HOW DIFFICULT IT CAN BE TO watch someone you care for slowly slip away from you.
Over the last year or so, I have had the blessing of a front-row seat to a family’s journey as they grappled over the diagnosis, treatment and subsequent decline of their patriarch’s terminal illness. Ironically, I became close to this family through a previous relationship that now remains a happy memory. However, the ties that bind transcended the pain that the falling out brought. God truly works in mysterious ways and I now know that the relationship was only the vehicle through which I was to serve this family in my own small way. Nowadays, that is all that matters.

I am in awe of how much love and devotion the members of this family show for their dad, once a very powerful and headstrong man. Over lunch the other day, I could not help but feel for him, as I watched how cancer has taken over his body and his mind. But my heart was deeply moved by the way his wife of 45 years stood fully by his side, always looking out for him with a deep devotion that I knew could only spring forth from her great love for him.

When an illness like cancer strikes a family, everyone is affected. In cases where the mental faculties go ahead of the physical, it becomes even more difficult. Yet, what is very inspiring is how this family has managed to find joy and humor even in the most dire of circumstances. I cannot think of it as anything else but grace. As his only daughter puts it: “It is the laughter that keeps us going…” Their father has moments when he forgets her name and instead calls her “beautiful.” When she tells me this, I see a tinge of pain in her eyes, but a glint, too. “How can I complain about that ’di ba?” she tells me.

A redistribution of roles is essential in order for the family to function during a time of crisis such as a major illness. In this particular family, the eldest son has taken the reins of the money and legal matters, another son who just graduated from medical school helps coordinate his father’s medical requirements, while another son who lives overseas has become their mother’s rock and confidante. The only daughter takes an active role in the day-to-day management of the home. “My brothers support my decisions. They have my back. Mama was in no condition to make them on her own. Mama’s acceptance took longer, but in time she did, and she came out a stronger and better woman.”

Point of conflict
Decisions can be a point of conflict especially when it comes to deciding the course of further treatment. It’s a good thing that in this particular case, the father was able to tell his family ahead of time what it was that he wanted. However, there will still be moments when those wishes may be contradicted. In that case, it is always best to ask the question—“What would the patient have wanted if he or she were able to speak for himself or herself?” This is why it is always encouraged to be able to at least share ahead of time—through a spouse, child or other family member—what kind of treatment or intervention (or if any at all) you would prefer in the eventuality you are one day unable to decide for yourself.

Over the last four months, my friend’s father has deteriorated considerably. What started as a few words forgotten has now become unintelligible talk. When a few months ago, he could still go around with a cane, he is now relegated to a wheelchair. But in spite of this, his daughter says that he never complained and neither did they. “We all felt we had no right to. We have lived a good life. Aside from our supportive and loving family and friends, we have very loyal and reliable helpers too. They have kept our sanity intact. Despite the trials, we feel blessed that we have been given the chance to show our love to Papa.”

As we said our goodbyes at the front door, I could not help but shed tears. I told her: “You know, your Papa may no longer remember what you say to him, he may no longer remember your name, or who you are, but one thing I am certain of: He will never forget, ’til the very end, the love and affection you show him until it is time for him to go.” “I know,” she tells me. “Although words escape him now, his bright eyes and big smile are enough to let us know that he feels the love, and that is enough.”

E-mail the author at cathybabao@gmail.com.