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“Time moves faster when you're older,” is something my grandma used to tell me. “It feels like forever when you’re young, waiting to grow up. And soon enough, you’ll blink, and you’re old.” She used to say it with a laugh, but with a hint of sadness and longing behind her eyes. I didn’t used to believe her. I didn’t really understand. But how could I understand? As a child, time seemed to move slowly, often excruciatingly so. I used to count down the years until I could drive, or go to college, or other big milestones. Now, as an adult, I am just starting to understand what she meant–time seems determined to move at a breakneck speed.
Time is an anomaly that never seems to move at the same pace. When you’re stuck sitting at work waiting for the last ten minutes to pass by before you can go home, it can feel like a lifetime. However, when you’re enjoying a meaningful moment with family or friends, we often find ourselves wondering what happened when it’s late and time for them to leave.
Wanting more time is a very human trait. We all probably wish we had more time to get all the housework done, spend more time on our hobbies, have more time to see the world, or spend more time with loved ones.
For those with a cancer diagnosis, or a friend or family member of someone with a cancer diagnosis, time takes on a new meaning. When moments of life with loved ones become the priority–having more time with them is the greatest gift of all.
We reached out to current cancer patients and their support people to share their stories of how having more time with their loved ones has been a gift to them–especially during the holiday season.
Todd is a person living with multiple myeloma, a blood cancer that is rare, complex and considered "incurable" for most. Todd's diagnosis came as a shock on the day after Christmas in 2017 during a routine visit to his orthopedist to address some persistent back pain. Thanks to leading-edge care and ongoing treatment, Todd remains in remission and is living life fully. The unexpected "gift" of the diagnosis is a clarified sense of purpose and opportunity to partner and serve with his wife, Diane, as active patient and research advocates. By sharing their time and lived experience, they frequently receive heartfelt notes of gratitude as they help others move from fear to hope, a priceless gift especially during the holidays.
“Having worked with cancer patients over many years as an advocate, navigator and listener, I’ve realized that the most meaningful gift, especially during the stressful holiday season, is a loose-leaf notebook that I keep at my desk. I tell the woman I’m supporting to give me all the papers—the explanations of benefits, bills, notes and notifications—and offer to monitor deadlines and check things for accuracy. I also pledge to handle any appeals that may be necessary. It’s not a traditional gift, but it soothes anxiety and makes women feel less alone on their health journeys and makes more space for their healing.”
I have stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer that spread to my spine, pelvis, hips and lower back.
When I got diagnosed my immediate family turned their backs on me. So this holiday, I want my chosen family and friends to know how much they mean and how grateful I am that they saved my life. I also don't want to be treated like I'm sick. And I really wish I had gotten the skinny cancer because all of my meds have weight-gaining side effects. 🙂
Ron Roecker, Check out Ron's best-selling children's book series on Amazon Worldwide. Stay tuned for his "Music Maker's Brand Marketing, Public Relations & Digital Strategy Survival Guide" which will be out late this summer.
How come skin cancer doesn’t seem to carry the same weight as other cancers? After getting fifty stitches in the middle of my face, what I appreciated most was the quiet presence of a loved one.
No speeches, no fixing, just my husband’s arms around me when I had to step into a room full of people. Even when they knew me, we were family, yet their consideration was almost too much to bear. Hearing them comment on how “bad” the plastic surgeon was only made me feel uglier. I remember telling him, I feel like a leaf about to fall off a tree.
Yes, those fifty stitches looked awful. But once they healed, I could feel my old self coming back.
Yours, Dr LR
I am a 13-year rare Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma survivor and author of the book 'Cancer, Musical Theatre, & Other Chronic Illnesses'.
At Christmas time in 2011, mere weeks after my first round of chemo and a prognosis that was less than appealing, all I wanted was to be around family. As they say, 'if you don't have your health, you don't have anything', and I found that to be particularly true that December. My parents bought my ticket home for a visit with loved ones, and that simple act of escape to safety really made that Christmas. Were there meaningful gifts? Was there fun to be had? Yes, but just being there in their presence, surrounded by their love, care, and concern was the best gift I could have asked for that year - aside from maybe not having cancer in the first place. lol
Edward Miskie, Author of Cancer, Musical Theatre & Other Chronic Illnesses. Read More About Edward
“More time.”
That’s what all of my treatments amount to in the end. I know stage-four cancer is terminal in most cases. I want to be the exception, but I’m also realistic. More mornings packing my son’s lunchbox. More tickle fights at bedtime. That is the true gift of modern medicine.
As I enter this holiday season, I can’t help wondering: Will this be my last? How many more times will I grumble about finding yet another mischievous setup for the Elf on the Shelf? How many more off-key renditions of “O Holy Night” will I sing as my child drifts to sleep, his little arm draped across the incisions in my chest? So many things that once felt like chores have become sacred rites.
