“When it comes down to it, that’s what life is all about: appearing for your loved ones over and over again until you can no longer show up.” ~ Rebecca Walker
The first time my dad admitted he was scared, I felt a change in me.
Not easy. Do not worry. Fear.
He was recently diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer and we were standing together when he quietly asked, “Is this what brought me out?”
I want to tell you that I answered with wisdom or grace. Instead, I do what many people do when faced with something they can not control. I tried to negotiate.
I told him, “It will not take you away if you do not want it.”
Even the words that came out of my mouth knew it was not true.
I did not speak to him. I am talking to destiny. I am talking with fear. I am talking about the impossible fact that my father could die.
For most of my life, my dad was bigger than I was. Stubborn. Funny. Independent. The kind of people who see the law as an idea and authority as a challenge.
He was also the one who kept me safe. And suddenly he was looking for me to guarantee.
That was when I encountered what many adult children face, but very few are prepared for: a change of role.
The people who used to carry you are starting to depend on you. Anyone who has ever had an answer starts asking questions. Someone who teaches you how to explore the world becomes vulnerable in ways you never expected.
People often think that grief starts when someone dies, my experience has taught me otherwise. Sometimes grief starts when you know they will.
As my dad’s illness progressed, everyone in my family found a different way to deal with it.
One sister arranged appointments and schedules.
Another flew across the country and started stealing avocados into his soup because she read about the nutritional benefits.
There are green smoothies, supplements, treatment plans, research articles and endless conversations about what can help.
My mother had a different view.
“Let him eat as he pleases,” she said. “He is dead”
At the time, everyone seemed to be speaking in tongues. Looking back, I know we are all doing the same thing. We are trying to make sure no one has
Loss has a way of expressing the discomfort we have with uncertainty.
Some people control. Some research. Some repairs. Some avoid. Some are angry. Most of us walk through them all.
I am not immune. I just show it differently. Instead of trying to save him, I became obsessed with making things easier.
Can we hire help? Can we reduce his stress? Can we simplify his life?
I’m looking for something useful to do because usefulness feels safer than no help.
One of the most important lessons I learned during that time was that action and control were not the same thing.
Actions can be helpful. Management is often an illusion.
The more I tried to control the situation emotionally, the more tired I became. The more I accept what is happening, the more I can be present.
It sounds simple. It is not.
Acceptance is often mistaken for giving up. To me, accepting is like acknowledging the truth while continuing to love him fully.
It means realizing that I can not change the outcome, but I can influence the experience. I can choose how I present myself.
One of my favorite memories comes from going to the hospital.
He is getting access to treatment and the campus is strictly non-smoking. Dad, I want a cigarette. I told him it was not allowed. Then I went out to get the car.
As I pulled up, he was sitting in the passenger seat with a big smile.
“Mega,” he said. “Look.”
He pointed to the ground. There are half a cigarette next to the shortcut. Someone threw it away. My father actually saved it. He is very proud of himself.
I remember I laughed. That moment was funny. But it is also perfect.
Because at that time he was not a cancer patient. He is not a diagnosis. He is not a problem to be solved. He was just my father. Stubborn. There are resources. Without apologizing to yourself.
That memory taught me something I did not fully understand at the time.
When people are nearing the end of their lives, we tend to focus on keeping them until we stop seeing them.
We see symptoms. Appointments. Drugs. Deny. We forget people are still under it all.
The greatest gift we can give someone who is facing loss is not always our solution. Sometimes it is our focus. Sometimes it remembers who they are.
As the months passed, something unexpected began to happen. The memory appeared without warning.
I would stand in my kitchen and suddenly find myself being transported back to my childhood.
I could see us on the street in Sonoma, California. I could hear his laughter. I could feel my bike shaking as he taught me how to ride.
Memories are not great. They are normal. And how to make them more powerful.
At first I did not understand why they continued to appear.
Now I think my mind is doing what needs to be done. It is taking care of him. Not his version that hurts. His version is still alive. The version that created me.
In the end, something else happened that I noticed in many families facing significant loss. People began to settle. Patience is gone. Arguments have surfaced somewhere. Small disagreements turn into big conflicts. Everyone seemed emotional.
There was chaos at the time. Now I understand differently. When people feel powerless, find a place to go.
Fear often disguises itself as frustration. Sadness is always hidden as anger. Sadness rarely comes in the clean and recognizable form we expect. Sometimes it comes to wearing different clothes.
One thing I wish more people understood was that there is no perfect way to explore these experiences. There is only understanding. The more we know about what we are feeling, the less likely we are to show it to everyone around us.
If you are facing a difficult loss right now – or any life change that feels bigger than your ability to manage it – there are some things I have learned that can help.
First, stop hoping for certainty.
The need for certainty creates more misery because life rarely gives it away.
Second, pay attention to how you are trying to manage.
Are you repairing? Researching? Avoid? Fight?
Understanding your coping strategies does not eliminate them, but it helps you to become more conscious of them.
Third, do not wait for the perfect time.
Meaningful moments are normal.
Conversation at the parking lot. Meals together. Funny jokes. Half a pack of cigarettes was found on the ground. These are the times that are often with us.
Most importantly, remember that presence is enough.
You do not have to solve all the problems. You do not have to take every emotion. You do not have to make the situation unacceptable.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stay. Stay tuned for a conversation. Stay for memories. Stay for a laugh. Stay for heartbreak. Stay for people.
My father eventually died. But when I think about the seasons of my life now, all that remains is not fear. It is not a diagnosis. It is not a loss of self.
All that remains is his smile. His personality. His stubbornness. The moment when he was unexpected and could not argue with himself.
That was when I finally realized what anticipated grief had been trying to teach me throughout my life.
Love is not measured by our ability to save. It is measured by our willingness to be with them fully and honestly, even if we cannot.
About Megan Pelan
Meghan Phelan is the owner Granny NANNIES of South FloridaBring eighteen years of experience in caring for the elderly. After graduating with a degree in Health Services Administration from the University of Central Florida, she dedicated her career to helping seniors stay safe at home. Based in Miami, Meghan is also an Alzheimer’s community educator and support group coordinator committed to providing compassionate care and reliable support for families across South Florida.
