Support for families dealing with cancer and other serious illnesses (Part II)

Rachel Williams said:I consider myself part of the "expat community" too, though I'm not quite as far away as you—just living here in Austria. I used to have this habit of calling her right after work or after seeing my doctor... we just seemed to click on that level. 🕺
When you stumble upon this on Reddit, I think others will find it just as interesting as I did, so I'm posting it here. 😉

We really are alike... even though we haven't met, I feel for you. Sending a digital hug your way :hug:

Here are those screenshots from Reddit. I found them late one night back when I was bracing myself for the hard days ahead, while Mom was still alive... ever since then, whenever things get heavy, I read these words and it somehow makes it a little easier to bear. If anyone needs a translation, just ask and I'll do it.

urbanharbor15 said:😛
...so, I stumbled upon this really beautiful response on Reddit about the whole grieving process, and I'll try to post some screenshots once I figure out how to do that, because honestly, reading it always helps me feel a bit better.

Unfortunately, my English is pretty much just at a high school level, so I was wondering if someone might be able to translate it, especially since you guys mentioned helping those who don't quite catch everything. I tried using Google, but the translations end up being kind of hilarious and don't make much sense.
I really hope this ends up being helpful for everyone who's mourning someone, not just for those of us missing our moms.
Thanks so much in advance!

Joshua Kim69 said:Unfortunately, my English is pretty much stuck at a high school level, so I’d really appreciate a translation—especially since you mentioned translating for those who might not follow everything. Google Translate can be... well, let's just say it's pretty ridiculous sometimes.
I hope this applies to everyone who is grieving, not just for the mother.
Thanks in advance.

No worries, I'll get to the translation later today once I'm back at my computer. Doing this on a phone is a total pain. And yes, it counts for everyone... because grief is universal. 🙂

Joshua Kim69 said:Unfortunately, my English is strictly high school level, so I’d really appreciate a translation since you mentioned providing them for those who might not understand everything. Google Translate makes things look pretty ridiculous...
I hope this applies to everyone out there grieving, not just for a mother.
Thanks in advance.

Here is the translation. 😉 I hope it helps at least a few people as much as it helped me. Hang in there!

I’m old. Which means I have (so far) said goodbye to and watched many people go, people I knew and loved.
I’ve lost friends—best friends—acquaintances, colleagues, grandparents, my mother, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a whole crowd of others…

I wish I could say that you get used to people dying. But I never could. Nor do I want to. Every time someone I love passes, it leaves this massive void inside me, regardless of how they went. I don't want it to be something "insignificant." I don't want it to be something that just fades away with time. My scars are a testament... a legacy of the love and the relationships I shared with that person. And if the wound is deep, it simply means the love was deep. So be it.

Scars are a testament to life. They are proof that I can love fiercely, live deeply, and be profoundly broken and wounded—and still heal, still move forward, and still love. The new skin that grows back (the scar) is stronger than the ordinary skin that was there before the injury. Scars are a testament to life. They are only ugly to those who cannot see.

As for the grieving… you’ll notice it comes in waves. When the shipwreck happens, you’re drowning, and pieces of the wreckage are everywhere around you. Everything floating by reminds you of how beautiful and majestic the ship once was, and now it’s gone. The only thing you can do in that moment is float. You grab onto some piece of debris and hold on for a while. Maybe it’s an object. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s another person also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Just try to survive.

In the beginning, the waves are thirty meters high and they crush you without mercy. They come every ten seconds, leaving you no time to even catch your breath. All you can do is hold on and drift. After some time—maybe weeks, maybe months—the waves are still thirty meters high, but they come a little less often. When they hit, they still smash and exhaust you. But in between, you can breathe. You can function. You never know what might suddenly trigger the grief. It could be a song, a picture, a crossroads, the smell of coffee brewing… and just like that, a wave hits and pulls you under. But between the waves, there is life.

After a while—and this "while" is different for everyone—you realize the waves are twenty-five meters high. Or fifteen. Even though the waves still come, they arrive with more space between them. You can anticipate them. On anniversaries, birthdays, Christmas, or when you’re flying into O’Hare. You can foresee them, and most of the time, you can prepare. And when they wash over you, you know that eventually, somehow, you will swim to the other side again. Soaked to the bone, spitting out water, clinging to some tiny bit of wreckage, but you will make it out.

