Happier now more than ever...
Jesus once said, “You must lose your life to find it.”
And the doctors at St. Jude—they don’t sugarcoat. They’ve told my son Vinnie over and over, “We’re not saving your life. We’re just prolonging it.”
According to the oncologists, Vinnie has been losing his life since that day they told us those words. The Apostle Paul said he would rather boast in his weakness, because then the Father is strong.
“You must lose your life… to find it.”
After two remissions, hoping for a third, they said it again—right there in front of me: “We’re not saving your life… we’re just prolonging it.”
In other words, you’re still going to die.
And I broke. Tears came like floodwater breaching a dam. I spoke. I didn’t plan it. My heart just poured out. And when I was done, the room was a sea of wet eyes. Even the doctors.
I guess I have that effect on people. When I preach, I see tears. From all parts of the room. But that day, in a small room at St. Jude’s Peoria affiliate, my voice wasn’t preaching—it was a father’s heart cracking like his voice. I told them, “We’ve been here before. We know what to do. We will have victory. And if we don’t—then you’ll go to heaven… and I will come to you.”
The entire 4-person team of St. Jude professionals broke. Vinnie broke. Kaylee broke down crying. Because their words tore something inside me. Still does.
Vinnie’s never had what most people call a “normal” life. Cancer stole that. Chemotherapy took his high school years, forced him out of Limestone and into some distant St. Jude student program in Memphis. He even went to a prom for kids with cancer—suits, dresses, wheelchairs. Vinnie sat in one of those wheelchairs, not yet owning a prosthetic. I watched them walk down the red carpet. And then a fellow St Jude friend of Vinnie’s pushed my son down that crimson tide of carpeting rolled out for superstars. He smiled and waved at the cheering crowd–Beautiful, powerful, unforgettable… and although a proud Papa, always that question whispering in the back of my mind: How long?
But there’s another side of the same coin. There always is.
Last week Vinnie told his friend Cameron—a buddy from grade school, still in his life—that he’s happier now than he’s ever been. And he’s told others the same. Which makes no sense. No hair. Maybe not much time left. And yet—happier.
I remember years ago, he visited his former middle school teachers. He looked at them and said—paraphrased, but close—
“Some kids get upset over a bad grade or a bad hair day. But I’ve learned not to take life for granted. I’m grateful for what I have. I’m grateful for one more day. And if I have a bad hair day… who cares? I’m just grateful.”
This was 2016. God was already shaping him. Those teachers cried. One reached for a Kleenex. Vinnie’s words hit them like warm rain breaking through a drought.
Fast forward to 2025. Vacation snapshots. A restaurant photo that cost too much but was worth every penny.
Another—Vinnie and Kaylee petting the dogs before visiting Grandma’s grave for the first time.
And then we stood there.
Vinnie said, “Dad, you should pray.”
So I did. I prayed words that some would question and quote Leviticus against my prayer. But my faith—my faith told me Jesus could carry our love straight to Mom. I pictured Him leaning over from His throne, calling her name, and telling her, “They’re saying they love you.”
And then I said it—the words that hung heavy in the warm cemetery air:
“We’re coming home, Mama. We’re coming home.”
Kaylee whispered, “Amen.”
Vinnie’s voice cracked, “We’re coming home, Grandma.”
That’s all I have. That’s the whole truth.
And if my words don’t hit you in the chest—check your pulse.
“I’m happier now than I’ve ever been in my life.”
~Vincent “Vinnie” Miller
Spoken on the day we visited Mom’s grave on 8-10-25