From Caregiver To Widow: The Silent Weight No One Talks About Jun 22 Written By LaLa P. Before I was a widow, I was a caregiver. Not the kind with a uniform or a title. But the kind who loves someone so much, they hold it all together while everything else is falling apart. I was the one calling doctors. Scheduling scans. Tracking meds. Booking flights for second opinions. Sitting in waiting rooms with a smile that hid a thousand fears. I was the strong one. The hopeful one. The “let’s keep going” one. But underneath it all? I was breaking. The Role You Don’t Choose, But Can’t Refuse When he was diagnosed with stage 4 rectal cancer, I didn’t even flinch. I did what I always do: I handled it. I was working full-time as a police officer. I was raising our children. I was caring for him. I was doing everything—except taking care of me. I poured myself out for everyone…and left nothing for myself. And somewhere in that process, I got lost. The Darkness No One Sees This is the part people don’t talk about. I buried myself in work. I thought about what life would be like if I had been the one with cancer instead. I thought about what it would be like if I wasn’t here anymore—not to be strong, not to carry everyone, just…not here at all. Because being “the strong one” sounds like a compliment, to most people. For me, it was a cover for someone who is silently drowning. I was drowning. If you’re in that space, please know there’s help.Resources like NAMI’s guide on suicidal thoughts and warning signs or seeking a licensed professional through BetterHelp can make a life-saving difference. Losing The Role Of Wife The hardest part of caregiving during cancer isn’t just the emotional toll—it’s the way your identity as a wife slowly disappears. You’re no longer his partner. You’re his nurse. His scheduler. His advocate. His protector. The intimacy fades. The tenderness shifts. And suddenly, you’re standing beside the person you love—but feeling invisible. I loved him deeply. But I also felt…forgotten. And that nearly broke me. When We Finally Said It Out loud We went to marriage counseling during that time. I told him how I felt—how I missed being his wife. How I felt like I was fading in the background. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes and the words that followed. He was already carrying the weight of cancer…and I think hearing how I was hurting made him carry something heavier. He told me he never wanted to be the reason I lose my strength and that in itself made me feel guilty for putting how I felt on him. It broke his heart. And in some ways, I think it made him stop fighting as hard. We both broke that day. Because even in our love, we didn’t know how to carry all of this together. Anticipatory Grief Is Real Long before he took his last breath, I was already grieving. Grieving the man we lost on diagnosis day, the husband and father we all knew. Not just for him—but for the version of us we lost and were continuously losing. For the dreams we quietly tucked away. For the woman I used to be. Caregiving teaches you how to survive—but never teaches you how to keep being you.Resources like CancerCare’s caregiver support and the National Alliance for Caregiving helped me feel less alone in the roles I never asked for but stepped into out of love. And Then It’s Over One day you’re managing meds and meal prep. The next…You’re planning a memorial. You’re no longer a caregiver. You’re a widow. But the trauma doesn’t stop when the caregiving ends. You still hear the beeping monitors. You still replay that night over and over again. You still wake up in a panic. You still carry the guilt—for not being able to save him. For not being able to save yourself. To The Women Silently Holding It All Together If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it—still caregiving, still grieving, still hiding your tears in the shower…. I see you. I was you. You are doing sacred, soul-tiring work. And even if no one says it—even if he couldn’t say it—You are seen. You are enough. You are not alone. Please don’t wait to get help. Online therapy through BetterHelp or your local grief counselors, or support communities are not weakness — they are survival. Because you deserve to live through this too. If you’re a caregiver or living through the aftermath of loss, subscribe to my newsletter for more stories, strength, and reminders that you matter too. La 💙 LaLa P.
From Caregiver To Widow: The Silent Weight No One Talks About Jun 22 Written By LaLa P. Before I was a widow, I was a caregiver. Not the kind with a uniform or a title. But the kind who loves someone so much, they hold it all together while everything else is falling apart. I was the one calling doctors. Scheduling scans. Tracking meds. Booking flights for second opinions. Sitting in waiting rooms with a smile that hid a thousand fears. I was the strong one. The hopeful one. The “let’s keep going” one. But underneath it all? I was breaking. The Role You Don’t Choose, But Can’t Refuse When he was diagnosed with stage 4 rectal cancer, I didn’t even flinch. I did what I always do: I handled it. I was working full-time as a police officer. I was raising our children. I was caring for him. I was doing everything—except taking care of me. I poured myself out for everyone…and left nothing for myself. And somewhere in that process, I got lost. The Darkness No One Sees This is the part people don’t talk about. I buried myself in work. I thought about what life would be like if I had been the one with cancer instead. I thought about what it would be like if I wasn’t here anymore—not to be strong, not to carry everyone, just…not here at all. Because being “the strong one” sounds like a compliment, to most people. For me, it was a cover for someone who is silently drowning. I was drowning. If you’re in that space, please know there’s help.Resources like NAMI’s guide on suicidal thoughts and warning signs or seeking a licensed professional through BetterHelp can make a life-saving difference. Losing The Role Of Wife The hardest part of caregiving during cancer isn’t just the emotional toll—it’s the way your identity as a wife slowly disappears. You’re no longer his partner. You’re his nurse. His scheduler. His advocate. His protector. The intimacy fades. The tenderness shifts. And suddenly, you’re standing beside the person you love—but feeling invisible. I loved him deeply. But I also felt…forgotten. And that nearly broke me. When We Finally Said It Out loud We went to marriage counseling during that time. I told him how I felt—how I missed being his wife. How I felt like I was fading in the background. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes and the words that followed. He was already carrying the weight of cancer…and I think hearing how I was hurting made him carry something heavier. He told me he never wanted to be the reason I lose my strength and that in itself made me feel guilty for putting how I felt on him. It broke his heart. And in some ways, I think it made him stop fighting as hard. We both broke that day. Because even in our love, we didn’t know how to carry all of this together. Anticipatory Grief Is Real Long before he took his last breath, I was already grieving. Grieving the man we lost on diagnosis day, the husband and father we all knew. Not just for him—but for the version of us we lost and were continuously losing. For the dreams we quietly tucked away. For the woman I used to be. Caregiving teaches you how to survive—but never teaches you how to keep being you.Resources like CancerCare’s caregiver support and the National Alliance for Caregiving helped me feel less alone in the roles I never asked for but stepped into out of love. And Then It’s Over One day you’re managing meds and meal prep. The next…You’re planning a memorial. You’re no longer a caregiver. You’re a widow. But the trauma doesn’t stop when the caregiving ends. You still hear the beeping monitors. You still replay that night over and over again. You still wake up in a panic. You still carry the guilt—for not being able to save him. For not being able to save yourself. To The Women Silently Holding It All Together If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it—still caregiving, still grieving, still hiding your tears in the shower…. I see you. I was you. You are doing sacred, soul-tiring work. And even if no one says it—even if he couldn’t say it—You are seen. You are enough. You are not alone. Please don’t wait to get help. Online therapy through BetterHelp or your local grief counselors, or support communities are not weakness — they are survival. Because you deserve to live through this too. If you’re a caregiver or living through the aftermath of loss, subscribe to my newsletter for more stories, strength, and reminders that you matter too. La 💙 LaLa P.