Believe what this old man tells you. The waves never stop coming, but somehow, you won't want them to either. You just learn how to survive them. And more waves will come. And you will survive those too.

If you’re lucky enough, you’ll end up with plenty of scars from all that love... and a whole lot of wreckage, too.

urbanharbor15
thanks so much!! 🙂 😘

We don't want our kids to spend their lives mourning us—not at any cost, especially not because of us. So, honestly? Keep your heads up, put a smile on your face, and just move forward into the next day! It’s not our job to worry about you... we just want you to pour all that energy into our grandkids!!! That’s what’ll actually make us happy, no matter where in the world we end up!!!

Your mom

After five long years of battling ovarian cancer—a relentless, exhausting struggle—my dear mother passed away yesterday at the age of 64... and I feel completely shattered. For the longest time, it truly seemed like things were finally turning a corner; we thought she would actually tolerate the chemo. But then, the vomiting started again, and on the very day she was admitted for treatment, the news came crashing down: her condition was dire. Her blood pressure was plummeting, her blood counts were a disaster... they told us it was a matter of hours. It’s strange, isn't it? She spoke with us so beautifully that final day. She seemed so calm, seemingly free from the pain. We tried our hardest to stay strong for her sake, mostly because she kept insisting that tomorrow would be better—that she just needed a little more time to recover. Honestly, I suspect the doctors might not have even told her the full truth, or perhaps we simply didn't have the courage to say goodbye... so we just said "see you tomorrow." Even in those final moments, her thoughts were focused entirely on others—asking if we should buy some juices for the nurses, telling me to clean her room before she returned, and planning how to celebrate my birthday in a few days. Those few hours vanished so quickly that I couldn't even find the right words to say to her one last time; it feels as though I missed my chance. Now, the guilt is suffocating. I’m left with this crushing sensation that I didn't do enough for her... that I shouldn't have gone out with my friends over the weekend when I should have been by her side all day... that I should have hugged her every single day as if it were the last. There is so much more to it, but now, it's all too late.

My dear Coco, you have my deepest sympathies... I truly understand what you’re going through. My mother passed away just two months ago. Only a day or so before, I had gone out for coffee with a friend. I got home around 11 PM, spent another hour or two sitting with her, massaging oil into her legs because her skin was so dry. She had such a wonderful Friday. Then, early Saturday afternoon, she simply fell asleep and was gone.
I can't help but replay it all in my head—thinking about how I wasn't living here in the States with her, and how much we talked about that. And that night I went out for coffee? I think I'll carry the guilt of that for as long as I live. You, me, and everyone else in our position—no matter what we do, there is always this nagging feeling that it wasn't enough, that we should have done more or done it better. When you have a healthy, loving relationship with your parents, isn't it only natural that you want to bend your entire life around making things easier for them during their hardest moments? And then, once they're gone, nothing you ever did feels like it was sufficient.
On the other hand, I try to find some solace in the fact that my mother was a fighter until the very end. No one but her knows the true extent of the physical and mental suffering she endured. Now, she is finally in a place where that pain doesn't exist, where she can look after all of us without all those extra burdens. Besides, our mothers loved us so deeply that it’s only natural for us to feel broken, miserable, and lost right now. But I know they wouldn't want us to stay this way; they would want us to move forward, carrying nothing but the beautiful memories of them.

ruggedmarlin2 said:After five years fighting ovarian cancer, my dear mom passed away yesterday at 64... and I just feel completely shattered. It felt like things were finally looking up—like she was actually going to handle the chemo. But then the vomiting started again, and on the very day she was supposed to start treatment, they told us her condition was critical. Her blood pressure was crashing, her blood work was a disaster... they said we only had hours left. She was talking to us so beautifully that day; she seemed so calm, seemingly free of pain. We tried so hard to stay strong for her because all she kept saying was that tomorrow would be better, that she just needed a little more time to recover. Honestly, I don't think the doctors gave us the full truth, and maybe we didn't have the courage to say goodbye either, so we just kept saying "see you tomorrow." Even at the very end, she was thinking about everyone else—asking if we should buy some juices for the nurses, telling me to tidy up the room before they arrived, and wanting me to celebrate my birthday in a few days. Those few hours flew by so fast that I couldn't even find the right words to say to her one last time... it's like I missed my chance. Now I feel even worse because I can't shake this feeling that I didn't do enough. I shouldn't have gone out with my friends this weekend; I should have been by her side all day. I should have hugged her every single day like it was the last. There's so much more... and now it's too late.

