“September Song” is the title of an old tune written for a Broadway show in 1938, and one of its lines says, “It’s a long, long while from May to December, but the days grow short when you reach September.” As sunrises and sunsets go, that’s true.

But this September, which is in the record books as of today, my niece Stina got married in the middle of the month. And as God would have it, our whole relation came together for the event. Though September days may be growing shorter, we packed a-lotta-livin’ into each one.

Our family has had lots of weddings, but not everyone has been able to attend each event. This time, though, all 49 of us came together to witness and celebrate Stina and Evan’s marriage. But the other reason we assembled was all about the mother of the bride.

Last February Mary was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. In March she had the extensive Whipple surgery at Mayo Clinic, ridding herself of a baseball-size tumor as well as parts of her pancreas, intestine, gall bladder, and bile duct-work. The surgery was textbook-perfect, and no other cancer was found in the many scans that followed.

Chemotherapy began in May, and this week she completed the 16th of 18 infusions. She’s on the home stretch, and we are all quick to say the end is in sight, not just the end of chemo but the end of cancer. Yet no doctor will use the beautiful word “cured.” Mary herself hasn’t been disappointed by that, testifying that God has taught her a couple of important things since February: (1) to be grateful for each day she’s given, and (2) to live each one to the fullest.

When a cancer diagnosis is handed to a loved one, the whole relation joins into the misery of adjusting to it. And an overwhelming instinct is to rush toward that cherished one, hurrying into her presence with an urgency that feels like she might disappear any second.

None of us has a guarantee that we’ll live on and on, but part of cancer’s wickedness is to hang a permanent threat above the head of the diagnosed one. And when we love that person dearly, cancer becomes a threat to us all. That, I believe, is one reason every family member worked hard to clear schedules, buy plane tickets, pack for old and young alike, and make it to Stina and Evan’s wedding.

The days grow short when you reach September, but God tells us the “length of days” is shortening for all of us, every day of every month, not just in September. Day by day, hour by hour, we’re all on a sliding scale of “time remaining.”

Once we accept that, the whole group of us (along with anyone else in a cancer-touched family) becomes empowered to step out from under the threatening cancer-cloud hanging overhead. And it’s reason enough for 48 of us to learn what Mary has learned by way of her cancer: to be thankful for each day of life we’re given, and to live them all to the fullest.

Cling to the Lord your God, for He is your life and the length of your days. (Deuteronomy 30:20)