From the outside, it probably looked like an ordinary Christmas. We assembled the same artificial tree, draped it in the same tinsel and ornaments and stockings hung from the mantle of the same nearby fireplace. We even rotated to same set of houses and made gifts to the same relatives as we did they year before. This particular year, however, there was a difference that made the holiday feel like a bigger miracle than usual and gave us more to celebrate than anything that appeared in a box or with a bow on top.

It started with a trip to the doctor last spring and a subsequent announcement from the doctor that no one expected, but would upend our lives forever: “I have to tell you…..it is cancer alright.”
I remember Calvin’s forearm—-the muscled one that I always held onto—begin to tremble. “We’re in for a battle babe,” he told me, his tone that blended anxiety and resolve.

I nodded, squeezed and hugged him, girding myself against an enemy that I had never faced. I knew that it wasn’t my body experiencing the invasion, but my heart and my soul carried the uneasy knowledge that what was once a relative surety in our world—my husband’s health—was now vulnerable in ways that we had yet to comprehend.

Despite the diagnosis, we knew we had it easier than some: there was health insurance in place, experienced professionals that could guide us through the mazes and most importantly, family and friends willing to support us in every way imaginable as he courageously faced the unknown.

Spring blended into summer, surgeries and a new normal over took our days. While other families planned getaways, we centered our lives to Calvin’s comfort and care. I’ve had to witness loved ones getting sick before and I’m no stranger to hospitals either, but it’s an altogether harrowing heartbreak when the man that you love and are building a life with is losing hair, losing weight, weakened by chemotherapy, enduring hours of IV drips and feeling like a foreigner in his own skin. We tried to keep his mind and spirit off of his agony and remain positive throughout, even if that meant keeping my fears unsaid and assuring three anxious children on a regular basis, as well as myself, that their father and stepfather would eventually, somehow, be alright.

Is the battle over yet? We pray that it is and hope that Calvin’s upcoming test in January yields even more positive results. But in the meantime, I still find myself looking in wonder at the man I walked down the aisle with 13 years ago, grateful at his progress and the opportunity to spend another year in his life. It’s probably the biggest reason why I didn’t even bother writing a Christmas list this year because I already had the greatest gift above all….time. More time to hold his hand, more time to lean on his burgeoning strength and more time to tell him how much I love him, and how blessed we are that he’s soldiering on beside us, back at work as he continues to heal, and still a part of our lives.

Earlier last week, as we celebrated our most special wedding anniversary yet, I reminded Calvin of a blues concert we attended as a new couple. As we stood in the audience, my then-boyfriend clutched my hand and pointed to an older lady and gentleman dancing together up front. “Lorrie, do you see them?” he asked.
I remembered nodding, then asking why. That’s when he hugged me close, locked his hazel eyes with my brown ones and grinned. “One day….that’s going to be us.”

That’s why I didn’t look very hard under the tree this year for a gift: because when I see my Calvin surviving to fight another day, I knew that I already had it.