The Things We Don’t See

Every so often, someone’s words capture a truth that’s impossible to explain from the inside. This post is one of those moments.

Today, I’m honored to share the voice of my dear friend, a friend who has walked beside me and our close circle through some of life’s hardest battles. Her perspective isn’t from the hospital bed or the treatment chair, but from the other side of the fight, the side of friendship, helplessness, faith, and fierce love.

Her words are raw, unfiltered, and full of heart. She’s sharing what it’s like to love someone through cancer: the fear, the guilt, the wrestling, and the stubborn, steady hope that refuses to quit.

Please welcome my guest blogger and sister in spirit, Kat Wheeler, with her piece:

“The Things We Don’t See.”

Seriously!!! My two closest friends battled the cancer beast.

Carlene.

Breast cancer.

She fought a silent battle, a pillar of strength standing tall and unshaken, like a magnificent tower on a hill. She didn’t tell me the details; she didn’t want to burden me. Only recently did I learn the horrific truth of what she walked through. And I’ll be honest, it wrecked me. I felt like I failed as a friend. I had no freaking idea. She made it seem manageable… like she was “just handling it.” Meanwhile, everything in her world was shifting. Forever. And I didn’t see it. I didn’t know.

The good news? She survived. And she’s thriving.

And then Kimberly.

My bright and creative soul, the friend who thinks, lives, and loves deeply. She was thriving too, excited about life and her future, full of color, imagination, and big dreams. Then in less than two weeks… everything changed. CANCER. WHAT!?

With Kimberly’s journey, I’ve seen the hell of cancer up close, the raw, unfiltered version. And suddenly, I began to understand the depth of what Carlene endured silently so I wouldn’t have to carry her pain. Oh, how grateful I am for her bestie Toni, the saint who stood in the fire with her, helping her and Craig navigate the storm.

Meanwhile, I was hundreds of miles away, wrapped up in work, career changes, and all the “important” crap that, in hindsight, doesn’t matter at all. Not when someone you love is fighting for their life. UGH, the gross ways we let our jobs define how we respond to life. 

I failed as Carlene’s friend. But by the grace of God, she loves me anyway.

With both Carlene and Kimberly… death never entered my mind. But crap….death is an outcome.

Gross. God, please don’t take my friends this way. Sick, fighting, exhausted… all the sucky crap. Not these women. Not the strong, courageous, beautiful humans I know. They are mothers. Wives. Friends. Women with purpose.

Cancer, you’re sick.

So what’s it like to be the friend of someone battling cancer?

Well, it sucks too.

Not in the same universe as what my warriors endure, but it’s its own kind of brutal. It’s the unknown. The waiting. The helplessness. And for a “fixer” like me…..it is agony.

What do I do? What do I say? How do I help?

Carlene shielded me from the darkest parts. But with Kimberly, I’ve seen the shadows. And I can’t fix it. I can’t change it. I can only show up with undeniable love and unwavering prayer.

Even then, I’ll be real… sometimes prayer feels like not enough. Sometimes trust feels wobbly. I believe God has a plan, but there are days when I want to argue with Him about it. Faith isn’t tidy. It’s jagged, especially in the valley.

Cancer changes everything, not just for the warrior, but for every soul who loves them. It forces clarity. It strips away the noise. It reminds you what matters:

Presence.

Prayer.

Patience.

Grace.

And love that doesn’t require the perfect words… just a willing heart.

So here’s to my warriors:

To Carlene, who fought in silence, a steadfast tower no storm could shake.

To Kimberly, who fights in the open, radiant and real, her vibrant soul still coloring the world.

And to every friend out there learning to love better in the middle of fear, chaos, and hope.

We won’t always get it right. We’ll miss signs. We’ll say the wrong thing. We’ll carry guilt we don’t deserve. But love, real love, covers more than we realize.

And hope… hope is stubborn. Hope refuses to die.

The Why, the Guilt, and the Wrestling

Recently, I sat with Kimberly. We weren’t talking about doctors or cancer or side effects. We were talking about someone else’s sudden, tragic death, a person we didn’t even know. She stared outward, not at me but into the universe, and quietly asked: “Why?”

Oh my God… WHY is right.

She once wrote a section in her blog about “Why me?” But in my Uber back to my hotel, my heart twisted around a different question:

“Why not me?”

Why did God choose them to face this fight and not me? I smoked for over a decade. I’ve bounced between unhealthy and healthy seasons. Statistically, I’m a pretty solid cancer target. And yet, not me. Not now. Not today.

Thank you, Jesus, for sparing me… but also, what do I do with this?

Because the truth is, this kind of why hurts. It hurts because there is no answer. Sitting in the unknowing is its own kind of suffering.

And then comes guilt.

Guilt for not showing up better for Carlene.

Guilt for not asking more, not seeing more, not leaning in.

Guilt for thinking, even for a moment, that I understood what my friend were/are facing.

Guilt that I am okay while my friends are fighting for their lives.

None of this guilt is from them. This is my own raw humanity. My heart aching because guilt is born from love.

Cancer is an emotional roller coaster for everyone in its blast radius. There is no perfect script. No perfect response. No perfect version of support. Cancer is not perfect, and neither are we.

And that’s why I keep throwing it, sometimes weakly, sometimes desperately, back at God. I don’t have the answers. I don’t understand the plan. But I trust Him, even while wrestling with Him. That’s where my faith has to live right now, in the tension, not the clarity.

The Hope I’m Holding

Life is fragile. People matter. Love loudly. Show up messy. Hold tight. Pray hard. Forgive quickly. And don’t wait to say the thing that needs saying.

Because sometimes, the real battles are the ones we never see.

God, I don’t have the answers. But I’m trusting You anyway.

Hope lives here — in the questions, in the fight, and in the love that remains.

Love,

Kat Wheeler

Reflection

Reading her words reminds me that cancer doesn’t just touch the person diagnosed — it ripples through every relationship connected to it. It challenges faith, rearranges priorities, and reveals who we really are when things get hard.

Love, even when it’s messy and uncertain, is still the most powerful force we have. This story is a reminder that being there — showing up, praying, and loving through the fear — is enough.