A Parent’s Guide to Showing Up

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

This guide started with our mom, Kim.

She wrote about what it was like to love two daughters through cancer, to get the calls no parent ever wants, to be far away when she wanted to be in the room, and to figure out how to show up when there was no manual, no perfect script, and no way to fix the thing she wanted most to take away.

We took what she shared and turned it into this guide because, honestly, there isn’t enough out there for parents in this position.

There are resources for the person diagnosed. There are medical websites. There are pamphlets, appointment summaries, and well-meaning comments from people who have not lived it. But there is very little for the parent who is trying to keep breathing while their child goes through cancer.

No manual prepares you for this. Not the parenting books, not the medical websites, not the advice that sounds good until you are actually living it.

You learn by doing. By listening. By staying. By figuring out what your child needs and then finding a way to give it, even from a thousand miles away.

These are the things Kim learned. Not tips from a textbook. Lessons from the road.

THE FIRST CALL

Acknowledge the shock before you do anything else.

The moment your child tells you, they are watching your face.

Even if they are grown. Even if they have a partner, a doctor, a treatment plan, and a life of their own. In that moment, they are still your child, and your reaction matters.

You do not have to be perfectly composed. Nobody expects you to hear the word cancer attached to your child and respond like a robot. But before you jump into fixing, researching, planning, or asking a million questions, try to be present.

Let the first thing they feel from you be steadiness.

You can say, “I know this is a lot to process, and it is okay to feel overwhelmed. I am here whenever you need to talk.”

You can say, “We are going to take this one step at a time.”

You can say, “I love you. I am here.”

The goal is not to have the perfect words. The goal is to let them know they do not have to manage your panic while they are trying to process their own.

MEETING THEM WHERE THEY ARE

Meet them where they are, not where you think they should be.

Every person moves through cancer differently.

Kesley immersed herself in research. Blythe channeled what she was experiencing into her work. Neither way was wrong. They were both trying to find a way to get through something that had turned their lives upside down.

As a parent, it is easy to want your child to respond in the way that makes you feel most reassured. You may want them to talk more. Cry more. Rest more. Ask more questions. Stop Googling. Start Googling. Be positive. Be realistic. Be whatever version makes you feel like they are okay.

But cancer does not work like that.

Some days they may want information, or they may want silence. Other days, they may need to talk through every detail, or they may not want to talk about cancer at all. Some days, the most helpful thing you can do is sit on the other end of the phone and let there be quiet.

Let them show you where they are. And when they cannot tell you what they need, do the practical thing.

Send the food. Handle the call. Help with the task. Make the next hour easier.

WHAT ACTUALLY HELPS

Do the specific thing, not the general offer.

One of the least helpful things people say is, “Let me know if you need anything.”

It comes from love. We know that. But most people going through cancer will not ask. They are tired. They are overwhelmed. They are already managing appointments, symptoms, fear, decisions, and everyone else’s feelings about their diagnosis.

So instead of making them decide what to ask for, offer something specific.

• Do not say, “Let me know if you need dinner.”
  • Say, “I am sending dinner Thursday. What sounds easiest?”
• Do not say, “Tell me how I can help.”
  • Say, “I can make calls, organize the meal train, research questions for the doctor, or sit with you at the appointment. Pick one, or I will pick for you.”

This is where love becomes practical.

Organize the meal train. Make the calls. Research the questions. Show up to the appointment. Take something off the list before it becomes another burden.

The most loving thing is often the most unglamorous one.

KEEPING CHECK-INS CONSISTENT

Send the check-in that needs nothing back.

Sometimes the best text is the one that does not ask them to perform.

“Thinking of you today.”

That is it.

No question mark. No pressure to respond. No hidden assignment. Just presence in their pocket when they open their phone.

This matters more than people realize. Especially later, when the first wave of support has quieted down, and everyone else has gone back to normal life. Treatment may still be happening. Recovery may still be hard. Fear may still be sitting in the room.

Keep checking in.

Not in a way that demands something from them. In a way that reminds them they have not been forgotten.

