One of my favorite things about writing for TA is the community. The subscribers. You.
I genuinely love reading your comments and feedback, and that this space feels like a two-way conversation.
So in the spirit of honesty, today’s article isn’t about giving advice.
It’s about asking for it.
Because today I’m feeling a little lost, deeply sad, and incredibly empathetic for someone I love.
One of my dearest best friends, Mary*, just told me that her mom’s breast cancer is terminal. We only found out about the stage 4 diagnosis about two weeks ago.
Hearing that the cancer has spread to her liver has been devastating.
And I say we because Mary is like family to me, and her mom’s treatment feels personal to me too.
Just recently, we were talking about the plan to tackle the breast cancer. We were discussing her mom’s wishes to have both breasts removed during surgery.
Now, suddenly, the conversation has shifted to a terminal diagnosis.
Her breasts aren’t even the issue anymore. The focus is simply keeping her alive.
That kind of emotional whiplash is hard to process.
I don’t know how to offer support.
This is heartbreaking and painful and sad in a way that feels bigger than the normal playbook we’re all taught.
You know the typical advice:
Don’t ask “what can I do?” — just show up and do something.
So I’ve tried.
I offered to drive down and visit her today. She said it wasn’t necessary.
I offered to watch the kids so she could have a full day to just be in bed and feel whatever she needed to feel. She told me she already got to do that yesterday.
I could send flowers, but that feels small.
I could research every medical or holistic treatment that exists, but that feels like overstepping.
Mary and I have very similar personalities and approaches to life. We’ve always had an awareness that our parents won’t be here forever. We’ve talked about it before.
We’ve both tried to be intentional about spending time with them, cherishing them, appreciating them.
We always knew that one day our parents would face hard moments, and we assumed we’d be there for each other when that happened.
But as I read her texts this morning breaking the news, I realized something.
I feel incredibly unprepared.
I don’t have a lot of experience with cancer. I don’t have a lot of experience supporting someone whose loved one is going through something like this.
Normally, I’m the one in the driver’s seat taking care of my own sick loved ones.
I know that role.
But being the sub-supporter — the person standing beside the person who is carrying the real weight — feels unfamiliar.
I’m a do-er. I like to take action. I like to help.
Right now I feel a little useless.
But I know there has to be something meaningful I can do.
So I’m turning to you.
Those of you who have cared for a dying parent.
Those of you who have gone through cancer.
Those of you who have supported someone you love through it.
- What helped?
- What did you wish someone had done for you?
- What support actually mattered?
I would truly love to hear from you.
Sincerely,
A best friend who is incredibly sad for her best friend.

Thania (TA Content Mgr)