A story of Care Giving.
Arushi's story

My mom’s cancer diagnosis, caregiving, and complicated grief

There is no rulebook for cancer care. 

The story began with a long pause, enveloped by silence when we asked Arushi how she felt about sharing her story. There are experiences and events that we never actively think about in such a manner, with two people waiting to listen to us. “I’m a bit anxious, it’s daunting to share my story with an audience. But I’m also excited”, she finally shared. 

My mom’s cancer was diagnosed in 2023, and all hell broke loose. Living in Dharamshala, I was constantly going up and down. The weeks that followed were an emotional and overwhelming blur—chasing doctors, running tests, waiting for endless reports, finding medicines, being with her in the hospital, cooking at home, and spending endless hours at AIIMS. I broke down. I had no elders to rely on and no idea how to handle it all. The oncology ward was terrifying—crowded, chaotic, and overwhelming.

Distance and duties

My mom and I  have a very complex relationship. I had honestly already lost my mom before the cancer happened; this is a relationship I had been grieving before the looming question of her death came into the picture. When I called out my abuser to my family, everyone, including my mom was standing on his side – against me. So the idea and process of being a “caregiver” has been complex for even me to understand. I had created distance from my mom after she chose not to stand up for me, to create my own protectives, but when she got cancer it felt like I had to be there even when I didn’t know if I wanted to. When she was diagnosed, I felt I had no choice but to step in as her caregiver. It was a suffocating duty, an obligation wrapped in grief, longing for love, and deep confusion. How do you take care of someone you struggle to forgive? How do you show up for someone you love, but whose choices have cost you so much? These questions lingered as I navigated this unfamiliar and painful role.

It’s a journey I am still trying to understand, one tangled in loss and a desire for closure I may never find.

Being an orphan, being an adult.

Like I said, none of my family stood by me, I had no one to fall back on during this time. I’m not in contact with my mom and sister as such, my dad passed away a decade ago: I’m terrified of being an orphan. And with everything, none of her family members who stood against me stepped up.  And I honestly didn’t know where to go. On one hand, I’m grieving the future as an orphan, and on the other, I have to be more of an adult than I have ever had to be and figure everything out with almost no familial support; I only had my husband and 3 friends in Delhi. 

Children’s Books for All is born.

I remember when we used to go for her long chemotherapy sessions, they would be 10-12 hours of us sitting in the hospital room. I would take a backpack full of 40-50 children’s books with me along with the million other things my hands were filled with. I never wanted to run out of things to read. These children’s books have been a refuge for me in the midst of this tunnel; a light to hold onto. They offered me comfort when everything else felt too heavy to sit with.

This is also how Children’s Books For All was born. With the way these books held me during such tumultuous times, and the comfort and solace they brought. Now we’re a group of more than a hundred people who are finding joy in children’s books: a reminder that even in chaos, there’s space for wonder and hope, for joy and love.

Anger, death, and life 

In this discussion around the chaos that ensued in Arushi’s life, we never wanted to lose her; the person whose story this is. How has Arushi’s relationship with herself evolved during this time?

There’s a long pause while Arushi thinks over this question. Perhaps it can feel odd to focus on ourselves when we’re in the middle of someone else’s storm. 

After her 6 cycles of chemotherapy, I decided that I wouldn’t go to Delhi. It was a pressuring and scary decision, imagining my mom would have to go through this journey on her own, with no family. But I had to do this. What kind of a mom doesn’t stand up for her own daughter? Stand by her when you need to the most. Her cancer journey showed me she was not there with me or for me. I started seeing her as a human who is suffering immensely, but she’s not my mom. I was enraged over what she put me through then, and what she was putting me through now. Her cancer took over her entire world, leaving no room for mine; I was there, I had been there, but she never saw me, and all I ever wished was for my mother to truly see me. With time, I am learning to let go of this rage and see my mom for who she is: a person. But it’s a long process and I don’t know if it ever ends. 

I’m also changing. I’m not scared of death anymore – my own or my mom’s; I’m not scared of anyone leaving now. For years, the thought of being apart from her was unbearable. She was my only parent after Dad died in 2012, and her diagnosis in 2022 felt like everything broke. But I want to be alone now, I’m learning to embrace it. 

What is something you wish someone would say to you right now, or something you wish you could hear during this time?

I wanted a reminder that family is not just about blood but also about the connections we nurture — the people, animals, and even plants that love and hold us in their own ways. Being an adult is the quiet, brave act of choosing your own family, letting it grow, and letting go of others. In the midst of all the complexity, when life feels heavy, it can be hard to notice the joy, the play, and the curiosity that still exists around us — but they’re here, waiting to hold and save us when we’re ready to reach for them. In all of this, the community we have built at Children’s Books for All has been my rock, they’ve given me unimaginable strength and support; I know I’m not alone. And the hardest truth is probably that everyone carries their own story, their own pain, that can hurt us. It doesn’t excuse anything, but it does soften something. It lets us see our parents, our siblings, and our loved ones, not as villains but as people who are hurting too. We’re all villains in someone’s stories.  This made me want to let go of the rage I’ve been filled to the brim with. 

At this point, I’m looking for joy in the tiniest of things. “Achhi neend soni hai, subah uthna hai, I want to hang out with my friends, go bird watching, click photos, drink tea, pet my dogs, and continue with my children’s books. There are bigger things to work through, but this is what matters and keeps me grounded too.”