I have tried all day to find a way to share the news with words that make sense, or bear meaning. The truth is, there is no way to say it, no phrase or turn of words that makes any of it make sense.

The immunotherapy treatment isn’t working. We’ve seen the signs, symptoms and indicators, but we held on to hope and remained optimistic. But yesterday, the normally wait-until-we-have-cold-hard-data oncologist didn’t wait for the next scan; she started preparing for our next and last option. We will have another scan, to be sure, but we are also doing all the preliminary work to make the change to the BRAF inhibitor drugs, the only option we have left.

We have known, in our minds at least, that there is no cure for Stage 4 melanoma. Our hearts have been reluctant to follow that truth to where it leads. So as the doctor spoke, as she explained the process, procedures, side-effects and cautions, we found ourselves at a loss for words, at a loss to be honest, to even comprehend.

All of this is palliative care and yet we were fighting to add years to his life. We were fighting with the immunotherapy to put the cancer on notice and to have some feeling of longevity to this disease. But that effort only had a fifty percent chance of working and as we have been since the start, we are on the wrong side of the percentages. The BRAF inhibitor is no longer about buying years. It’s about buying months.

A year. A year is the best case scenario for us. One year. One fall, one winter, one spring and one summer. 12 months left together.

If we thought we were struggling to get our minds around the diagnosis before, we are at a complete loss now. 525,600 minutes. James feels at a loss as to how to help me adjust to that reality while I am similarly struggling to help him in any meaningful way.

Tomorrow I wrap up the school year with my fourth graders and we begin summer vacation. We are working on plans to travel to northern Michigan and we have visits with family already on the calendar. It is a daunting task to say the least to try to prioritize all that you want to do, but that’s the task we are faced with.

I can’t help but hear the song from Rent playing in my head.

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes 
Five hundred, twenty five thousand moments so dear 
Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes 
How do you measure, measure a year? 

In daylights, in sunsets 
In midnights, in cups of coffee 
In inches, in miles 
In laughter, in strife 

In five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes 
How do you measure a year in a life? 
How about love? How about love? How about love? 
Measuring love Seasons of love Seasons of love 

Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes 
Five hundred, twenty five thousand journeys to plan 
Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes 
How can you measure the life of a woman or a man? 

James’ life won’t be measured by what he chooses to do in the next 365 days. His life is already one well spent even though it is cut far too short. James’ life will forever be measured by how much he cared about the people, animals and land that he was blessed with. This next year won’t be about adding to his legacy, that is already cemented in gold. This next year will be about celebrating that legacy with him. “In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee…” Whether we travel the world or sit on our front porch, those 525,600 minutes will be the best I’ve ever had, as long as I am with him. That is the reality I chose to live within.