When we learned my mom had Stage 4 cancer, my Type A personality went into overdrive. I was “her person” full time. I took care of all medical documentation, appointments, and care (along with assisted living personnel) and coordinated with hospice. I did this because she was “my person” growing up. I was just paying her back for all that she had given to me over the years.–AR
Relationships with parents typically have ups and downs. We might cling to our parent at five years old, only to push them away as teens as we strive for independence. Through all of our experiences, we hope to have parents who can provide guidance, support, and ultimately, friendship. Some of us will find that perfect balance; others will not. The absence, tension, or turmoil that characterized our parent-child relationship can continue throughout adulthood.
Regardless of how our relationship unfolds, when a parent enters a medical crisis, the trends in our relationship are heightened. If we have an overall positive relationship with a parent, that pattern tends to persist. If the parent/child relationship has been less rewarding, there can be a resurgence in the feeling of regret that the relationship isn’t more of what we wanted. In either situation, a sense of loss is felt. We no longer have the parent who taught us how to ride a bike, made the worst meatloaf, called us by our sibling’s name, waited for us to come home, or forgot to call us on our birthday.
It may seem odd, but I learned a lot being with my mother when she was dying. We talked, but not much about how she felt, what kind of service she wanted, or other end of life topics. As I think back on it, not only do I know what I wish I had done differently, but I’ve also learned what I want to happen if I am in the same position as my mom.–GT
I have a hard time going to church these days. The music is what my mother loved the most and it just hits me in the heart — every time.–AR
I was one during my mother’s first breast cancer diagnosis, which resulted in a radical mastectomy. When I was five, cancer was diagnosed in her other breast, and again, she had a radical mastectomy. All I can remember is that she wasn’t home a lot, and we had family and neighbors taking care of my brother and me. She and my father divorced shortly following the second diagnosis. This had an additional negative impact on my emotional well-being as a child. I was a very sad and depressed child.–RG
My father passed away 21 years ago, and I still wait for his Sunday phone call. Some memories are meant to stay forever.–CWS
I was scared when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Having lost my father at the age of eight, the idea of being without any living parent was completely overwhelming. I had just gotten engaged, so thoughts of whether my mom would make it to my wedding, see her grandchildren, etc., all regularly went through my head.–KW
Experiencing a parent’s illness can leave us feeling unmoored. Lisa and her mother were exceptionally close to one another, and their journey illustrates the bond and impact.
Lisa’s Experience Torn Black Ribbon
My mother was actively dying from metastatic breast cancer that had been diagnosed 12 years earlier. I was not only one of my mother’s primary caregivers in her final months, but we were unusually close, and during that time she came to rely on me a great deal, from medication management to backrubs, handholding, and telling her the truths of her condition. I’d been able to focus keenly on her needs and comfort, and it was the great honor of my life to be connected so completely with Mom at such a sacred time.
Six weeks before my mom died, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, the same disease that was killing my mom. Upon being told the diagnosis, I became disoriented, fuzzy, and furious that the spell of closeness between us had been broken at the time she needed me most.
I briefly considered not telling her about my diagnosis and explored the pros and cons — or rather the cons and worse cons — with family and friends. In the end, I decided to tell her for several reasons. First, I was one of her primary caregivers and didn’t know how I’d explain my sudden disappearance and re-emergence with a flat chest and drainage tubes. Also, we were exceptionally close, and she knew me completely. She would detect that I was stressed and hiding something, which would distress her in turn. My friend, Leslie, said it best. “Would you want to know if Brian (my son) was sick, even if you were on your deathbed?” The answer was yes, and I steeled myself for the hardest conversation of my life. My husband and I went to my parents’ condo. We sat in the dining room and I told my parents. My mother’s face became anguished. She couldn’t speak. I don’t remember my father’s reaction. I think he was crying. But it was my mother’s expression of torment that haunts me to this day, and I believe that my disclosure hastened her death.
