By: Yinka Oladele

No one really prepares you for palliative care.

You may understand the word, even the process, but sitting beside someone you love as life begins to narrow is something else entirely. Time feels heavier. Decisions feel harder. Every moment carries meaning.

For many Black families in Canada, entering palliative care also brings fear that goes beyond loss. There is fear of not being believed. Fear of pain being dismissed. Fear that cultural or spiritual needs will be seen as optional instead of essential.

I have watched Black caregivers walk into hospital rooms already alert, already bracing. They ask careful questions. They monitor closely. They advocate constantly—not because they want conflict, but because experience has taught them that silence can cost dignity. In those moments, caregiving becomes more than love. It becomes protection.

Black caregivers often carry enormous responsibilities quietly. We coordinate family visits, manage medications, interpret medical language, and hold space for everyone else’s emotions while our own grief waits in the background. In many Black families, caregiving is not framed as sacrifice—it is expected. It is inherited. It is simply what you do. But expectation does not erase exhaustion.

For Black healthcare professionals working in palliative care, the experience can be just as layered. You are holding someone else’s grief while navigating your own identity in systems that do not always feel safe or inclusive. Being the only Black person on a team, experiencing microaggressions, or feeling pressure to explain racism adds another weight to already emotionally demanding work.

That weight accumulates.

And yet, Black caregivers and clinicians continue to show up with deep compassion and humanity. Much of that strength comes from cultural traditions rooted in community, faith, and intergenerational care. In many Black families, care is collective. Prayer at the bedside. Songs softly sung. Stories shared to keep someone’s spirit close. These practices are not extras—they are how meaning is made at the end of life.

Too often, however, these expressions are misunderstood or minimized within mainstream care systems.

This is why conversations like Caring While Black: Lived Experiences in Canadian Palliative Care matter. Not because Black experiences need validation, but because systems need accountability. Equity is not achieved through statements or good intentions. It requires listening—and then doing something different.

This panel creates space for Black healthcare professionals and caregivers to speak honestly about what it means to care while navigating racism, grief, and resilience. It is an opportunity to name what is often left unsaid, and to challenge the idea that resilience should replace responsibility.

This conversation is not about blame. It is about change.

Caring while Black should not require extraordinary strength just to receive dignity. As we reflect during Black History Month, the invitation is simple but urgent: listen deeply, notice what you see, and act with intention. Because how we care at the end of life reveals who we value—and who we are willing to stand up for.