My two remaining siblings and I shared a secret.
We kept it not just from our parents but from our entire family—out of kindness.
Our sister, Karen, had passed away from brain cancer a few years before this. Then, as our parents’ dementia got worse, they needed more care than we could give. We found them a place in assisted living, and after a few months, I went in for routine blood work.
That’s when I was diagnosed with chronic leukemia. The word “cancer” is scary, but chronic leukemia isn’t a “big deal.” It doesn’t hurt. It usually gets worse slowly. I still look the same as I did ten years ago, just thinner.
My siblings and I never even talked about it. We just knew—we had to keep it a secret.
Why? Because if anyone in the family found out, someone might “forget” and ask me about it. Was I getting worse? What was going to happen?
My parents on their wedding day. They had no idea what life would bring.
Chronic leukemia isn’t a big deal—unless it’s your child. Then it is. They had already lost one child to cancer. Losing another? Unthinkable.
One day, when I visited, my dad asked me what I had planned for the next week. I told him I had a blood test coming up.
My mom’s eyes locked onto mine. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
I quickly reassured them. “No, no. Just a routine checkup.”
I had always believed we made the right choice by keeping it from them. But in that moment, I knew for sure.
Dementia is a strange disease. It makes people forget so much—except the things you wish they’d forget. And those memories, the painful ones, come back over and over, shattering them again and again.
If they had known, we would have heard them say, “Not my second child, too.” My mother would have spent entire days in tears.
We couldn’t let that happen.
So, we kept it a secret until the day they passed away.
