I like answers.
I like understanding what is happening, what comes next, and what I’m supposed to do about it. Give me a problem, and I want to figure it out.
But sometimes there simply aren’t answers.
My father is very ill. I’ve accepted that.
What I haven’t been able to do is put a timeline around it.
How much longer do we have?
Weeks? Months?
Does he have cancer? We still don’t definitively know. And at this point, does knowing even change anything?
There was a time when I thought eventually we would get the answers. Another test. Another conversation. Another piece of information that would finally make everything clear.
Instead, I’ve had to become comfortable with not knowing.
My dad doesn’t have the answers either. Ask him a question and often his answer is simply, “I don’t know.”
And maybe that’s the most truthful answer any of us can give right now.
I’ve accepted where we are. That doesn’t mean everyone around me has to experience it the same way. We all see difficult circumstances through our own lens, shaped by our relationships, our experiences, our fears and our hopes.
Acceptance is personal.
And accepting what is happening doesn’t mean there isn’t sadness. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different. It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hoping for more time.
It means I’ve stopped believing I need an answer before I can be present in what is happening now.
That idea has made me think about something I see in coaching all the time.
Why do we think we need to have all the answers before we can move forward?
We want to know how something will turn out before we try it. We want to know we’re making the right decision before we make it. We want to know exactly where a new path will lead before we’re willing to take the first step.
But how often do we actually get that kind of certainty?
Maybe the goal isn’t to eliminate uncertainty.
Maybe it’s learning that we can move forward while carrying it with us.
Because there is something else happening in the midst of all this uncertainty.
My family is connected in a way we haven’t been in a long time.
We check in. We share updates. We tell stories. We laugh about things Dad says. We talk about what happened that day.
And I’ve found myself wondering about that.
So much of our attention naturally goes to the person who is ill. What is happening to him? How is he feeling? How much time does he have?
But what if some of what is happening isn’t about him?
What if some of it is about us?
What if one of his last gifts to us is bringing us together?
There is something strange about knowing that time is precious without knowing how much of it you have.
Maybe that’s part of the lesson.
We spend so much of our lives believing there will be more time. Another visit. Another conversation. Another opportunity to say something or ask something or simply sit together.
Right now, I don’t know how much more time there is.
And I’ve accepted that I may never know until the answer arrives on its own.
So instead of trying to figure out how much time is left, I’m trying to pay attention to the time that is here.
I’m noticing the conversations.
The stories.
The laughter.
The connection.
The gift of another day.
And maybe that’s true far beyond this experience.
We don’t need to know exactly where a career change will lead before exploring it.
We don’t need to know whether a difficult conversation will go perfectly before having it.
We don’t need a five-year plan before taking the next step.
Sometimes “I don’t know” isn’t a barrier.
It’s simply the truth.
The question then becomes: What can I do with what I know today?
Maybe moving forward isn’t about finding all the answers.
Maybe it’s about trusting ourselves enough to take the next step without them.
For me, right now, that next step is simply being present.
I don’t know how much time I have with my dad.
But I know I have today.
And maybe my father’s last gift to us won’t be something he says or does.
Maybe it’s something he’s already giving us.
Each other.
.