My cousin, Tom, 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 so many years ago. 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, inspired by experience.

Saying cancer is an ugly disease dumbs down its complexity. What disease isn’t ugly? What disease isn’t complex? October is always the month for Breast Cancer Awareness. Still, no one who has been affected by cancer needs a dedicated month to be reminded of the pain it 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 different, and every day is the same.

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 Betty’s 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. When she asked, I answered, “A promise made is a promise kept.”

Before Barbara and I had a mutual trust, Betty needed a particular nausea medicine. Because its delivery method was different — a gel instead of a lotion — Barbara 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 approved and 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. The lesson here is that you can be strong and kind simultaneously. Having a bit of firmness and resolve doesn’t hurt, either. And yeah, like a lion, I will always defend and protect my family.

Each day, we would do a symbiotic ritual when I picked up Betty, who weighed 248 pounds. I bent over her, and as I lifted my arms around her, I asked God to help. When I laid her back in bed, I would thank God. We do all things better when we believe in God and our angels. I was aware at all times I was divinely helped and protected.

Betty 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. Each night, I asked that angels have vigilance at each of the four corners of her bed. I asked them to surround us through the day with love and protection. I arranged a home communion service. We healed relationships and discussed what she was experiencing, taking full advantage of those last weeks.

One day, Betty saw Jesus sitting beside me on the sofa. She described him as immaculately clean and wearing shiny shoes, with one leg crossed over his knee and holding a hat in his hand resting on his leg. He sat there for a while, listening to us and watching her. Then he got up and left, fading away.

Every day was different; every day was the same. I allowed grace for some of her less loving behavior but stood my ground to meet some of my needs.

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.