No One Likes Sharing Bad News

But we still have to do it, anyway.

An (in)accurate representation of how I feel sharing bad news (and also a somewhat accurate portrayal of what it was like to work in news media). Photo by Luis Cortés on Unsplash

I didn’t want to tell people about my mom’s cancer. In fact, I haven’t really told many people that my mom’s cancer has returned, that she went to have double proton radiation in New York, and that even though the specific mass reacted really well to the radiation and shrank significantly, the cancer still metastasized. I haven’t really told people that she has stage IV sarcoma.

That her cancer is terminal.

That she is dying.

New York City holds numerous memories in my heart. Including walking my mom to and from her radiation appointments in 2021. Photo by Emiliano Bar on Unsplash

My mom hasn’t told a lot of people either. She said that saying bad news or telling more people about it makes it more real. And, well, there is a bit of truth to that. It sounds obvious. I know these truths myself, these facts of the condition. But telling people, hearing the words out loud…it’s different, somehow.

I still wake up in the morning and go about my day and in the evening I fall asleep.

But there are moments where I stop and think, “My mom is dying.”

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I can reframe my mindset, that I can still enjoy this time we have together.

But it’s hard.

It’s so unbelievably hard.

And infuriating.

There are moments where I stop and think, “My mom is dying.”

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I want to rage against the present life. I am so angry that all of these moments and potential moments will not exist. I think about the present and all of the things I’d like to do with her but can’t.

My mom loves cruises. She’s been on a number of them with her partner over the years to various places like London and France and Germany and China. Being on a cruise allows my mom the time and space to travel without the burden of walking too much, the strain of carrying heavy luggage and backpacking. I think it was in high school when she went on a month-long backpacking trip around Europe. She won’t be doing that again, but the cruise aspect allows her to revisit places she loves and explore new places she has come to love.

I asked her if she wanted to go to Disney World but she said that was too much for her. She mentioned she has never been on a Disney Cruise. I did some research and found a short cruise that left in June from a port within driving distance. In the end, the cruise idea was a bit much. It may be a bit too much for her, I think. And yet I still think about tha cruise, and the other cruises in the future she’ll never get to do. She has wanted to go with her two grandchildren (my nephews) and see the Disney characters and explore what it would be like. And yet, it may not happen.

It probably won’t happen.

I am at that point in my life where I am balancing memories that have existed, possible future memories to create with my mom, and future memories I can imagine and think about but will never happen.

I am a single woman. I don’t have a boyfriend, don’t have an engagement ring or a wedding dress or my own home or children of my own. And all of these aspects of my life, if/when I decide to have them, my mom won’t get to experience with me. She won’t be alive when I tell her about meeting someone new who I actually want to spend the rest of my life with. She won’t be here when I tell her about my proposal story. She won’t be here to see my engagement ring, to help me pick out my wedding dress, to help plan my wedding. She won’t be here when I eventually have children of my own. She won’t meet my children—her future grandchildren.

I don’t know when I’ll be getting married, but my mom won’t be here for it, and that makes me sad. Photo by nikki gibson on Unsplash

I am in that weird period of my life where I can imagine all of the aforementioned things, and I can imagine her in those situations, but who am I imagining? I am imagining her healthy in those situations, and I am also imagining her having cancer in those situations. I am balancing all of these futures, weighing these memories side by side as if turning the pages of a nonexistent photo album.

I am watching a movie that will never be made for an audience of one.

I didn’t want to share this, and I don’t want to share this.

I don’t like sharing bad news.

Who does, really?

But even though I don’t like to and don’t want to, I share this for other people in case they happen to be going through something similar. In case they are imagining a similar array of impossible scenarios and moments that will never happen. in terms of imagining all of these memories that will never happen because that’s just not what’s going to happen in this life. In my life.

My mom has stage IV cancer. She is dying. And there is nothing I can do about it.

But, I can help make her last moments spent on this planet more pleasant.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Madeline Wahl is a writer, solo traveler, and millennial caregiver to her mom who has terminal cancer. Her writing has appeared on Reader's Digest, HuffPost, Red Magazine, and McSweeney's, among others. She is working on her first novel.