My cousin passed away. I think of how he changed after the passing of his wife, never letting go of his anger over her death. It was an exceptionally tragic passing when our knowledge of cancer was in its infancy. Her death inspired my presentation for my high school biology fair. I won an honorable mention. My display wasn’t epic, but my knowledge was intense.

Saying cancer is an ugly disease dumbs down its complexity. What disease isn’t ugly? What disease isn’t complex? October is Breast Cancer Awareness, but no one affected by cancer requires a ribbon to be reminded of the pain cancer causes physically and emotionally or how it rips through and disrupts a family.

From a caregiver’s perspective, cancer is relentless, dictating its course. Or does it? I know how, nine years ago, I cared for my cousin with a rare form of breast cancer. One thing was true then, as it is now. Every day is the same, and every day is different.

Betty was as stubborn as a day is long. We laughed, cried, and had cross conversations, but my want for her to have an easy passing never eased.

I developed a rapport with her hospice nurse, Barbara, with whom we shared a common interest in farming. She was a caregiver of people and the earth. She didn’t understand why someone would leave their home and business to care for someone in another state. My answer was, “A promise made is a promise kept.”

Before Barbara and I had a mutual trust, Betty needed a particular nausea medicine. She said Medicare would disapprove. Looking steadily into her eyes, I leaned across the table and said, “I’m from Maine. Don’t make me get my monkeys”. Within 24 hours, the medicine was available. We had a good laugh later when she said she had no idea if I was joking, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

We would do a symbiotic ritual each day when I picked up Betty, who weighed 248 pounds. I bent over her, and as I placed my arms around her and lifted, I asked for God’s help. When I laid her back in bed, I would thank God.

She nicknamed me “Ghost” because she never heard me approaching or moving around the house. She hated that I was always cheery and made it her mission to crack me as I laughed off her efforts.

I connected with angels to help me care for Betty and held her hands as we prayed to Mother Mary. I arranged a home communion service. We healed relationships and discussed what she was experiencing, taking full advantage of those last weeks.

I allowed leeway for some of her less loving behavior. This journey belonged to both of us.

No matter the circumstances, caregiving is challenging and exhausting. Don’t lose yourself. Develop your symbiotic ritual. Be clear about your needs. Ask for support. Find your caregiving way. When the road is too rough, don’t forget that “no” is a complete sentence.