“Aside from the cancer, this has been the best five years of my life,” he’d said to his brother-in-law before passing. His words were shared at his funeral, and they stuck with me.
Five years ago, my nephew Michael was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a type of brain cancer. It forced an early retirement as a pediatrician.
After surgery that removed only a portion of the tumor, Michael resumed running every day, and filled his time making memories with his wife and five children—on the snowy slopes, wakeboarding behind a ski boat, and simply hanging out together.
He died a couple weeks ago, after living much longer than expected.
Halfway through our southern-Utah-national-parks road trip, Dan and I detoured to attend his funeral near Salt Lake City. After the service and spending time with family, we drove south to pick up our road trip route where we left off.
Later that day, Dan and I settled our adventure van into a campsite, and then took a walk. I had been thinking about what was said at the funeral and how all five of Michael’s kids stood up and talked about their dad—sharing humorous stories and heart-tugging remembrances.
As Dan and I walked, I told him these past five years of our marriage have been the best five years of my life. And by that, I mean: even though I had a good and happy marriage before I was widowed, still … those were the years when I thought we had a lot of time left.
Those were the years when we saved, and stayed out of debt, and lived on a single income so I could work at a non-profit that paid $400 a month; the days when we almost didn’t take that Alaskan cruise for our 25th anniversary because we needed a new computer.
And now that I’m up-close-and-personally acquainted with how short life can be, and since God graced me with a second chance at love, and since Dan and I are both aware that this later-in-life season will be briefer than we want, we’re living full out, and serving others, and taking road trips, and enjoying every hike and every family gathering and every Friday date night. Hence, the best five years of my life.
On our walk, Dan made a comment based on his firsthand experience from losing a spouse: “It forces a person to be more intentional about the remaining years, and about relationships and restoring them.”
The unexpected diagnosis, the death of a spouse or parent or child or sibling, the broken relationship—these events can force us to take a look at what remains after our losses, to determine if we need to live with more intention.
Even though Michael certainly made memories with his wife and kids long before the cancer diagnosis, those were the years when maybe he thought he still had a long time to live. He was building a following of patients, and building additional clinics, and staffing the clinics—still making time for family, but also still brainstorming and developing and planning for the long-term.
What if?
What if we could live full out before the devastating diagnosis, or the loss of a loved one, or before any of the other many reminders that shout at us: LIFE IS SHORTER THAN YOU THINK!
What might that look like?
I think it could look like taking a step toward restoring what’s been broken, so much as it depends upon us—we’ve done our part, and now we leave the rest to God.
I think it could look like strengthening those most important relationships that God has placed in our lives—taking the time, making the memories, listening well.
I think it could look like getting outdoors—a road trip through national parks. A walk through the park along the river. A walk to the end of the driveway to check the mail. Or if you’re not able to walk to the end of the driveway, maybe sitting in the backyard Adirondack chair.
And while you’re outdoors, I think living fully includes speaking gratitude for the things that still remain—one more day of life, one more day to gather with family and friends, one more chai latte and taste buds to enjoy it.
These have been the best five years of my life, and I never want to take anything this precious for granted.
Amy Jo Bartels
Nice!
Marlys Lawry
Thank you, Amy Jo!
Dorene Foster
Marlys, I always enjoy your stories, this time more than usual. Yes, life is getting shorter than we think for all of us, if not physically, then maybe mentally or emotionally.
We are now trying to do weekly short trips, nothing fancy, just fun and relaxing. A lot of this type of thing got lost when we had to stop RVing.
Last week, we went over to the river to watch the Kokanee spawn. Unfortunately, no one gave the Kokanee a heads-up that we were coming. So it was just us and one lone Bald Eagle high in a tree above us, also looking for the now-absent Kokanee. (He had obviously come for a more serious reason than we did. ) Instead, we enjoyed the scenery and had a quiet little riverside picnic lunch while listening to the river rushing past us
If the Kokanee are there this week, I will toss them breadcrumbs as a thank you.
Marlys Lawry
I love your attitude, Dorene, and your picnic date! (Your Kokanee story made me laugh out loud!) Love to you.
Killam Jennifer
Marlys, I’ve never met you but I feel like I have since I have been following you since your first husband died, and my husband died almost 8 years ago. I have struggled with cancer myself because I have a rare lymphoma. I am very steady now with it and I take some medicine and have different procedures, but I am doing well. I enjoy reading all your newsletters and I am happy for you. It sounds like you have reached a great point in your life. I wish you a happy holiday season and only the best for 2026. Thanks for writing.
Marlys Lawry
I’m so sorry to hear about your loss, Jennifer … and now cancer. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well, despite all the hard things. Thank you for your kind words of blessing. Wishing you all the best through this upcoming winter holiday season, and in the year ahead.
Joe Albert
Very inspiring Marlys! Thank you.
Marlys Lawry
Thank you for your kind words, Joe.
Peter Howe B.E.M.
Thank you Marlys. Some really pertinent reminders in your caring words, reminded me of my kidney cancer, in ‘86, 25% chance of survival…. What next?. Thankfully, God had ideas & though my Barbara too had to endure cancer, we found direction, purpose in our togetherness. We are forever grateful, in finding adventures, cycling many places in the world… across USA, Mexico, Vietnam etc, which opened up new life long relationships, never to be forgotten, some on your doorstep. Being led to compose songs, to get to sing them.. only God had this in mind, He is so good. My, loosing my Barbara x, now being on my own, perhaps leads me to finding new purpose, so life is often raw & painful, a time of searching, with the precious memories still all around me. I have known you during the years of which you write & can’t thank you enough for sharing with so many of US. Bless you both for finding each other & ‘being there’ … in the best years of your life. Love, Peter Howe B.E.M.
Marlys Lawry
Peter, I love how you said this: “we found direction, purpose in our togetherness.” Yes, there is new purpose for you as God continues to open doors for your song-writing and singing!
Peter Howe
Thank you for your encouragement…. Sadly the long cycling sojourns have finally reached an end… but ‘the across USA venture’ is now a manuscript.. may be for a book, as a dedication to my Barbara x., God willing. Bless you. Peter.
Marlys Lawry
Blessings to you, Peter