Being a Companion, Not a Fixer: The Art of Supporting Without Solving

By Cody Hufstedler, Palliative Care Chaplain and Host of "Dying To Tell You"

One of the hardest lessons I've learned in over a decade of work as a palliative care chaplain is that love doesn't always look like trying to make things better. When someone we care about is facing a terminal illness, every instinct we have screams at us to fix, solve, research, advocate, and somehow make their reality different than it is. But reality is reality and the task is not to change reality. Rather, the task is to accept reality as it is and to be present as the sick person works to do the same. 

It can be difficult to sit with situations that can't be improved through effort or optimism. Our culture teaches us that every problem has a solution, that hope means focusing on positive outcomes, and that giving up is the worst thing we can do. The trick is to change the way we think about terminal illness and the end of life in general. The truth is, every person will come to the end of their life. The end of life is not a problem that needs a solution. It’s simply the last part of life. If you come to the situation recognizing that there is nothing to be fixed, it allows you the freedom to support your loved one. 

Supporting someone means being present with them in their reality, whatever that reality includes. It means sitting with their fear without trying to talk them out of it, acknowledging their sadness without rushing to cheer them up, and accepting their anger without trying to help them find silver linings. This kind of presence requires us to tolerate our own helplessness in the face of something we can't control.

Fixing means trying to change their reality to something more comfortable for both of you. It looks like researching alternative treatments they haven't considered, reminding them of reasons to stay positive, or encouraging them to fight harder. While these impulses come from love, they often communicate that their current experience is unacceptable and needs to be different.

The people I work with consistently tell me that the most supportive people in their lives are those who can be with them exactly as they are without needing them to be different. They need witnesses to their experience—people who can see their struggle, their courage, their moments of despair and moments of peace without trying to manipulate any of it into something else.

I've discovered over the years that understanding, comfort, even joy can come through intentionally facing the end of life with a companion. But this only happens when we stop trying to make death less real and start learning to find meaning within the reality of mortality. 

Being a companion means believing that someone's experience has value exactly as it is, not just as it could be improved. When someone tells you they're scared, a companion’s response might be "That sounds terrifying" rather than "But you're so strong." When they express sadness about time lost, a companion might say "It makes sense that you'd feel sad about that" rather than "At least you had the time you did have."

The thousands of conversations I've had in my professional role have taught me that people facing terminal illness often feel pressure to be positive, grateful, and inspiring for the sake of others. When we constantly try to fix their mood or reframe their perspective, we add to this pressure and inadvertently communicate that their authentic feelings are too difficult for us to handle.

A companion is present without agenda. Leaning in to understand what the other is experiencing. This means setting aside our need to help in favor of our willingness to accompany someone through their experience without trying to change the destination.

Being a companion doesn't mean being passive or unhelpful. It means offering presence, validation, and accompaniment while respecting someone's autonomy to experience their illness in their own way. It might mean bringing soup when they're hungry, sitting quietly when they need peace, or listening without judgment when they need to process their fears.

Sometimes the most supportive thing you can say is something like "This is so hard" or "I can only  imagine what this is like for you." These simple acknowledgments validate their experience without trying to minimize or reframe it. They communicate that you're strong enough to be with them in their difficulty without needing to make it better - and that you aren’t going anywhere.

I've learned that our impulse to fix often comes from our own discomfort with helplessness rather than from what the other person actually needs. When we can recognize that there is nothing to be fixed, when we can accept reality as it is, we become capable of offering something much more valuable than solutions—we can offer the gift of not being alone with what may feel like an impossible situation.

Being a companion - the art of supporting without solving ultimately comes down to trusting that someone's experience has inherent worth and meaning, even when it includes suffering we can't eliminate. It means believing that your presence in their struggle matters even when—especially when—you can't take the struggle away.