A Mother’s Day reflection on love, illness, and what caregiving teaches us
When we think about caregivers, we often picture someone older, experienced, or trained. But caregiving often begins in ways we don’t recognise = and far earlier than we realise.
My first caregiver was my mother (then my grandparents took over as my parents focus on bringing food to the table). She was the one who fed me, protected me, stayed up when I was sick, and reminded me to eat even when I was grown. But years later, while I was still growing, I quietly stepped into that same role – not out of obligation, but out of fear of losing her.
She was diagnosed with cancer. The treatments were brutal – not just to her body, but to her spirit. Her nails dropped off. Her hair fell. She vomited for days. And as difficult as the physical symptoms were, the uncertainty was worse. No one could guarantee recovery. And the medical world, in its attempt to be factual, reminded her constantly that survival wasn’t certain.
She began to spiral into depression. Not just because of the pain, but because she started to believe her illness was a burden to our family. She would say things like, “If I’m not around, at least the family won’t have to keep paying for all this.” She worried not only about dying – but about what would happen to us if she did. Especially because her relationship with my father, like many traditional marriages, was strained. He cared deeply but struggled to express it in ways she could receive. He showed up physically – but emotionally, there was a gap neither of them knew how to bridge.
They fought. He felt guilty. She felt unseen. And I watched – as their child, trying to hold all the pieces.
I didn’t cook. But I researched endlessly. I searched for food that could help her recover, for sensei and TCM remedies, for any lead that gave us even a little hope. I just didn’t want to lose her.
But I was also still being mothered. She would still remind me to eat well, to sleep earlier, to drink more water (i’m like a camel as she always said) – even while I was scrambling to manage her recovery.
That’s the strange beauty and heartbreak of caregiving between parent and child: It’s never a clean handover. You give and receive at the same time. You love and you fear. You hold each other through roles that keep shifting, but never disappear.
If there’s anything I’ve taken away from that season, it’s this:
- When a parent falls ill, it affects the child emotionally in deep, invisible ways. Even if that child is already grown. The fear, the helplessness, the role reversal – it stays with you.
- How caregivers and care recipients communicate matters. When stress hits, it’s not just the illness that hurts – it’s how we speak (or don’t speak) to each other that shapes the healing process. Not all love is verbal. But all love needs understanding.
Today, a day after Mother’s Day, I find myself thinking not just about celebration, but about what we hold quietly in our hearts.
My mother probably won’t see this – she’s not on this platform. And truthfully, we haven’t seen each other for a while.
Recently, I’ve been hiding away… not out of distance, but protection. I’ve had a medical incident of my own – and I haven’t told her. Because I know that if she thought I was unwell, she would stop sharing her struggles with me. And I want her to still see me as the healthy son who is ready to support her – without holding back.
I hope when I see her at her upcoming birthday, she will know – through my presence, my words, and perhaps my quiet gestures – how much I love her, still and always.
And to the other “mothers” in my life – my aunts – thank you. For standing by her when I couldn’t. For lifting her up when I was still learning how to be strong.
Caregiving is rarely simple. But love – even when unspoken – always finds its way through.
💭 In future reflections, I hope to write more about:
- How illness affects children in caregiving families
- The importance of couples learning to communicate during health crises
- The role of doctors and how empathy during medical discussions can change everything
If any of this resonates, or you’ve lived through something similar – I’d love to hear your story too.
This article was written by Adrian Tan and originally posted on LinkedIn on May 12, 2025.
