Last October my family and I learned that my dad had advanced cancer. The diagnosis came in spits and starts, just as rain clouds outside intermittently sprinkled the hospital window with teardrops of rain. On that day his condition was revealed by a team of doctors, each working within their area of expertise. As the various diagnostic test results came in, doctors stood outside the hospital room to pore over the new information. Moments later each would pass through the privacy curtain and enter our world, attempting to assess our ability to hear the news before relaying their information in ways they believed we could digest.

We listened and asked questions. When they departed we talked carefully about the information with Dad, who attempted to process information through a haze of medications. It was in the hallway, nearby waiting room, and the hospital cafeteria that we exchanged questions, fears, and theories.

I am thankful each one of us faced the growing evidence of Dad’s demise with dignity. It was a hallmark of his personal style and we understood without discussing it out loud that it was the time for all of us to step up and be brave. It would have made his life miserable had he felt the need to emotionally undergird himself and his family at the same time.

Some of our questions will have no answers until we can ask them of our God. These questions include when the cancer began, where the cancer originated, why Dad did not exhibit more pain, and why his symptoms did not direct his primary caregiver to more aggressive investigation when they began to manifest some months earlier. On the day we learned Dad had an end-stage cancer, to dig for those answers would have involved procedures that may have satisfied our curiosity but would have compromised Dad’s fragile condition. We agreed to live with the unknown.

With light speed we moved from investigators to caregivers. We faced Dad’s new reality and chose to become guides and comfort givers, despite being filled with disbelief, shock, and utter sadness. We realized we had to override these feelings. This was our time to take a lifetime of love, comfort and advice Dad had given us and offer it to him.

As the hospital staff worked to stabilize Dad, we hurried home momentarily to stabilize our homes and work lives. It is emotionally exhausting to learn that someone is near death and we shortened our conversations out of a sense of urgency. We also reordered our lives, postponing and canceling activities that prevented us from spending time with Dad. It was clear he deserved the best we had to give and to appear distracted would have been hurtful.

I learned lessons about human nature during this time. People like to tell their own stories and if you signal to your friends, family and coworkers that they can relate their story to you, they will. I considered it an honor and privilege to share their experiences but it required added energy. I learned to keep a box of tissue nearby and to comfort those who came my way. I asked God to strengthen me and them, even when they entered the conversation with the intention of comforting me.

The cautionary note is this: Be careful with how much you share with people in crisis and consider abbreviating your story. I carried my cell phone in my pocket and remained on call 24/7. On the few days I worked during Dad’s final days I hurried to keep on top of my job duties. At the same time, it was much harder to think and be productive because the phone, keeping me posted on Dad’s condition, kept ringing. It was a roller coaster. At one moment I’d stabilize and dig into a project, only to be confronted with alarm and anxiety on the phone. It’s to be expected during times like these and I spent a lot of time counseling myself and calling out to God. I also carried a tiny New Testament in my other pocket and held it in my hand when I needed God’s strength at the most tense of times. From my experience the parade of people coming into my office to check on me was treasured and helped me to cope, but if conversations ran too long they occasionally added to my worries that I might drop a ball.

I also learned that it’s best to deliver a gift rather than make an open-ended offer that requires thought and scheduling from the one in crisis. Make a meal and deliver it. If it’s the third lasagna to arrive, don’t worry. It can be frozen and will be enjoyed later. Send a card. Make a quick phone call. Offer a hug. Drive a child to an activity. And pray without ceasing. Make a single offer and act on it. On the flip side, accepting gifts graciously is equally important. People long for a way to help because they care and need a job to feel better themselves.

Next week: Talking about death with a loved one.