One More Christmas: How Cancer Changed How I Experience the Holidays

Christmas is my favorite time of year. I love the lights, and the music, and the joy on the faces of my family as we gather around the tree to open gifts. When I gave birth to my daughter Adrienne, I didn’t see anywhere in our future a time when she wouldn’t be around to celebrate with us. It didn’t cross my mind that I would have an empty seat at the table for special occasions that one of my children had occupied the year before. 

Since my child was diagnosed with cancer, however, the only gift I want is one more Christmas with her being here.

I want to smile as I pick out that pair of funny socks to put in her stocking.

I want to be in her kitchen as we spend a day making cookies and other treats.

I want to hear her laugh when she opens up something I gave her that is making fun of one of her eccentricities.

I want to wake up Christmas morning without the gaping hole that losing her to cancer would bring to my spirit.

So far, so good.

The emotional challenge is that once someone you love is diagnosed with cancer, you can never un-ring that bell. She is still NED (No Evidence of Disease) but that status is one scan, one test, one cell that has been hiding away from changing.

Since Adrienne’s diagnosis we all try to live a “normal” life and not have cancer inform so many of our choices, but it is always there hovering in the corner like that cobweb you can’t quite reach to swipe away. They say you should live each day like it is your last but that’s a difficult mindset to maintain when there are piles of laundry to do and bills to pay. But her cancer means a future isn’t promised so it has made it a little easier to focus on the now.

She sparkles a little brighter for me when she comes into the room. I hold her just a little bit longer than I should sometimes, taking in the feel of her, the smell of her hair, building memories. I pause as I hang ornaments on the tree that she gave me, or ones she made when she was little that I’ve held onto. I watch her share jokes with her sisters as we prepare for Christmas dinner, and my heart warms each time I see them together. I watch her pick up her child to kiss something better, or just for a kiss, and savor the love I see on both sides of that equation and the matching outfits they have on.

You see, I have been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and the grave I was shown was not my own. For now, I can rejoice because my girl is NED and I have so much gratitude that I get to see her walk in my door one more time, and that I don’t have to look upon my favorite time of year with a grieving eye. And then I start marking off the days until the next Christmas because this is my life now.

And for those of you who have an empty chair at your table this Christmas, my heart is with you.

Happy holidays everyone.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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