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Line Today Magazine
Award Winner, Delaware Press Association—Second
Place
"Facing Death"
Peter Bossow didn’t look sick. His cheeks were
rosy and he was gaining weight. His testicular cancer was in remission,
he considered himself a survivor. Then his cancer returned. He fought
back with two months of chemotherapy and blood transfusions, but when
he developed leukemia, Peter realized he was going to die.
Where did he find the strength to face the shock?
“I can tell you in one word,” says his widow, Marci. “God.
It was one step forward, two steps back. At different times he had
different emotions. His will was to live, but Pete knew the severity
of his condition. He slowly let go. A spiritual component took over.
He had faith that he was moving on to a better place.”
We will all face our deaths uniquely. It’s
a relief to know there’s no “right” way of dying,
just as there is no “right” way of grieving. Elisabeth
Kübler-Ross’ research of grief’s emotional stages—denial,
anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance—appears simplistic,
as our responses are far from static. "One minute the dying can
be very accepting of it, and the next minute they’re weepy,
because they don’t want to go," says Joyce Carnell, a grief
counselor and death educator with Taylor Hospice in Ridley Park.
“Peter certainly went through that,”
says Marci. “He was angry. He was sad.”
“I start radiation on Thursday,” Peter
wrote in his journal in early June 1999. “People ask each other
all the time, ‘Hey, what are you doing this weekend?’
I am facing a question much more severe. Do I want to live or do I
want to die? Of course I want to live. Who doesn’t? But it’s
hard to believe that I’m 30 and faced with this question. Dammit,
yes, I want to live. And yes, I’m ready to fight. So bring it
on.” A July entry was less enthusiastic. “Really down
all day,” he wrote. “Can’t seem to beat the fatigue…
I’m so angry. Why is this happening again to me?”
By August, the pain difficult to endure, Peter had
worked his way to acceptance. “He told me he is ready to die,”
Marci wrote in her journal. “He told me that he looks forward
to being with me again, in heaven.”
Peter was able to let go because he said goodbye
to each of the people and things he cherished most in life. He watched
golf tournaments and his favorite movies. He snuggled with Marci and
relived their wedding day as it replayed on video. He poured over
photographs. “He’d say, ‘Weren’t we lucky
we did this?’” says Marci. And he drew his family and
friends near. “Acceptance doesn’t come overnight. Pete
helped other people and they helped Pete,” she says.
Having the freedom to express themselves honestly
builds the courage the dying may need to face the unknown.
Bud Bean faced his own battle with leukemia. At home, near the end
of his life, he became unresponsive. His wife, Ann, found him awake
one morning, staring at the ceiling of the Brookhaven home he built
for her nearly 50 years ago. Bud asked Ann if he was dying. “My
first impulse was to say, ‘No,’” says Ann. “But
I said, ‘Yes, you are.’ I told him not to worry, that
I would see him soon in heaven. He said, ‘Ann, I love you so
much.’ Those were the last words he said. What else could I
ask for?”
Likewise, supporters and caregivers need to be allowed
the freedom to be honest in their reactions. But they must remember
that the person dying retains the right to determine their end-of-life
choices.
Carnell recalls a power struggle she once observed.
A brother, given power of attorney by his father, was trying to facilitate
his father’s wish to die comfortably. His sister, uncertain
that she would see her father again, did her best to intimidate the
staff into keeping him alive. Her fear of the unknown became more
important to her than her father’s dignity. "Understanding
a family’s perspective on death helps us figure out why they’re
making decision,” says Carnell. “There are times when
reason is thrown out the window.”
Liz Rickard, 57, is dying from liver cancer. She
has arranged for hospice care in her West Chester home. She has drawn
up a living will and has shared with her daughters that she wants
to be made comfortable, but not revived with “heroic measures.”
She has partnered with a doctor who supports her.
Rickard doesn’t fear death because, she says,
dying isn’t the end of life. “It’s sad to say goodbye,
but I know I’ll see my loved ones again. I know that I’m
going to heaven," she says, her voice quiet but confident. "My
faith is that strong.”
Rickard was diagnosed in January 1999. "Not
every day is wonderful,” she says. “But you can’t
stay in that negative space. Negativity does nothing but bring you
down. I choose to be positive, through the help of God. There have
been moments when I’ve wondered what my death is going to be
like, but I don’t dwell on things I can’t control. I think
it’s harder on the loved ones we’re leaving behind.”
The dying often leave special items behind to remind
their loved ones that their love lingers. Bud Bean wanted to create
a memory tie to each of his eight grandkids. Ann helped to locate
eight of his old tool boxes. Bud painted them red and carefully selected
tools for each grandchild, the youngest of which is only five. He
dictated a special message to each, which Ann added to personalized
tags. “I don’t think we could have given our grandkids
a $100 and it would have meant as much,” says Ann. “There
were lots of tears.”
Marci Bossow has several symbolic reminders of Peter.
Slipping Peter’s wedding band from her finger, she remembers
that Peter’s last thoughts were for her and other loved ones
he was leaving behind. "I told him, ‘You can’t leave
me. I can’t live without you.’ He said, ‘Yes, you
can. You’re going to wake up and seize the day.’"
Light dances off the Latin words she had inscribed
on the inside of the ring after Peter’s death. “Carpe
diem was one of Pete’s philosophies. It was how he lived his
life,” Marci explains. “He said, ‘I’ve had
a lot of fun. I’ve lived a good life.’”
To celebrate his life, and to give Marci something
concrete to hold onto, Marci and Peter outlined the framework for
a non-profit organization that now offers respites for adult cancer
patients and their primary caretakers. Peter named it Crossing the
Finish Line. He believed it was a positive description for his journey
through life.
Copyrighted 2003. Not to be copied, borrowed,
or published without written permission.
This article is available for reprint. Contact Sheri by e-mail: Sheri@Rehwoldt.com,
or via phone: 716/946-7308.
