Blog|Articles|May 7, 2026

Tethered: A Mother’s Day Meditation on Cancer Caregiving and Gratitude

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Key Takeaways

  • Motherhood is framed as lifelong emotional tethering, with caregiving intensified when a child is seriously ill and requiring sustained physical, emotional, and spiritual labor.
  • A four-year caregiving journey for a son with fibrolamellar carcinoma underscores unmet therapeutic need, given its rarity, aggressiveness, and lack of an established curative standard.
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A mother reflects on the "tethered heart" of caregiving, sharing her journey through her son’s rare cancer and offering solidarity to all mothers.

The thing about being a mother is, you no longer have autonomy over your heart, your state of wellness or your peace. It's forever linked to your children.

My test was cancer, but if you are a mother reading this, you have been tested in some way, if not now then perhaps in the future. Once you are a mother, your heart is tethered. It's tethered to their happiness, their pain, their suffering, their wellbeing and their disappointment.

It's Mother's Day this weekend, but every day is Mother's Day. The day your children emerge from you, some well-mannered, some angry, some reluctant, holding on to the safe haven you provide, and some after 37 hours of labor like mine, they arrive and that's it. You are their everything.

I want to highlight caregiving this Mother's Day. As mothers, we are all caregivers. If your child is healthy, you still give care.

That care is simply what we do. But if your child is sick, it's a different kind of care. It comes from every ounce of energy your cells have. You are tired, you are sleepy, you are exhausted, you are emotional, you are a little broken ... but the care has to continue. If you don't care, who will? We are mothers. We have to heal their bodies, their souls, their emotions and their vulnerabilities. You are their rainbow. Every day you assess what color they need and you create that color.

Being a mother was not my only identity. | was a free-spirited, ambitious spirit. I always had clarity and a drive for excellence. I never let outside noise bother me — what others thought, their perceptions of me or what was expected of me. I walked, rather danced, to my own tune, and I did it unapologetically. I worked in fashion, creating bespoke productions. Looking back, I told a story through clothes and craft, building a narrative about where I come from in South Asia and Pakistan, celebrating our rich cultural diversity.

Now, I am telling a more personal story. I am still storytelling, but I am telling the story of my son and I, his journey battling a rare and aggressive cancer, fibrolamellar, with no established cure. I document our journey because in my heart I feel that this story will inspire hope. It will inspire others to celebrate their lives despite the odds served to them. It will let other mothers know they are not alone, and perhaps, sharing may lead me to a cure.

This Mother's Day, I celebrate the beautiful joy of being a mother with you. I celebrate the gift of motherhood. I stand with you in your pain and anguish if you are caring for a sick child, and my heart aches for the mothers whose children have passed on. I often think of the mothers who are in that grief. I want to hug them, hold them and simply let them know that while it is a grief I haven't experienced and one I fear, I will not shy away from the pain I see. My heart is with you. It's quietly standing next to yours.

The world expects everything from mothers. Our hearts need an anchor. Sometimes I flounder around looking for a place to anchor mine. I believe we mothers shape the future of the world. The love, trust, care and hope we provide for our children helps create a better world for the future. Our hope is that they leave a positive footprint, that they do good and create good. Maybe one day they will be mothers and fathers themselves and pass on a traction of the love I shared with them.

This Mother's Day, I want to acknowledge that I am hurting. April was very hard, but I have hope. We all have hope. I will smile, I will be silly, I will laugh, I will listen to music, and I will tell my kids that no matter what, we have blessings all around us. We have one more day together and we will hold each other. I am tethered to them. When I am no more, I'll still be tethered. I will live in their hearts, hopefully with a lot of silly stories.

We will live in gratitude.

Sadia Siddiqui is a mother of two, and a caregiver for four years to her son, Jansher, who has fibrolamellar, a rare and aggressive form of liver cancer with no established cure. She documents their journey on TikTok at @jansherjourney and on Instagram at @truly.Sadia.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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