My heart goes out to you.

Don't beat yourself up; you did exactly what you were supposed to do, and you did it the way she wanted. And please, listen to me: celebrate your birthday, no matter how impossible or painful it feels right now. Your mom lived her life right up until her very last heartbeat, and that is the legacy she left you—both a gift and a final, vital lesson. Live every day and celebrate your birthday as a celebration of her life, too. Don't dwell on regrets. You fought bravely, and given the circumstances, she had the best possible passing.
And even if you'd had the chance to say a formal goodbye, believe me, she would have felt the exact same way. Our entire lives are essentially one long, continuous goodbye. She left us peacefully, and I am certain she went with a light heart, unburdened. Be grateful for that. It is a profound mercy.
Let her rest in peace, celebrate her life loudly, and move forward, honey! Mom is watching over you, and don't forget to bring those juices for the nurses!
Rest in peace.

I am so incredibly sorry, Coco...
Hang in there.

ruggedmarlin2 said:After fighting ovarian cancer for five whole years—it was such an intense battle—my sweet mom passed away yesterday at 64... and I just feel completely shattered... It honestly felt like things were finally looking up, like she was actually going to handle the chemo... but then the vomiting started again, and then literally the same day she was supposed to start therapy, they told us her condition was critical... her blood pressure was tanking, her blood counts were a total disaster... and that we only had hours left... She was talking so beautifully with us that day... she seemed so peaceful, totally free from the pain... We were trying so hard to stay strong for her because she kept insisting that tomorrow would be better... that she just needed a little time to recover... I really think the doctors might not have even told her the full truth... and honestly, we didn't have the courage to say goodbye... we just kept saying "see you tomorrow"... and even until the very end, she was thinking about everyone else... asking us to grab some juices for the nurses... telling me to clean her room before they arrived... and wanting to celebrate my birthday which is in just a few days... But those few hours just flew by so fast that I couldn't even find the right words to say to her one last time... it’s like I missed my chance... and now I feel even worse because I can't shake this feeling that I didn't do enough for her... that I shouldn't have gone out with my friends over the weekend instead of staying by her side all day... that I should have hugged her every single day like it was the last... and there's just so much more... and now it's too late for any of that....

ruggedmarlin2, I am so, so sorry, truly my deepest condolences...
My dad passed away a year ago, and I spent the entire day right there with him, following the ambulance to the hospital, and I stayed with him day and night as long as the doctors and staff would let me stay. I even ran home to grab a clean pair of pajamas and a pillow just so he could be a little more comfortable during his night at the hospital.
I didn't manage to be with him at the very, very end; the nurses, who knew what was coming, wanted to spare us from that final breath, and even after a whole year, I still haven't made peace with it. The guilt and the sadness just eat at me, like I should have done more, like I should have been more determined to stay so he wouldn't have to go alone at the very end...
I keep blaming myself constantly, and I keep dreaming about those final moments...
What I really wanted to say is that you're going to have to forgive yourself, even though you don't actually have anything to forgive. No matter what we do, no matter how it happens, I feel like we will always find something to blame ourselves for, always finding that one thing that "should have" happened differently
I don't believe for a second that your mom would want you living with that kind of weight on your heart and that heavy conscience, and that's what I have to tell myself every single day
Hang in there

Thank you all so much for the kind words—it really means a lot. 💖

We’ve all been in similar shoes; you just have to let some time pass before you can finally tell yourself you did everything humanly possible.
I actually ended up heading out to my high school reunion two days prior—mostly because the nurses practically kicked us out since the hospital locks down at 10 PM. Even then, I couldn't help but feel this nagging guilt, wishing I could have stayed just a little longer.
Dad kept insisting he wanted to go home, and I kept telling him, "Just let them get you stabilized first, then we'll go," which was my standard response every single time.
I can't quite forgive myself for leaving him there at the hospital instead of bringing him home; I keep playing back the scenario in my head, wondering if things would have gone differently if he were at home.
This damn disease.