Consistency matters more than intensity.

PRESENCE WITHOUT PRESSURE

Balance presence with space.

Sometimes they need you close. Sometimes they need space.

Both can be true.

It can be hard as a parent not to hover. Your instinct may be to call, text, check, ask, plan, and stay close enough that you can catch every change before it happens. That instinct comes from love, but it can become too much if your child feels like they now have to manage your worry too.

So pay attention.

If they are talking, listen. If they are quiet, do not force a conversation. If they say they need rest, let them rest. If they say they want company, show up. If they do not know what they need, stay steady without crowding them.

Presence does not always mean being physically there or constantly checking in.

Sometimes presence sounds like, “I am here. You do not have to respond. I just want you to know I am not going anywhere.”

Give them room. Then show up again.

YOUR FEELINGS MATTER TOO

Share your own feelings without making them carry yours.

You do not have to pretend you are fine all the time.

Your child knows you are scared. They know this hurts you too. And sometimes grieving together can create real honesty. It can give them permission to stop pretending. It can remind both of you that you are allowed to be human inside of something impossible.

But there is a balance.

Your child cannot be the only place you put your fear. They cannot be responsible for comforting you every time you are scared. They are already carrying enough.

So find your own support. Talk to a friend. Go to therapy. Journal. Pray. Walk. Sit in your car and cry if that is the only private place you can find.

You are allowed to fall apart. Just find the right room for it.

Then come back to them with love that feels steady enough to lean on.

MARK THE MOMENTS

Celebrate every milestone.

When Blythe finished treatment, Kesley bought a bell for her to ring because her clinic did not have one.

Friends gathered outside. There was not a dry eye.

That moment mattered because it marked something. It said, “This happened. This took something. This deserves to be remembered.”

And it does.

Mark the milestones. The treatment completed. The surgery recovery win. The scan that comes back clear. The hard day survived. The moment they laugh and sound like themselves again for two seconds.

It does not always have to be a party. It does not have to be big. It just needs to be acknowledged.

Cancer can make life feel painfully medical. Appointments, labs, scans, side effects, waiting rooms. Milestones bring the person back into the center of it. They say, “I see you. I see what this took. I am proud of you.”

That kind of recognition matters.

KEEP LOOKING FORWARD

Look forward together.

Talk about the future.

Not in a forced way. Not in a “stay positive” way. In a real way.

Talk about the trip you still want to take. The restaurant you want to try. The project they want to come back to. The birthday, the holiday, the next good thing.

Looking forward together is an act of love because it tells them you still see a life ahead of them. You are not only seeing the diagnosis. You are seeing the person, the plans, the dreams, the version of them that still exists beyond treatment.

Hope is not some big speech. It's saying, “When this part is behind you, we are going here.”

Dream with them. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF

Take care of yourself, too. Your well-being matters.

That can be hard to accept as a parent because your instinct is to put your child first. Of course it is. But you cannot show up fully if you are running on empty and calling it strength.

Kim leaned on gratitude, prayer, reflection, and whatever helped her get through the hardest nights. For you, it may be therapy. Journaling. Walking. Talking to a friend. Sitting somewhere quiet where nobody needs anything from you for ten minutes.

Whatever keeps you grounded, take it seriously.

Taking care of yourself does not mean you love them less. It means you are trying to stay whole enough to keep loving them well.

THE WHOLE JOB

Stay. When you do not know what to say, stay. When there is nothing to fix, stay. When the miles between you feel impossibly long, stay.

When they are scared, when they are quiet, when they are angry, when they are tired, when the first wave of support fades, when everyone else assumes things are back to normal, stay.

Not perfectly. Not magically. Not without your own fear.

Just stay. Be there for them. That is the whole guide. That is the whole job. You are not alone in this and neither are they.

ABOUT CHEMO QUEENS

Chemo Queens was built by Kesley and Blythe Howard, two survivors who turned their experience into resources for everyone who comes after them.

Their mom, Kim, was right there with them, loving them through it in every way she could.