I was in the rather unique situation of being able to talk with my Mom about my breast cancer as she was about to lose the battle of her own. This was exquisitely painful in so many ways. However, my mother was an extremely positive person and nurturing parent. She wanted to help me, and she did, even as she was dying. We would sit together, talking and holding hands in a sacred and intimate space much like the one we’d shared throughout our relationship — just sadder and more profound in its irony. One day, we were talking about reconstruction. I told Mom what I’d heard from my doctor about the total loss of sensation that typically accompanies mastectomy, and I asked her if it were true. She’d had natural reconstruction, and mine would be done with silicone implants, but I thought our experiences might still be comparable. Mom, who was weakening daily by this point, told me yes, but that I shouldn’t worry because it really wasn’t so bad. And in fact, that throughout her cancer, she’d found that with each new challenge, there was always something good that followed. I looked at her incredulously. “Something good?” I exclaimed. “How can a total loss of breast sensation have anything that’s good?” With a faint smile and a gleam in her eye, she pointed downward, saying, “Because the sensation moves south.” I was the social worker, but Mom knew how to make people feel better, no matter what. Though she didn’t survive for me to tell her, she was in fact correct.
I went into surgery with a torn black ribbon pinned to my gown for my mother, who died seven days before.
In psychology, there is a concept referred to as Rosy Retrospection. Rosy retrospection is shading the memory of the person who passed away as only good and not recognizing the flaws in the relationship or person. By having rosy retrospection, it helps some people cope with the loss and unresolved challenges in the relationship. For others, recognizing the shades of the relationship and person feels authentic and thus they are able to move on.
Susan’s experience with her father illustrates how a complicated relationship with a parent doesn’t change just because he is ill or dies and honestly recognizing all that it was and wasn’t is what is important to her.
Susan’s Experience The Good Daughter
Dad and I always had a rocky relationship. He wasn’t emotionally equipped to keep me safe as a little kid. Bad things happened, and a wedge of distrust was forever inserted between us. As an adult, I did my best to remove the wedge, to be the good daughter. We projected the public appearance of a happy, loving relationship, but I never actually felt it. I don’t believe that he did either. When I finally shared with close friends who saw us together every week at our place of worship, they were shocked to learn that I didn’t actually love or trust Dad.
Keeping up the appearance that everything was fine was exhausting and it became unbearable when Dad’s life began to descend into chaos, taking mine along with it. He made reckless choices and involved himself with dangerous people. Even with the help of family, friends, clergy, counselors, and law enforcement, I/we couldn’t change the horrific path of his life.
To protect myself and my loved ones from potential violence, I made the difficult choice to end my relationship with Dad. He died three years later.
Resources for When Your Parent is Ill
The Emotional Survival Guide for Caregivers: Looking after yourself and your family while helping an aging parent, by Barry Jacobs, Psy.D.[1]
Dancing with Elephants: Mindfulness training for those living with dementia, chronic illness or an aging brain, by Jarem Sawatsky[2]
Lindsay Lyon summarizes the work of journalist and author Francine Russo in “Nine Mistakes Adult Siblings Make When Parents Are Aging, Sick, and Dying.”[3]
How To Go On Living When Someone You Love Dies, by Therese A. Rando, has a section on dealing with the loss of a parent, as well as other useful information.[4]
Dying Well with Hospice: A Compassionate Guide to End of Life Care, by Paula Wrenn & Jo Gustely, RN[5]
Let’s Talk Dementia: A caregiver’s guide, by Carol Howell[6]
[1] Jacobs, B. J. (2006). The emotional survival guide for caregivers looking after yourself and your family while helping an aging parent. New York: Guilford Press.
[2] Sawatsky, J. (2017). Dancing with elephants: Mindfulness training for those living with dementia, chronic illness, or an aging brain. Manitoba: Red Canoe Press.
[3] https://health.usnews.com/health-news/family-health/boomer-health/articles/2010/01/28/9-mistakes-adult-siblings-make-when-parents-are-aging-sick-and-dying
[4] Rando, T. A. (1991). How to go on living when someone you love dies. New York: Bantam Books.
[5] Wrenn, P., & Gustely, J. (2017). Dying well with hospice: A compassionate guide to end of life care. Place of publication not identified: Amans Vitae Press.
[6] Howell, C. L. (2015). Let’s talk dementia: A caregiver’s guide. Pittsburgh, PA: Hartline Literary Agency.
Featured image courtesy of pasja1000 on Pixabay.
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