Gary Newman has seen cancer from both sides, now. In 1998, his wife, Wendy, was diagnosed with liver cancer, and Gary was her caregiver. Then, in 2005, Gary, now 63, learned what it was like to be a cancer patient when he was diagnosed with malignant melanoma.

In both cases, says Gary, “it’s scary. You’re going into the land of the unknown.”

In both cases, though, he says, he learned something very important: “You’re never alone. When you walk into the chemotherapy treatment room, there are 25 other people having chemo with you. When you’re first diagnosed, you can think you’re the only one. And then you look around the room and you see that so many people are going through the same thing. It’s amazing to see how we all still get on with our lives.”

Wendy lost her battle with cancer 11 months after she was diagnosed, a week after her 56th birthday and her eighth wedding anniversary with Gary. In her last hours, she slipped into a coma — but right before she did, she and Gary had a few moments to pray together. Then he told her how much he loved her, and she told him the same thing. He’s eternally grateful to have been able to say everything he wanted to say to his wife — and for the comfort that their mutual faith in God gave them.

In the months following Wendy’s death, Gary spent a lot of time talking — to friends, to family, even to his two dogs. He visited his mother at her senior’s home once or twice a week. And that’s where he met Barbara, the woman he would eventually marry on September 11, 2004. “We wanted to make that date positive again,” he says.

The same year, he found a growth in his armpit, which would be diagnosed as malignant melanoma. Now Gary was the cancer patient: he went through two surgeries, treatment with interferon, six weeks of radiation, followed by another 11 months of injecting himself with interferon at home. Today, he’s cancer free.

After Gary gave himself his last dose of interferon, he had a party — and built a bonfire to burn everything associated with his cancer. Then, he says, “we all went out to the Relay for Life.” Remembering that day, he gets choked up: “To walk with all those survivors, to be with them on that track, with all the people applauding around us — it’s very emotional. We always think we’re travelling that road by ourselves. But we’re not alone.”

“Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.”