Time used to press at my sternum like a tide of anxiety. It urged me to produce, achieve, become. But now, as time turns slippery, I let all those dreams slide down the drain with laughter on my lips and a softened heart. They were illusions anyway. None of them compare to the adorable way my niece can’t pronounce her r’s, or the way my dad kisses my forehead at the airport while I shiver and complain about the cold. No accomplishment has ever meant more than the smell of Christmas brunch in the oven—filling the house not just with cinnamon and spice, but with my mother’s unconditional love.
The less of it I have, the longer time seems to take to pass. And so this season, I find myself saying no.
• No to invitations
• No to extra shifts
• No to over-consumption
The holidays can become miles wide and inches deep if we aren’t careful. Instead, I’m choosing intention. I let my family decorate the tree while I play Holiday DJ from the couch. Instead of rushing to get it done, I watch them choose their favorite ornaments. I don’t correct my five-year-old when he hangs four stars on the same branch. I sit, sipping spiced tea, tears slipping, savoring the perfection of imperfection.
Time—to feel good in my body.
Cancer hurts in so many ways. This week a post holiday party migraine ripped through me, I found myself hugging the toilet bowl, begging my body for relief. Then a thought struck: You don’t have time to be tough anymore. Those days are gone—the days when suffering fortified me and built the kind of confidence no one could shake. I’ve done my time in the crucible. This is my time for living.
Ten minutes and a couple of phone calls later, I had someone to watch my child and a ride to the ER, where blissful pain medication and heavenly sleep waited for me. Time. Time to rest.
As a person living with stage-four cancer, there is only one thing I want this holiday season: time. And not just more time, but time that deepens the longer you stay. Time that sticks to your ribs the way my sister’s Christmas fudge will stick to my hips long after the season has passed. Time to give them memories of me—not as the mom, auntie, daughter, sister, or friend who was always on the go, always building something, always chasing the next athletic feat. But memories of a soul who saw them and loved them in the present moment, without needing anything to change.
That is my holiday wish.
Melanie Ezell, Instagram
As a mom of 11 and grandmother to a leukemia survivor, the holidays have taken on an even deeper meaning for our family. Looking back, the most profound gifts were never things we could wrap, but the time we spent truly present with one another.
During my granddaughter’s treatment, what mattered most were the simple, quiet moments—watching a holiday movie together, decorating cookies, or just pausing everything to share a laugh. These memories weren't grand or orchestrated, but they became our most treasured gifts because they helped us hold onto hope and normalcy.
As a family lifestyle photographer, I’ve seen that these “in-between” moments—hugs around the kitchen table, reading stories by the tree, or just being silly together—mean everything, especially during difficult seasons. Documenting those genuine connections is not just about having photos for the albums; it’s about honoring the gift of time and presence that families give each other when words or gifts simply aren’t enough.
I truly believe that what cancer patients and their families want most during the holidays is just that: the chance to be together, make memories, and remember that love is what matters most.
Wishing all families strength, hope, and the gift of time with one another.
Miriam Dubinsky, Miriam Dubinsky Photography (serving NYC & northern NJ) | www.miriamdubinsky.com | Instagram
During the three years from her diagnosis of Stage 4 stomach cancer until my wife's death in February, 2023 we traversed the December holidays three times. Each time that part of the year rolled around, Heather seemed to focus more deeply upon relationships. She realized at this time of the year how important family relationships were, and was so happy when she had the strength to participate in holiday gatherings. She also noted more carefully how so many of her relationships throughout life had come alive again as her friends near and far, both in time and in distance, had rallied around her as she journeyed with cancer. As she wrote in one of her CaringBridge posts, "A real lifeline and encouragement has been connecting with so many friends over the past months and the incredible blessing of prayers and words of support and fellowship."
Walking through this season of the year with all the uncertainties of cancer can feel like we are walking into a minefield of emotions. But this same reality, that we do not know how many days are left, adds a deep desire to make every day count, and to treat every person in our lives with awe and gratitude. As Heather seemed to see more clearly every December, what is most important is our relationships, both with God and with others. That is what will endure when all our days have passed.
Dr. Bob Cutillo, Read his book HERE
\Thank you to all of our contributors who shared heartfelt, vulnerable, and real stories from their lives with us. They help remind each of us that time spent making memories with our loved ones, and time spent doing things that bring us joy, are among the greatest gifts of all. Your stories help remind us to take a moment this busy holiday season to pause and be grateful for the time we have to spend with those we love.
May we all remember to pause and take a mental snapshot this season, and store it away in our photobooks of memories–to open and look back on with happiness and laughter.
If you’d like to keep hearing stories like these, tune in to the Cancer Bites Podcast, hosted by Stacey Alvarez de la Campa and produced by show and community creator Siobhan Shaw and GrowingToGive.org. Each week, we bring together survivors, caregivers, medical professionals, and compassionate voices from all walks of life to share their experiences, their lessons, and their light. (We’ll even be highlighting some contributors from this article in the future!)
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