DON’T kid me, almost everyone, if not everyone, is afraid of a disease that leads to death. What occupies everyone’s thoughts is whether we have the resources to cover a serious illness. Will it not burden our families? Will we still have a life? These are hard questions, but realistic.
We are so impacted when accidents forfeit the life or lives of our loved ones because it’s so sudden; we never had the chance to say goodbye. We rationalize that with a serious illness before death, we could say our proper goodbyes.
But what about the sick person? She’s the one suffering. She’s the one whose quality of life has been severely limited. And if she’s not receiving quality care, she will likely sink into depression.
Caring for the sick is not an easy task. It requires physical and emotional energy. You want to be strong for your loved one who’s trying to be strong emotionally as well. I don’t think everyone is cut out for this role. Not everyone has the inner core to be kind, patient, and empathetic to a patient.
or some, their empathy is short-lived; for some, it lasts months, even years. And if you belong to the first category, you will turn cranky, insensitive, and miserable ultimately, and the sick person feels that.
For aging parents, I have often heard this spoken: “What’s the guarantee that children will take care of their old, sick parents?” Well, if the children can afford it, the best thing to do is hire caregivers and regularly check on their parents. But if the children can’t afford it, that’s another story.
Our default is a healthy life, but as we age, our realities evolve naturally. Some die young; some die later. Some others live long, healthy lives – truly a gift!
A serious disease is not one that a child wishes on her parents and vice versa. It’s tough, it’s financially draining, it’s depressing. But when it comes, it confronts everyone in the family. No one is exempt. And if your extended family is gracious, the natural tendency is to support, and that’s wonderful. But if they are not that kind of family, then your direct family unit is left on its own, and it’s only the grace of God that will sustain you through the ordeal.
If this feels heavy, it is only because I want to touch on the most delicate part of our lives – the chapter we rarely open in public. For some reason, talking about serious illness has become a taboo we carefully avoid. We only whisper about it.
The truth is that we live in a culture that glorifies youth, vitality, and productivity. When a serious illness strikes, it doesn’t just attack the body; it disrupts the roles we have played our entire lives. The fiercely independent matriarch suddenly needs help standing up; the strong provider must rely on others for basic needs. That shift carries a grief of its own, long before the final goodbye. It’s a quiet stripping away of pride. You are grieving the person while they are still sitting right in front of you, trying to balance the cost of medicine with your humanity.
That’s why I admire those celebrities and regular individuals who openly discuss their serious health challenges. Why don’t we discuss it anyway if they do? Are we ashamed to be sick? Is it embarrassing to openly say I have cancer, for instance? Is it shameful?
That is why I likewise admire those who have faced the serious challenge of cancer and who freely talked about it. Their courage is commendable.
But maybe that is where the shift begins. When people break the silence – whether it’s a public figure sharing their diagnosis or a neighbor talking openly about their caregiving fatigue – the shame begins to dissolve. We realize we are not alone in the dark. Talking about the end of life, or the hard road leading up to it, isn’t an act of defeat; it’s an act of preparation. It allows us to clear the clutter of fear so we can focus on what actually remains: love, connection, and dignity.
Ultimately, navigating a serious illness reveals the absolute limit of our humanity. While it exposes our vulnerabilities and tests our limits, it also creates space for profound grace. It teaches us to cherish the quiet, ordinary days of health and forces us to deepen our capacity for compassion. In the end, a devastating diagnosis cannot erase the beautiful legacy of a life well-lived.
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The author owns and manages Belinda Communications Consulting. You can reach us via email at belca.87@gmail.com. Engage with us on X @ShilohRuthie./PN
