After being a caregiver for her husband during his nearly 7-year battle with brain cancer, there’s one thing that Nancy’s learned, It’s to rely on cautious optimism and find ways to adapt and find joy in the face of uncertainty and social isolation.

This is the first in a series of new columns about resilience, an area Nancy Sharp is passionate about and grew to be an expert in precisely because of her experience as a longtime cancer caregiver. She'll share her philosophy on resilience with you.

How do you begin — how does anyone begin — to communicate in the face of certain and impending death? Do we have to? Did my dad want to? At the time, we all struggled with what to say to him, and everyone else struggled with what to say to us. But now, eight years after his passing, I finally understand that those “right words” that we were all searching for — they simply don’t exist. In fact, there are exactly zero words in the English language (or any language) that cure cancer, solve complex mental health issues, or bring people back from the dead.

Place matters, especially when home must be redefined because the person with whom you made a home is no longer alive.

Grief comes in waves, in ebbs and flows, even for three-year old toddlers. That first year without Brett was a pendulum of conversation, reasoning, and tears. But there’s nothing easy or linear about parenting, let alone parenting grieving children. I learned not to expect too much from myself or from them.

When at last Brett died, I expected peace, not chaos all over again. I'd buried him prematurely in my dreams throughout his illness, bracing myself, I suppose, for the inevitable. Now that he was truly gone though, I was unprepared for the tidal wave of grief within me. The first few months after Brett died were a blur.

The toll of Brett's cancer on his body made home hospice no longer a viable option. After his most recent seizure, he was admitted into hospice. Going into hospice was almost a relief. I lived with premature anticipatory grief for years knowing Brett's cancer was incurable.

Being Brett’s wife and caregiver was a complicated role, and it strained my nerves. It was hard to simply rest my head on his shoulder the way I used to, or to express my own need for emotional intimacy and comfort when the gravity of his illness loomed large. I bounced back quickly from hurt feelings because there was no choice but to be present when we our time together as a family was diminishing. Every moment mattered.

Six years into her husband's cancer diagnosis, Nancy Sharp felt cancer's toll on their marriage and children. Like many caregivers, she learned to cope and adapt, even as Brett's brain tumor progressed and treatment options failed.

Nancy Sharp was a new mother wanting to go on her first family vacation with her husband and twins, but even that isn't so simple when you're a cancer caregiver.