Caring for Three Loved Ones: My Journey Through Caregiving, Cancer, Chronic Illness, and Love

 

When my 85-year-old dad moved in with me in 2019—just months before the world shut down—I truly thought I was preparing to help an aging parent with the normal things that come with growing older. I had no idea what was ahead. I didn’t know that our home would become a small, fierce pod where three of the people I love most would fight battles I could never have imagined. I didn’t know how much strength I would need, or how much love would carry us through.

I always say that caregiving came for me in layers. In 2021, my boyfriend was diagnosed with Stage 3C colon cancer—already metastatic. He went through major surgery, rounds of chemotherapy, endless appointments, terrifying uncertainty, and the slow, painful rebuilding of strength. And he fought with everything he had. Through nausea, weakness, and fear, he pushed forward. And in the end, he survived what could have taken him. He won. I still don’t know how he managed it, but even in the middle of chemo and recovery, he would help Dad when he could—two different generations of men supporting each other with humor and quiet bravery.

In March 2022, Joseph was at Georgetown Hospital receiving his final (YAY) chemo infusion, while I was at INOVA Fairfax Hospital where Dad was undergoing a TAVR procedure to replace a failing aortic valve. I have learned in life never to ask if things can get any worse—because yes, they can. I was just thankful that both of my men were getting the best care possible and would soon be on the mend.

In 2023, Dad developed a UTI and, sadly, his catheter journey began. Over the last two-plus years, he has endured more than 25 hospital visits, countless procedures, chronic UTIs, catheter complications, and long, exhausting stretches of discomfort. And yet every single day, without fail, he looks at me and says, “Thank you for all you do.” Those words have carried me more times than I can count.

Just when I thought we had survived enough, my daughter—my one and only, my heart—began her own medical storm. She lives with chronic Lyme and liver disease, and between 2024 and 2025, she endured four major surgeries, a frightening two-week hospital stay for abdominal adhesions, long recoveries, setbacks, and so much pain. And yet, she has always been a fighter. She shows up every time with courage I can only hope I passed down to her. During each recovery, she stays with me, and I care for her the way I did when she was little, even though she’s grown now. Our home becomes her safe place again.

Three people. Three different journeys. Three strong and resilient souls.

There were moments when the weight of it all felt like too much—when exhaustion seeped into my bones, when I felt stretched so thin I didn’t know how I’d make it to the next morning. There were nights full of fear, days packed with appointments and medications, and weeks where I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart.

But caregiving taught me something I didn’t expect: love expands you. It becomes strength you didn’t know you had. Caregiving isn’t just the tasks, or the schedules, or the responsibilities. It’s holding someone’s hand in a hospital bed. It’s making meals even when no one is hungry. It’s staying calm when fear wants to take over. It’s becoming the anchor for the people you love most.

I never expected to care for three people. But I did. And if life asked me to do it again, I would—because they are my family, my world, and the three reasons I kept going.

Somehow, in the middle of surgeries, infections, chemo, setbacks, and emergencies, we became closer. Dad, with his gentle gratitude. My boyfriend, with his fierce determination to survive. My daughter, with her unbelievable resilience. They each fought battles they never asked for, and I fought right beside them in every way I could.

And in the process, our little pod became something extraordinary—a home filled with compassion, humor, patience, and love. A place where we held each other up, even on the hardest days.

Caregiving for one person is hard. Caregiving for two can be overwhelming. Caregiving for three is something only love could make possible. I didn’t choose this path, but I embraced it. And along the way, I’ve witnessed the very best of the people I love: their courage, their gratitude, their hope, and their ability to keep fighting.

We survived all of it together. We made it through the impossible. And now we keep moving forward—one day, one challenge, one blessing at a time.

If you’re walking a caregiving journey of your own, I hope this reminds you that you’re not alone—and that your love and effort truly matter.

xo,

Lisa