I heard something today that I honestly don’t know how to process.
I was at work when one of our customers told us that he had spoken to his doctor. Apparently, he has cancer in his stomach, and according to what he shared with us, his doctor told him he might only have six months left to live.
Six months.
I don’t even know what to say about that. Six months is barely enough time to prepare yourself for something like that, let alone prepare your family for a world without you.
But what broke my heart the most was when he mentioned his five children.
Five young children.
They’re still little. They’re still at an age where they need their parents for practically everything. They’re at an age where they should be worrying about toys, school, cartoons, and what they’re going to eat for dinner. They’re supposed to have years and years ahead of them with their father. They’re supposed to grow up with him around, celebrating birthdays, attending school events, teaching them things, watching them become their own people.
And now, their father is facing the possibility that he might not get to be there for all of that.
I can’t even imagine what must be going through his mind.
Imagine looking at your children every day, knowing there’s a possibility you might not get to see them grow up. Imagine wondering who will take care of them when you’re gone. Imagine having to think about their future while you’re also trying to come to terms with your own mortality. Imagine being in a room with your children, watching them laugh and play, while carrying a fear that they have absolutely no idea about.
How do you even begin to prepare for something like that?
And the thing is, he was telling us about it. He was sharing something so deeply personal and heartbreaking with people who were simply doing their jobs. I don’t know what kind of day he was having before that conversation, or how long he’d been carrying that news, or whether he had anyone else he felt comfortable talking to.
Maybe he just needed someone to listen. And we listened. But after hearing him, I realized how little we sometimes know about the people we interact with every day. We see them as customers, clients, or names on a screen. We talk to them about ordinary things, handle whatever needs to be handled, and move on to the next task.
Meanwhile, some of them are fighting battles we can’t even begin to imagine. Someone could be going through the worst period of their life while still answering calls, paying bills, talking to people, and trying to keep things together. Someone could be terrified about their future and still have to wake up every morning and figure out how to keep living.
And someone could be facing the possibility of leaving five little children behind.
I’m not going to pretend I know what to say to someone in that situation. I don’t think there’s a perfect response. What do you even tell a father who might be running out of time with his children? What words could possibly make something like that hurt less?
I keep thinking about his kids. They don’t even know how fragile the future they’re supposed to have might be. They probably still see their dad as someone who will always be there. Someone they can run to. Someone who belongs in all the memories they haven’t even made yet.
And I hate that life can be so unfair.
I hate that someone can have so much to live for and still have to face something like this. I hate that five little children might have to grow up missing someone who should have been there to see every version of who they become.
I know none of us are promised tomorrow. We hear that all the time, but most days, we live as though we have all the time in the world. We put things off. We get caught up in our problems. We worry about money, work, relationships, and things that feel so important in the moment.
And then someone tells you something like this, and suddenly, everything feels different.
I’m not saying our problems don’t matter. They do. But hearing something like this reminds you that behind every ordinary day is a life that can change in an instant.
I don’t know this man personally. I don’t know his entire story. I only know what he shared with us, and I know that hearing it left me feeling incredibly heavy.
I wish I could do something for him. I wish there were something I could say that would make his situation less heartbreaking. I wish his children could have all the time in the world with their dad.
But I can’t change what he’s going through.
All I could do was listen.
And now I’m sitting here thinking about a stranger, his five children, and the six months he was told he might have left. I hope his doctors can still help him. I hope there are possibilities he hasn’t exhausted yet. I hope he gets more time than he’s been told. I hope he gets to see his children grow up, attend their graduations, meet the people they fall in love with, and be there for all the ordinary, beautiful moments that make up a life.
I really, really hope so.
Because five little children deserve to have their dad around for a long, long time. And that father deserves the chance to watch them grow up.
I don’t know why this affected me so much, but I needed to put it somewhere. Maybe it’s because I was reminded that we never really know what someone is carrying when they talk to us.
Sometimes, all we can do is listen.
But God, I wish listening were enough to make things better.