I pray, every single day, for miracles. I pray for complete healing. I pray for a cure. I pray that somehow he will be spared the future his oncologist tells us awaits him. I pray.

But James and I have to live with our feet on the ground; we have to face a hard reality and we have to truly understand that horrible things happen and there is nothing we can do to stop them.

We celebrated James’ 51st birthday today. It was hard to know just exactly how we should celebrate. I had originally planned a large dinner with friends and family but the thought of it all made me feel uneasy. Surely, it would be appropriate for me to give a toast. I did so a year ago at a very similar setting, but the thought of the words I said just a year ago, words about surviving a cancer scare and all the dreams we’ve created together and the years still ahead of us – well, I knew there just weren’t words for our feelings about this year and the path ahead. The worry that people might share favorite things about James made me worry that it would, for him, feel like attending his own memorial service. And so, I changed the plans.

We spent the day in Chicago, with the kids. The day included a bucket-list item – the mob and crime tour of Chicago, as well as a stop at a nature center and then dinner at the Chicago Firehouse. The tour was everything we could have hoped for, with a very animated and knowledgeable tour guide and only two stops where we had to get on and off the bus, an important limit for a man with limited strength and energy.

The nature center was a last minute add-on, with hopes to see the migrating monarchs. We didn’t see a single monarch, but the butterfly room was just enough of a slice of heaven to bring us fleeting peace and a chance to exist in a space with such innocent, delicate and delightful creatures.

The Firehouse was in homage to James’ years as a volunteer “back home”, and the staff made him feel celebrated and appreciated.

The weather was sublimely cooperative, the kids were lovely and everything went off without a hitch (well, except those pesky monarchs!)

But the day was equally heartbreaking and excruciating and agonizing. Every moment we have feels weighted, feels tarnished, feels complicated. Trying to savor the joy is a great notion, but in practice, it is nearly impossible to remain in the joy without recognizing why you are forcing yourself to savor it so greedily. I cried silently listening to stories about mobsters. I cried watching my beloved be enchanted by butterflies and I cried at dinner knowing that barring that unlikely miracle I pray for daily, I will never get to share a birthday with him again.

A year ago, I gave a toast, wishing James another 50 years, “…to find places not yet dreamed of…” and “…to have people beside you that help lift you up, keep you humble and surround you with love.” Today, just 365 days later, I pray for 50 more weeks, 50 more days, 50 more memories, 50 more moments of joy together. I pray. And I cry.