One of the hardest things about cancer is that nobody really knows what to say.
When someone you love hears the words “you have cancer,” suddenly every conversation feels heavier.
You want to say the right thing.
You want to make them feel better.
You want to somehow take away the fear, the uncertainty, the appointments, the treatments, and everything that comes with a diagnosis.
But sometimes there simply aren’t words big enough for what someone is facing.
And that’s okay.
You don’t have to have the perfect thing to say.
Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is simply show up.
Sit beside them.
Bring a coffee.
Drop off supper.
Send a message that doesn’t require a response.
Drive them to an appointment.
Ask how their family is doing.
Remember the date of their next treatment.
Tell them you’re thinking about them weeks or months after everyone else has gone back to their regular routines.
Cancer can become incredibly lonely.
At the beginning, there may be phone calls, flowers, messages, meals, and offers to help. But treatment can last months or even years, and the support someone needs doesn’t disappear once the initial shock has passed.
Sometimes the quietest acts of kindness are the ones people remember.
It’s Okay to Say, “I Don’t Know What to Say”
You don’t need to pretend you understand something you’ve never experienced.
You can simply say:
“I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”
“I’m thinking about you.”
“You don’t need to reply. I just wanted you to know I care.”
“What would make this week a little easier?”
Those words may seem simple, but sometimes simple is exactly what someone needs.
Remember the Caregivers Too
Cancer affects more than the person receiving treatment.
There are spouses trying to stay strong.
Parents sitting beside hospital beds.
Children watching their family change.
Friends stepping into caregiving roles they never expected.
There are people managing medication schedules, driving hundreds of kilometres to appointments, sitting in waiting rooms, arranging childcare, working, cooking, cleaning, and trying to keep everyday life moving.
They need someone to check on them too.
Sometimes asking, “How are you doing?” can mean more than you realize.
Small Comforts Matter
This is something I have learned over and over again through the Glen Adnam Cancer Comfort Basket Foundation.
A blanket will not cure cancer.
Neither will fuzzy socks, a journal, lip balm, a crossword book, tea, or any of the other little things we place inside our comfort baskets.
But that isn’t really what the basket is about.
The basket says:
Someone thought about you.
Someone sees what you are going through.
Someone cared enough to put something together just for you.
And sometimes, on a long treatment day, that reminder matters.
You Don’t Have to Fix It
I think one of the greatest lessons grief and cancer have taught me is that love does not always mean fixing something.
Sometimes there is nothing to fix.
Sometimes love looks like sitting beside someone in the hardest chapter of their life and refusing to let them walk through it alone.
My dad’s cancer journey changed our family forever.
There are still moments I wish I could go back and change.
There are conversations I wish we could have again.
There are ordinary days I would give anything to relive.
But there were also people who showed up.
People who cared.
People who remembered.
Those things mattered then, and they still matter now.
It is part of the reason this foundation exists today.
Because while we cannot change someone’s diagnosis, we can choose how we respond to the people walking through it.
We can show up.
We can listen.
We can give.
We can remember.
We can make sure that, even in the hardest moments, someone knows they are not alone.
And sometimes that is enough.
Glen Adnam Cancer Comfort Basket Foundation
Created in memory of Glen Adnam and dedicated to providing comfort and support to people facing cancer and their families.
Learn more, support our comfort basket program, or get involved at glenadnamfoundation.ca.
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