The Family Imprint

Photos (28)

Cover
No matter how many times her cancer returned, Mom finds a way to live her life and not take it too seriously in spite of this reality.
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About to start new rounds of chemotherapy treatment, Dad and Mom took a last minute trip to Florida. Life was about to change dramatically for the Borowick family, and one quick escape from reality was necessary for the mind and body. In the face of their own deaths, they felt that living was important.
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Dad called these “his and hers chairs.” He would sit beside Mom, his partner and wife of thirty-four years, as they got their weekly chemotherapy treatments. He had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and she was in treatment for breast cancer for the third time in her life. For him it was new and unknown, and for her it was business as usual, another appointment on her calendar.
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Dad always knew how to make Mom laugh. Even when he was feeling completely terrible after seven hours of chemotherapy, he could still bust-a-move and get a smile out of her.
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Romantic sticky- notes from Dad to Mom hung around the home, originally put up during Mom’s first cancer recurrence in 2011.
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Mom had cancer three separate times in her life. With each diagnosis came chemo and with each chemo came a new wig. After she received news of “clean scans” she would donate her wig thinking she would not need it anymore but the cancer would come back, so every time she would go out and get fitted for a new one.
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When the doctor calls to give you news about your scan results, who takes such an important phone call in the bathroom? My parents did. As I waited for reactions and information, I saw Mom beginning to wipe tears from her eyes. It turned out to be good news for both of them- the tumors were shrinking. But what if one had good news and the other had bad? Do you celebrate for yourself, and mourn for the other?
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“So my philosophy on life is, it’s a gift, and any amount of years is a gift- and nobody promised me longevity. No one promised me success. Nobody promised me love. Nobody promised me good friends. Nobody promised me a great career. And yet, I’ve had all these. So, I’m way ahead in the balloting and in accounting. So I have no regrets because without any guarantees of those things, I’ve been able to achieve them and I’ve been blessed with them for a long long time.”- Dad
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Dad sat down for a video interview where he shared as much as he can of his life story as he could over the course of a six-hour video, covering topics from love and marriage to favorite desserts and political views.
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Having cancer for so long put death on the radar for both Dad and Mom for a long time. It’s no surprise then that they began to plan for their funerals long in advance. Anything they could do to make the process easier for family they would try.
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With all the strength they could muster, Laurel and Howie walked with Nancy, their daughter, down the aisle. Howie's disease was progressing fast so he cherished each and every moment knowing time was short.
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Dad never expected to live as long as he did. He wrote his own eulogy, which he had left in an envelope at home and instructed me to hold on to. He always had the final word in any conversation, so it was not surprising that he requested the same, even in death.
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Recovering from a collapsed lung and managing a recent case of pneumonia, Dad took a walk down the hallways of the Medical Oncology wing of the hospital with Mom, by his side.
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The air felt strange at the hospital that day. This photograph was taken moments after the nurse attached a Do Not Resuscitate bracelet to my father's left wrist. The decision had been made, and if the time was to come, Dad got to make that decision for himself. This brought a sense of relief, in a way, because the pain was almost over, because he was no longer living a life of quality.
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Dad was always the center of attention, and here he was, front and center, surrounded by everyone whom he loved and loved him back. He would have really liked to be at his own funeral, which is why I imagine he wrote his own eulogy, which was 14- pages long.
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Snow began to fall as family and friends said their final goodbyes to Dad. He died on the 40th anniversary of his mother's death. He is buried next to his father-in-law, Gene Turk, who died of the same disease, pancreatic cancer, long before Dad had even met Mom.
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For her 59th birthday, Mom and I spend the day at a ceramics studio. Tumors in her hip and pelvic areas made it difficult for Mom to walk so it was hard for her to do most activities.
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Mom’s to-do lists represented the simultaneity of life: Order Howie’s headstone, decide whether or not to begin radiation, join the gym and actually start going, and, most importantly, what happened to our
Girl Scout Cookies?! One task that dragged 
on for weeks was deciding what would go on Dad’s headstone.

I think this was partly because in addition to grieving the loss of Dad she was also, in a sense, mourning her own death, which was becoming more and more real.
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With tumor growing in her liver causing distension and pressure in her stomach, Mom struggled to breathe with ease. An oxygen machine became a permanent fixture in the home and helped her when she felt she needs it. She began using it more and more as her movement and speech became more labored and her health deteriorate.
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As Mom got weaker, she did not want to be touched. However, she wasn’t bothered by Moses, a five-year-old Pug-Boston Terrier mix who belongs to a close friend. He lay by her side, and often on top of her, bringing her comfort and many laughs.
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Mom rests her eyes on the couch while her mother, Marion, reads to her. It has been decades since Laurel has allowed Marion to play mother to her.
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All eyes were on her chest as she took her final breath. And then it was over. No more breaths. Mom’s brother, a doctor, checked her pulse, then a friend, also a doctor, followed suit. They called it: she was gone. There were tears of sadness, tears of exhaustion and tears of relief filling her bedroom that afternoon. She died exactly 364 days after Dad.
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Like a scene out of a movie, Mom’s body was wrapped up, put onto a stretcher and carried out of our home. After eighteen years with her disease, she was finally at rest.
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For many it felt like deja vu. Just one year ago, most of these people gathered in the same location, at the same time, to remember Dad. Now, they reconvene in the same location, at the same time, to remember Mom. She never liked to be the center of attention and now here she was, front and center, surrounded by so many who loved and cared about her.
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Mom requested to be buried in a sustainable wood casket. It was no surprise that in death, she was thinking of others. That was very much an example of the selflessness and thoughtfulness with which she lived her life and cared for those around her.
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During the cleaning out of the house, a cherished memento was found- the cake topper from Mom and Dad’s wedding in 1979, a time when their lives were just beginning.
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The house was filled with friends and family who came to support our family. Food began arriving, boxes of babka were opened and served and conversations about Mom filled the rooms. All eyes, however, were on us kids, and our grandmother, Marion, who had just buried her daughter.
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On their wedding day, they vowed to be together, in sickness and in health and until death would they part. Upon death they may have parted, but I believe they are now back together, side-by-side. Two years after Mom’s death, we gathered to honor both of them, and leave stones as signifiers that we were there and that we remembered them.
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