Over the past five years, I have come to understand that healing is not always about cure, it is often about acceptance, dignity, and presence. I embarked on a journey of supporting families with sick loved ones. This did not begin in comfort or certainty. It began in pain, disruption, and a quiet, determined rebuilding of self.
A tragic accident changed the course of my life, leaving me with a spinal injury that forced me to reimagine everything. My independence, my identity, even my understanding of strength! In those early days, the loss felt overwhelming. I was not only dealing with physical limitations, but also the emotional weight of a life interrupted.
Therapy became a cornerstone of my healing, but I did not walk into it alone. I went with the steady support of my elder sister, the selfless and tender care of my younger sister, and the unwavering, endless support of my mother. Alongside them were caregivers who came into my life at different moments. Each one contributed, in their own way, to my recovery and my acceptance. Their presence reminded me that healing is rarely an individual journey; it is carried by a community of love, patience, and sacrifice.
Did things change after therapy? Yes and no!
The pain did not disappear. It still shows up, sometimes quietly, sometimes intensely. But what changed was my relationship with that pain. I learned not to suppress it or run from it, but to sit with it, to acknowledge it, and to feel it fully. And then, gently, to rise again. Each time. It hurts, but I have learned how to bounce back. That, in itself, is a form of strength I never knew before.
Along this journey, I have encountered a depth of empathy that has reshaped my perception of the world. Some of it has come from people close to me, but much of it has come from strangers. Unexpected kindness, warm words and small gestures that carried immense meaning. These moments have revealed to me that the world, despite its hardships, holds an incredible capacity for love. They have fueled in me a renewed zeal to live and to embrace each day fully, even when reality suggests limitations or uncertainty.
It is from this place that my work with families began.
Over the last five years, I have found profound purpose in supporting families caring for loved ones with life-threatening conditions. These are patients whose illnesses often come with difficult truths; conditions where recovery may be uncertain, or where the trajectory points toward decline. I have sat in rooms where hope and fear coexist, where families hold on tightly even as they begin to prepare to let go.
I visit, I listen, and I share.
I share practical ways to care. How to maintain comfort and dignity, how to manage daily needs, how to communicate with someone whose strength is fading. But more than that, I offer presence. Because in these moments, what families often need most is not just guidance, but reassurance that they are not alone.
There is a particular kind of suffering that comes with life-threatening illness and long term conditions. It is not only physical. It is emotional, relational, and deeply human. Patients endure pain, fatigue, and the quiet awareness of their own fragility. Families, in turn, carry the weight of watching someone they love go through it, often feeling helpless despite their best efforts.
And yet, even in these spaces, I have witnessed extraordinary love.
I have seen families show up with resilience they did not know they had. I have seen patients hold onto dignity and grace in the face of immense hardship. I have seen moments of laughter, connection, and peace, even when time is limited.
But there is another truth…one that is harder to carry.
There is a moment that remains etched in me, where the pain of loss came unbearably close. I went to visit a family member who was suspended between life and death, caught in that fragile space where hope lingers but reality grows louder. I sat beside her in the dialysis room as she struggled to breathe, as though life was gently slipping through her fingers while death steadily drew nearer.
I held back my tears, wondering what thoughts were crossing her mind in those final moments. In quiet desperation, I found myself questioning the nurses, silently asking why they continued with procedures when it was evident that the clock was ticking on her. They met me with a look that said everything words could not.
Then I heard her voice, faint, but certain: “I am leaving.”
In that instant, my heart was shattered. I swallowed my pain. I held myself together because I wanted her last memory of me to be strength, not sorrow. I chose to be brave for her, even as I was breaking inside. I said my goodbyes in silence and walked away, carrying a weight I could barely contain, waiting for the call I knew would come.
That night, I did not sleep. I clung to hope, however fragile, wishing for a miracle even when everything within me knew the truth.
And then, at midnight, the call came!
My heart broke all over again!
Even when we know what is coming, we still hope. We still believe, even if only for a moment, that love might somehow change the ending.
The loss of some of those I walked with has, at times, shaken me deeply. These were not just people I supported; they were individuals I connected with, shared moments with, and built quiet bonds with. In many of those relationships, strength was not one-sided. We drew from each other. Their courage strengthened me just as much as my presence may have comforted them. When they passed on, it left a space that could not easily be filled. There were moments I questioned my purpose. Moments where the weight of loss felt too heavy, where I wondered whether walking so closely with pain was something I could continue to do. It hurt….deeply. Because when you allow yourself to care fully, you also allow yourself to feel the depth of loss.
But even in that pain, there was clarity. I came to understand that purpose is not found in avoiding loss, but in choosing to love and show up despite it. That the value of those connections was not diminished by their ending, but made more meaningful because of it.
And so, I continue. With a heart that has known pain, but also one that has known profound connection. With the understanding that life, even in its fragility, is still worth embracing fully. Because….. in the end, we all share the same certainty, that one day, we will be gone. But before that day comes, we are given the gift of time, of presence, of love.
Perhaps, that is where our choice lies!
“Life does not wait for certainty, and death does not ask for permission. But in the space between the two, we are given a choice….to hold back in fear of the end, or to live fully, love deeply, and show up wholeheartedly while we are still here.”
Michyie's Odyssey 