Dear Family and Friends, 

Forgive me. There are no pictures of fluffy cows on our card this year, no stories of chicken antics, not even a picture of the dog or the cat.  There are no poetic verses about the wildlife, the neglected garden or the joy of porch sitting.  This entire year has felt like Narnia – always winter, but never Christmas. 

The carols have begun, in stores, on the radio and in my car, but there is nothing merry or bright about our year and peace and joy are elusive at best.  My favorite Christmas carol is “O Holy Night.” The crescendo of words and song and meaning and message floods me everytime, “…fall on your knees, oh hear the angels’ voices, oh ni-ight divine, oh night divine…”

This has been a year of falling on our knees – sometimes being knocked down to them.  James’ diagnosis of Stage 4 melanoma last March has taken away our strength to stand most days.  It has pushed us to the ground and robbed us of our light. We have spent countless hours asking for, begging for, praying for a voice from above to guide us, console us, to heal James, to help us.  We speak with God and Mom and all those who have gone before us, hoping their angelic voices might comfort us, but the heavens feel silent. 

The latest treatment, which we hoped would buy us a year, has ceased being effective after five very short months.  We will keep trying other options and keep praying, but there is also a reality that we live within, one that reminds us what Stage 4 means, one that forces us to face a terminal illness head on with our eyes wide open.  

In this blackest and most silent of nights, however, when our knees are bruised and our hearts are joyless, I am reminded that this night, every night, even this evil night that we find ourselves living in, this still, like my favorite carol sings, is a night divine.  God is here.  God is here in this darkness.  He is with us.  Our faith is fragile at best and at times absent altogether but we are forever blessed by those with strong faith who pray on our behalf.  

We are trying with all our might to recognize the blessings around us and in us. We are blessed with great doctors, blessed with living within driving distance of the Rogel Cancer Center at the University of Michigan.  We have been blessed with good insurance and support from far and wide.  But, at the end of the day, they are all blessings I wish we never had the need or use for.  We try to savor the moments, the time, the love.  But my beloved is tired, and hurting and we are powerless to stop this evil, incurable disease.  We will continue to fall on our knees and pray for a cure that only God can provide.  And we will try to believe that there is an eternity where any of this makes sense.  

And so, forgive me.  For not being merry and bright.  For not feeling peace or an abundance of joy.  Forgive me for not finding a way to write a message of optimism and hope.  Forgive us for leaning on all of you for faith that is stronger than ours, while we lean on each other, holding on to the only thing we feel with confidence – love.