kept getting in the way. John finally said, “Just marry me already.” The plan was simple: we’d marry that day and renew our vows a year later. I dreamed of wearing a beautiful dress, walking toward my handsome groom—the man who changed my world and taught me a love I had never known. Sadly, that day would never come.
We were married in a small courthouse in Effingham County, Georgia, with our youngest little boy, Lane, and my daughter, Eden, watching. Lane danced around the room, giggling and carefree, just being the happy one‑and‑a‑half‑year‑old he was. Eden recorded the moment, groaning in mock disgust when we kissed, though she was smiling the whole time. We laughed through it all. John could barely understand what the judge was saying, so in true John fashion, he improvised his own vows. Laughter was always a constant in our relationship. He was truly the funniest man I had ever known.
In just three short years together, we experienced more than many couples do in a lifetime. It felt as though we had lived a thousand lives—through health struggles, financial stress, family challenges, welcoming a new baby, and blending two families. We learned that love is not just a feeling; it’s a daily choice. Falling in love with John was easy and immediate. It was everything I imagined finding a soulmate would be—full of passion, emotion, and a once‑in‑a‑lifetime connection.
When we met, we were both on destructive paths, each carrying our own pain and loss. We didn’t know how to put the broken pieces back together. Somehow, in our brokenness, we found one another, and our healing began side by side.
Less than a year before John and I met, he had nearly died from abdominal aortic aneurysms—actually, two of them. He moved in with me quickly, and within a couple of months, I was pregnant. Our first year together was incredibly difficult, but no matter what we faced, we chose each other. We chose to stay and to love, regardless of the obstacles.
John had served as a First Lieutenant in the Army. During his service, especially his last deployment to Afghanistan, his health began to decline. Severe high blood pressure led to kidney failure, and lack of proper care during deployment made everything worse. After a car accident in 2015, his body was already worn down, and he made the difficult decision to leave the Army. Soon after, he suffered his first aneurysm—and then another. His stepmom often called him a “miracle man.” By the time I met him in June of 2016, his body was simply exhausted from everything he had endured.
During my pregnancy, we focused on healing together. John began gaining healthy weight, rebuilding muscle, and growing stronger again. But his blood pressure issues persisted, and out of fear of another aneurysm, I encouraged him to quit working. He was waiting on disability and pursuing VA benefits.
After our baby was born, I began facing my own serious health issues, which left us home together for over a year. During that time, our son Lane formed an incredibly strong bond with his daddy, and John and I grew closer than ever. We truly became a team—John always said that, and he made sure others knew it too. He loved me fiercely and intentionally, telling me every day how beautiful and adored I was. I struggled deeply with self‑worth, but he built me up and loved me in a way I had never known.
In February 2019, a routine VA appointment changed everything. The cardiologist told John he would need a stent for an aneurysm. Confused, I asked, “What aneurysm?” John was just as stunned. The doctor explained he had another aneurysm—yet just a year earlier, at the same VA hospital, we were told he had none. John had followed every medical instruction. We were in complete shock.
John asked the doctor for either a letter stating he couldn’t work or medical clearance to return to work. Shockingly, he was cleared for both work and exercise. As we stood to leave, the doctor casually added that John would likely be in complete kidney failure by the end of the year. My jaw dropped. Just one year earlier, a nephrologist had told us dialysis was likely seven years away. I knew something was terribly wrong. I refused to leave without his medical records.
Later that evening, as we prepared to go to dinner, I sat reading through them. I found a CT scan from the year before showing two dilated areas in his chest and abdomen—two aneurysms. No one had ever told us. I was shaking with fear and confusion. John urged me to put the records away. This trip was meant to feel like a honeymoon. He took me to Folly Beach, South Carolina, where we shared a meal and talked about our final wishes if either of us died. We cried, we laughed, and that night we loved one another like time was running out.
That night, John became violently ill—vomiting and in severe pain. He thought it was food poisoning, but I knew better. He’d been having abdominal issues for months. I felt completely helpless. That night, I ordered devotional books for us. Mine was called 100 Days of Brave. I believe God was calling me to courage for what was coming.
By morning, John was still in agony. I drove us home with him lying in the backseat, barely able to move. As we reached Savannah, I told him he was going straight to the hospital where I worked. In triage, his EKG was abnormal and his blood pressure dangerously high. I shared his VA records with the ER doctor, who quickly admitted him. The hospitalist was stunned by the size of his aneurysms—one abdominal over 5 cm and a thoracic aneurysm around 7 cm. They were far beyond safe limits. He also discovered a heart murmur no one had ever mentioned.
The doctor told me the next 48 hours were critical. This was far more than a stent. That night, friends stayed with my children so I could go back and forth to the hospital. I prayed with John, held him, and loved him through the fear.
The next morning, John asked to see Lane. He always said our son was his peace. Lane climbed into his bed and cuddled with his daddy just before John was taken for a CT scan. I kissed him goodbye, never imagining what was coming next.
Shortly after, John called me. “Babe, you need to come back. This is very serious.” A surgeon told him he needed to be life‑flighted to Emory in Atlanta—one of only a few hospitals equipped to handle his case. If he stayed, his chances were slim. I raced to the hospital, carrying Lane, desperate to see my husband before he was flown away.
In the chaos, the VA called to schedule a follow‑up appointment. I completely lost it. I screamed, cried, and told them my husband was now fighting for his life. The woman on the phone cried with me. I stood there holding my son, breaking down, until a friend took Lane so I could be with John.
On February 14, 2019, John was flown to Emory. We spent every moment together—praying, laughing, watching Netflix, loving one another. He wanted to die happy if that was God’s will. He touched everyone he met with his humor and grace.
On March 1st, John underwent the first phase of surgery—repairing an aneurysm, replacing a heart valve, and creating an “elephant trunk” for the next surgery. What should have been six hours lasted all day. Complications followed. His chest remained open for four days as doctors fought to save his life. I learned to pray for mercy instead of outcomes.
After five weeks in the hospital, John came home weak, down 40 pounds, and on dialysis. Soon after, complications sent him back to Atlanta. His final surgery was moved up to May 6th. The night before, we cried together. He asked me to share his story and fight for justice for veterans. I promised him I would.
The next morning, we woke holding hands. He was peaceful—singing, joking, comforting me. His surgery began at 7:30 a.m. By evening, everything began to fail. Despite heroic efforts, his body couldn’t take any more.
At 2:05 a.m. on May 8, 2019, my sweet husband took his last breath. He went to sleep and woke up in Heaven—just as he said he would. I have never known pain like that moment.
Today, I live to honor him and keep my promises—to fight for veterans, to love fiercely, and to carry his joy forward.
To every service member: you matter. Advocate for yourself.
To Emory Medical Center: thank you for loving us.
To lawmakers: do better.
And to my sweet husband—find me in my dreams. We will dance again.
