Five years ago this month, I had head surgery. My husband—dealing with cancer and the side effects of wretched chemo—whisked me away to a resort village in the mountains with a tiny tree, a few lights, and a couple of gifts. It was a blissful, healing time.
We didn’t know it would be our last Christmas together.
It took a while to get here. And then there was the jet-lag thing.
But love isn’t always easy. Or comfortable.
My daughter Summer married her college sweetheart in the month of December. Several years and six children later, Josh and Summer are still sweethearts. And the only way they can get away for a few days together is when a grandparent is present.
This is where I come in.
This is my favorite time of year. Nearby mountains cloaked in winter white. Gaggles of geese discussing where to winter. Breaking trail in snowshoes. Family and friends gathering and giving thanks and eating way too much pie and lighting candles and opening gifts and ringing in a New Year.
And yet, the holidays without a job, without our health, with missing loved ones just aren’t the same.
Photo by freestocks.org on Unsplash
My intent was to honor my husband on this anniversary of his Homegoing. And so I ordered dozens of pumpkin-flavored mini-cakes from Ida’s Cupcake Café.
Ida’s Cupcakes (all photos: Marlys)
Mirriam-Webster says this about thrive:
Thrive: verb \ˈthrīv \ 3 : to progress toward or realize a goal despite or because of circumstances.
Thriving doesn’t mean we’ve put closure to something and we no longer allow ourselves to feel sadness or pain in our difficulties.
Rather, it’s taking our story and our memories and our hard places with us and stepping back into life while we still have breath.
Photo by Anton Darius | @theSollers on Unsplash
In The Sound of Music, Julie Andrews sang about some of her favorite things: things like, girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, and snowflakes that stayed on her nose like eyelashes. But she forgot to mention anything about autumn, the best time of the year.
Photo by Tereza Hošková on Unsplash
Confession: The title of this blog is misleading. Because once you’ve been diagnosed with wanderlust—that strong desire or urge to travel and explore—there is no cure.
Photo: lovethispic.com
My husband, Gary, was stubborn tenacious. Diagnosed with late-stage, slow-growing prostate cancer, there was a two-year life expectancy. But Gary stubbornly insisted on living ten years. Ten far-reaching, astonishing years.
Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash
I loved that I was married to a tenacious man.
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
