The phone call was a jolt. It had been an ordinary day, one of those routine stretches where work and life move along in well-worn patterns. But this call shattered the calm. My ex-wife was diagnosed with cancer, stage 3 at minimum, and possibly more severe. The weight of the news was immediate, like a lead blanket pressing down on everything familiar.
Our relationship may have changed over the years, but she has always been an integral part of our lives, and, of course, the mother of our children. The thought of losing her, of watching her go through something so painful and uncertain, is like staring into an abyss. And, beyond my own feelings, there's the reality that my role as a father will expand in ways I hadn’t fully anticipated. I’ll need to step in, offering her support and stability during treatment, but most importantly, being there for our children, who might not fully grasp what's happening but will feel its effects all the same.
In the best-case scenario, I'll be caring for her while she undergoes treatment, being a solid support for her and a pillar for the kids. But if things worsen, and the cancer progresses beyond stage 3, then I’ll face the role of providing palliative care, helping her find peace and comfort as best as possible. The thought of this is daunting, but if it’s what’s needed, I’ll be there every step of the way.
And then there are the kids. They’re young, still navigating their own journeys and growing, and while they may not understand everything now, they will need support like never before. I’ll need to be their anchor, the one constant in their lives through it all. If the worst does happen, then I’ll be on my own with them, managing the household, guiding them, and doing my best to fill the void that would be left behind.
