Happy Tuesday!
November is National Family Caregivers Month, and for the past month, I've been interviewing caregivers for a short film we're creating for The Zero Negative Foundation's upcoming fundraiser, For Love & Laughs.
I’ve been asking them about their experiences caring for someone they love through cancer. What was it like? What did they need? What were they afraid of? How did they take care of themselves while taking care of someone else?
And through this process, I’ve been thinking more about Larry.
Almost ten years ago, when I was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer, my husband became my caregiver. He drove me to every appointment, talked to doctors, managed medications, health insurance, meals, and moods. He made decisions, honored my decisions, and somehow figured out how to keep life moving while everything he knew seemed to be falling apart.
I knew he did all of this. Intellectually, I knew this. I was there! But with all the focus on the fundraiser and the caregiver film, I think something that had been living in my subconscious finally found its way into a dream. And I actually felt what it was like to be Larry, my caregiver.
In the dream, I was bald again. I was watching Larry take care of me, but somehow, I was also experiencing what it was like to be him. I felt his fear. His anxiety. His helplessness. The enormous responsibility of taking care of someone he loved while having absolutely no control over what might happen.
Underneath all of it, I felt so much love. Love that puts someone else’s needs before your own, even when you’re scared, exhausted, and have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I woke up feeling like I had uncovered something about him I never really understood before.
My experience with cancer was very different from his. It was all about me. I had to be selfish. I had to focus on me, and so did everyone else. But I found peace, and I couldn’t give that to anyone else. I found a place of surrender. I fell in love with life, with myself, and with the universe. I trusted, deeply, that somehow I was going to be okay.
Cancer became MY gift. MY experience. No one else could fully understand the trust I felt. It didn’t make it easier on the people watching. It didn’t make it easier on Larry. He couldn’t feel what I felt, or control what was happening, and he couldn’t guarantee that I would survive.
But still, he showed up every day. He kept his fears away from me (most of the time). He celebrated the little milestones. He made me laugh. He figured things out, even when there were no answers.
Was he always in a good mood? Absolutely not! He’s Larry! Were we always on the same page? Not even close. There were moments when we both fell apart. I remember one day screaming, “I WANT MY MOMMY!” And there were moments when Larry was so overwhelmed that he didn’t know what to do with his own fear.
We were living through the same diagnosis, but experiencing it in two completely different ways. Somehow, we found a way to write a new chapter together. One that eventually became our book, Everyone Needs a Larry.
I’ve always been grateful for everything Larry did for me. I mean, the book was named after him! But this dream was different. For the first time, I wasn’t just seeing what he did. I was feeling the love it took to do it. I was embracing what it felt like to be the caregiver.
And it made me fall a little more in love with my husband. Because I saw him differently. Maybe not even differently...
I just saw him.
We spend so much of our lives looking for what’s missing, what’s wrong, what someone isn’t doing. And sometimes we become so focused on the things that frustrate us that we stop seeing the love that’s been there all along.
I think about all the caregivers who quietly carry their own fears while trying to make life easier for someone else. Who put their needs aside, not because they don’t have needs, but because someone they love needs them.
I’m so excited about our new Caring for Caregivers program. Caregivers deserve more than our gratitude. They deserve to be cared for, too, and we have so many ideas about how to support the people who give so much of themselves to someone else.
When cancer enters a family, there isn’t just one person whose life changes.
One diagnosis. Two patients.
Both deserve to be seen. Because everyone needs a Larry.
And Larry needs a Larry, too.
So here's my question for you this week:
Who might you fall in love with again if you could see everything they've carried?
Love,
Jenn
P.S. On November 15, we’re bringing love and laughter together at The Comedy Store for our annual For Love & Laughs fundraiser, with Bill Burr, Wayne Federman and more, hosted by Justine Marino. It’s the night we launch The Zero Negative Foundation’s Caring for Caregivers initiative, and I hope you’ll join us as we celebrate the people who show up for the people they love.
👉 Tickets here.
Can’t be there? You can still be part of it. Our online silent auction opens this Sunday, November 8, and closes when the doors open on November 15 at 6 PM. Or you can support the patients and caregivers in the room that night.
👉 Give here.