Hello.
My sister is battling breast cancer.
She’s been undergoing treatment for four years now, and honestly, I can feel the emotions starting to pile up.

I just saw something on Facebook saying that all cancer patients are entitled to $200 every month. Does anyone happen to know anything about this?? Here’s what it said:

Helga Možé
It's honestly pretty interesting—though actually quite sad—how none of the doctors, home health aides, or nurses have ever mentioned to us that cancer patients are eligible for financial assistance. It turns out that all cancer patients have a right to a monthly supplement of $200, regardless of how much they make in retirement or salary, what property they own, and things like that. I guess those who have tried to navigate this within their families know just how much every single dollar counts, because when you're in that situation, you're just trying to find any way possible to get by and ease the pain, whether that's buying different medications, supplements, vitamins, herbal teas, or other remedies. It’s just heartbreaking that some people never even realize this option exists; a staff member at the Department of Social Services told me about it today.
So, basically, all cancer patients can qualify for $200 per month, you just need to fill out a form and submit it to the Department of Social Services. You have to attach a few documents to the application, and once the commission approves it, you can receive that compensation. Sadly, I think it isn't retroactive, so it only starts from whenever the request is submitted.
I find it absolutely unbelievable that nobody mentioned this during these past five months—and I mean NOBODY, NO ONE, EVER, not in San Francisco or Chicago. My dad actually found out by accident through a casual conversation he had with someone at the hospital.
That’s why advocacy groups are so vital, because they step in exactly where the system fails to work. That’s why I decided to donate all the proceeds from the book to the League Against Cancer in San Francisco, since they really do patch up the holes left by the system, share information, and help patients and their families. So far, I’ve raised $2250, and I’ll be collecting for another ten days or so until I hand over the last few books (I know, you guys messaged me, and I'll get back to everyone!) and then I'll transfer everything to the organization's account.
The worst part is that when you're going through this, you aren't even angry—you just don't have the emotional capacity left for that kind of rage... I honestly can't fathom how anyone could do their job in such a negligent way.

I was just looking through some info on how the government handles family care and support services, and I guess it’s actually pretty interesting to see how all those different pieces fit together to help families manage everything. It seems like there are quite a few different ways the state steps in to provide assistance, especially when you're dealing with long-term care or helping out a family member who needs extra attention, though I suppose navigating all those official channels can feel a bit overwhelming sometimes!

So, I actually managed to track down this link! I'm honestly not entirely sure if this was what we were already talking about in that previous post, but maybe it's what we needed?

We didn't hear anything about this when we were three and a half, though I wouldn't be surprised if it actually happened... I suppose if one is entitled to such a right, then one ought to exercise it.

Joshua Kim69 said:https://www.usa.gov/caregivers

I managed to track down this link—though, honestly, I’m not entirely sure if this was what we were discussing in the previous thread.

I had heard whispers about this before, but an acquaintance of mine over at the Department of Social Services mentioned that you could be looking at nearly a full year of waiting just to get approval.

Well... then it’s perfectly obvious why nobody actually takes advantage of that option. Even if someone manages to find out it exists, they usually don't live long enough to have "someone" actually approve it for them.
Classic. I absolutely loathe our system.
It turns out that if you want to be a healthy person, you basically have to place an order today just in case you might desperately need it two years down the line.

Robin Diaz4 said:Yeah... I guess that explains why nobody ever actually gets to take advantage of that option. Even when people find out about it, they usually don't live long enough for "someone" to actually approve it for them.
It’s just classic. Honestly, I can't stand how our system works.
It feels like a healthy person basically has to put in an order today just in case they might need it two years down the road, which is just crazy.

Sent from my Samsung using Reddit

Looking at all of this, I'm honestly not sure if EVERY cancer patient is entitled to this, or if it's just certain people. If everyone really does have the right—then I guess I don't understand why you'd have to go to the Department of Social Services instead of just dealing with Medicare. At the Social Services Center, there are all these censuses and different regulations, and it doesn't seem to me like there's any mention of paying $200 someone just because they happen to be fighting cancer. Plus, all that waiting is just ridiculous, because those costs hit you IMMEDIATELY, not a year later.