Of all the difficult things cancer asks of you, this one might be the hardest: sitting down with your children and telling them that you are sick. Not a cold, not the flu, but the kind of sick that changes everything. The thought of watching their faces as they try to understand might be more terrifying than anything your doctor has told you. If you are reading this, you are probably already dreading it. And that dread is itself an act of love — it means you care deeply about protecting them, even when protection is no longer entirely possible.
Children need to hear this from you. Not from a sibling who overheard a phone call, not from a classmate whose parent mentioned it, and not from the silence and tension they are already picking up on, even if you think you are hiding it well. Children are extraordinarily perceptive. They notice the hushed conversations, the worried glances, the changes in routine. When they sense something is wrong but no one explains it, their imagination fills the gap — and what they imagine is almost always worse than the truth.
Keep it simple and honest. You do not need to explain the medical details of your diagnosis. You need to give them a framework that feels safe. For younger children, that might sound like: "I found out I have a sickness called cancer. The doctors are going to give me strong medicine to help fight it. I might feel tired sometimes, and things at home might be a little different for a while. But I love you, and we are going to get through this together." For older children and teenagers, you can share more details, but let their questions guide how deep you go.
Choose a time and place where you will not be interrupted and where emotions can flow freely. Do not tell them as you are rushing out the door or right before bedtime. Give them space to react. Some children will cry. Some will get angry. Some will go very quiet. Some will ask questions immediately, and others will not say a word for days and then ask something completely unexpected while you are making dinner. All of these responses are normal.
Reassure them about the things they will worry about most. Children, especially younger ones, will immediately wonder: who is going to take care of me? Am I going to be okay? Is this my fault? Address these fears directly. Tell them that they will still be taken care of, that their routines will stay as normal as possible, and that absolutely nothing they did or said caused your illness. You may need to say this more than once, because children process big emotions in waves.
Do not promise that everything will be fine. This is one of the most painful pieces of advice, but it is important. Children need to trust you, and making promises you cannot guarantee can damage that trust if things do not go as planned. Instead of "I will be fine," try: "The doctors are doing everything they can, and I am going to fight as hard as I can. We do not know exactly what will happen, but I will always tell you the truth, and you can always come to me with questions."
Let them see that it is okay to be sad. If you cry during this conversation, that is not a failure — it is modeling emotional honesty. Children learn how to handle difficult emotions by watching the adults in their lives. When they see you express sadness and then steady yourself, they learn that big feelings are survivable. You do not have to be a rock. You just have to be real.
After the conversation, watch for changes in behavior over the coming weeks. Some children process openly and others internalize. If your child becomes unusually clingy, aggressive, withdrawn, or starts having trouble at school, they are not misbehaving — they are grieving. A child therapist who specializes in families dealing with illness can be enormously helpful during this time.
This conversation is not a single event. It is the beginning of an ongoing dialogue. Keep the door open. Check in with your children regularly. Let them know that they can ask anything, feel anything, and that your love for them is the one thing cancer cannot touch.