Category Archives: caregiver

There are no words.

Today was one of those days that I couldn’t find the right words. Or any words really. Jeff and I entered the funeral home together. It was the first time I would be meeting her. We were pen pals of sorts, trading the occasional email and blog post comments. We shared a bond; a story of two couples working for the same company with blended families touched by cancer.

Her name is Susan and she was our friend, support, and shining star of hope.

We looked at her pictures and read the dozens upon dozens of cards sent to her throughout her fight. The line to see her was long. We saw an old friend exiting the receiving line and I lost it. I couldn’t get a word out.

When I pulled it together, I looked up and saw Susan’s husband standing to the left of her casket, her family lined up next to him. This image will forever be in my mind. I found myself staring into another family’s version of exactly what we are fighting so hard to avoid. I hugged Susan’s husband tight. And again, could not think of how to articulate everything I wanted to say, something really meaningful and comforting from one caregiver/spouse/parent to another. And so he said it for me, “There are no words.”

Susan has been inspirational in our journey. She’s emerged countless times from insurmountable challenges, and that has given us strength to believe we can do the same.

Losing Susan does not mean losing hope. That’s not what she would want us to walk away with. So instead we walk away reminded that there’s a plan. And that part of the plan is to squeeze every last ounce out of this life. And to do everything with love and kindness. That’s what she did.

Rest in peace, our beautiful friend.

 

 

 

 

To the caregivers out there.

You are okay. That’s what I need someone to remind me everyday, or every hour for that matter. And I’m saying this as the caregiver of a lung cancer patient (aka wife of a really cool, sweet, funny, accepting, awesome ginger guy who is still working on his dance moves from the ’90s) who for the most part is doing remarkably well. I feel guilty. Don’t I have it easy compared to others caregivers out there? I should be counting my blessings. And I am, I mean I do realize how blessed we are. Truly blessed.

To say I am more in touch today with how fortunate my family is post-lung cancer is an understatement. So what’s my deal? Why can’t I just live in the moment and be grateful? Be happy? As hard as I try, for as many therapy sessions as I go to and yoga classes I take, I cannot make the daily worries and stresses of this illness go away, not completely. Not even for a full 24 hours (or like 2 hours). My mind so desperately tries to prepare me for the unspeakable, forcing me to step through different scenarios. This makes for very painful moments from time to time.

A friend of mine asked me tonight, “What’s the plan? What are the doctors telling you the plan is for Jeff?” No one has asked me that in a really long time. And so I stopped for a second. The plan is to keep going like this; scans every 8-10 weeks, treatment changes as-needed, possibly clinical trials, whatever is takes to keep the cancer at bay. This is the plan, indefinitely. Or until someone finds a cure.

Recently, I have felt as if my ability (or inability as it seems) to handle Jeff’s illness, the feelings that go along with it, the scanxiety, just day to day living, has changed. Sometimes I think it’s impossible to carry all of this and continue to function like a normal human being. I think for many of us, especially those with young families, we want to do it all. To take this thing on with grace, always with a smile. Sometimes it’s just not realistic, in fact it’s asking too much of ourselves.

So when someone asks you “How are you doing it?” or tells you how impressed they are by your strength, try not to just brush it off. Do not respond with, “I have no choice” or “You would do the same thing.” Take it in for a moment and give yourself some credit. Not everyone can do the caregiver thing. And we do have a choice, we choose to care for our loved ones. Sadly, not everyone in this situation chooses the same road. Whether you’re having a day of grace, of sadness, anger or joy, or utter helplessness, it’s okay. You are okay right where you are.

Much love and much hope. xo.