Parenting
By Jamie Wells
Updated: December 20, 2015
Originally Published: June 23, 2015
I could feel her hesitation the moment I spoke. I wasn’t exactly family, and the one person who should have stood by her had walked away—without so much as a glance back.
When I was asked six months into my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s cancer journey to be her main ride, I did it with a heavy heart. Like many, I was lost for words and unsure how to approach someone battling cancer. I mean, what was I supposed to do if an emergency arose? It made me anxious just thinking about it.
To his family, I was just the girlfriend—much younger and living the unpredictable life of a “writer” (a title that often left them scratching their heads). She needed a hand, and I selfishly wondered why it fell on me.
But deep down, I knew I was the only one available to take three hours out of my day for her oncology visits. Her brother, the man I loved fiercely, needed me. His sister needed me. So, off I went.
At first, our conversations were awkward. As a lifelong introvert, small talk was never my strong suit. Asking a stage IV cancer patient, “How are you?” felt shallow. What could she possibly say? “Oh, aside from the pain, nausea from chemo, and the uncertainty of my future, I’m doing just fine!” Yeah, I’ll skip the meaningless questions.
When I’m unsure, I tend to retreat into silence, waiting and listening. People who aren’t comfortable with quiet often feel the need to fill it.
Each week, I picked her up, and we embarked on the 30-minute drive to her appointments. Before long, the uncomfortable silence transformed into genuine conversation. We discovered we had more in common than we initially thought. Both single mothers, our kids were spaced just over four years apart. She’d been navigating single motherhood since the start, while I was just getting my feet wet, thanks to her brother.
We bonded over our quiet kids, the ones who didn’t listen, and who preferred video games to outdoor play. We shared tips on saving money and cooking for picky eaters. We even vented about reckless drivers.
It took weeks of our routine visits before she opened up about the elephant in the room—her mother’s abandonment.
When her mother walked out, leaving her to grapple with cancer and the challenges of single motherhood, I tried to rationalize it. She was in denial, terrified at the thought of losing her own child. However, as time passed and I saw more of the situation, it became clear that the reason was pure selfishness. A mother had turned her back on her daughter, leaving two siblings—and me—to pick up the pieces.
I knew better than to mention her mother to her.
As time passed, what began as a reluctant obligation transformed into something more profound. I became the one to read between the lines, updating her brother on her condition—how she was feeling, whether she’d eaten, and how she seemed overall. He was slowly wearing down, taking on more stress as he tried to support her from afar.
When she thanked me for the umpteenth time, I simply replied, “This is what family does.”
He is my family, so she is too. After weeks of sharing rides and hearing her hopes and fears, I realized she became family to me—not simply because of the situation, but because of who she is. The thought of not helping her was unfathomable.
I know she might question why I, a woman 12 years younger with no real ties, would step up when her own mother wouldn’t. I don’t share my personal loss—standing by as my father took his last breath, or losing my grandparents to cancer without saying goodbye. I don’t tell her that family is supposed to stand by one another through thick and thin.
Instead, when she cries, “Why did my mom leave?” I assure her that she has family here with us. And when I say that, I mean it with all my heart.
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In summary, family can take various forms, and sometimes, those bonds grow stronger through shared experiences and support. Whether by blood or by choice, being there for one another is what truly matters.