A Post From Gina - March 30, 2011

I have sat at the computer many times lately, and I've pecked at the keys, but it all winds up in the unfinished draft folder. Over the course of my blog-writing, I've asked Gina if there was anything that she would like to add but she would hesitate and then decline. Last evening, she asked if I would post something that she wrote about Pete and I responded with an emphatic, "Of course!", so here is what she wrote:



Gina and Pete, June 2010



This weekend, I will be chaperoning and walking with a group of ten students from my high school at the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, something I did last year to help out their then-advisor who has two young children and couldn't spend the night with them. Last spring, Pete was well into his treatment and was doing well, but it was an emotional night nonetheless. Only a few months later, my husband Doug and I flew to New Jersey for a visit and spent an incredible day with Pete at Six Flags Great Adventure - a way for the three of us to spend some time together since Pete was still working on his boat. At the time, I was filled with hope for Pete's recovery and looking forward to getting out on his boat with him this summer. Last June, his goatee was thick, his spirits were high, and his smile was big. This year's Relay, I know, is going to be one thousand times more difficult and emotional because Pete's picture is going to be in the slideshow, one of cancer's many victims.

I've been trying for a while now to find the right words to say about Pete, but it's been hard. My mom often talked about the first time I ever met Pete, 36 years ago when he came home from the hospital. Apparently, I thought he was a doll - until he started crying, that is - and apparently I was pretty upset about losing my role as the only child. Fast forward 36 years and now I am, once again, the only child. The difference is that now I would do anything to have my baby brother back again.

Pete and I had our ups and downs as any siblings would. There was quite a bit of torture during our elementary and middle school years and into high school. Then, when I was 17 and Pete was 16, a mutual friend was killed in a horrific car accident. That moment changed our relationship forever. We had lost two grandparents by then, but this was different. Kenny was our age, and that forced us to reexamine our lives and our relationship. We became closer than close. In my senior yearbook, Pete paid for a message to me that read "Congratulations, my sister my best friend." There were many visits where he came to see me at college with his friend Dave, a case of MGD, and a bottle of Absolut. How my 18-year-old brother got the beer and vodka, I have no idea, but we had some interesting nights! The following year, we alternated. I would go down to see him and Dave and my friend Sherri at Stockton, and he'd come up to Trenton State. After I graduated and returned home, we lived together while my mom moved in with our grandmother to care for her. A few years later, I moved to California, leaving our home to Pete and a rotating group of his friends.

Nancy and Pete in Las Vegas

Being so far away was hard, but I always looked forward to visiting in the summer because I got to spend time with Pete on his boat. He came out to California several times. First with my cat, then with his girlfriend Nancy, which is when I took my very first trip to Vegas. We did Vegas in one day - a 3-1/2 hour drive up in his rented convertible, followed by hours of open-mouthed fascination at the sights, gambling, eating, and a 3-1/2 hour drive home. I remember that Pete had planned on driving home, but I insisted. At the time, I was still a journalist, and I knew that almost every weekend our newspaper reported fatalities on the 15, a long and mind-numbing stretch of desert highway. Pete was pretty ticked that I didn't trust him to drive, but by the time we reached State Line a half hour later, he was already asleep, and around 2 a.m., I had gotten my baby brother and Nancy home safely, just like I promised. His last visit was a few years ago, before the diagnosis. He installed ceiling fans in our house and took a very disappointing fishing trip out of Dana Point. Pete really couldn't understand how I liked living out here, given the smog, the traffic, and most of all, the woefully disastrous fishing.

Pete and Gina at Gina's wedding

A few months after I moved to California, our grandmother died. We were both sad, but I also felt a tremendous sense of peace. Only days before she died, I had talked to her on the phone and told her how much I loved her. I had no regrets. There was relief that after several years of declining health, she was no longer in pain, faith that she would be reunited with our grandfather, her husband of 65 years, and joy that she had lived a full life. Losing Pete has been anything but joyful. There is the relief that he's no longer in pain and the sarcoma is no longer running his life, but there has been an overwhelming sense of grief that is unlike anything I've ever felt before. Nothing - not my grandparents' deaths, not my parents' divorce, not the loss of several pets, not my struggle with infertility - has hit me as profoundly as Pete's passing. I realized today that I'm grieving for myself as well as for Pete. My grief is because I will never again see my brother, my closest ally and partner in crime. My grief is also for all of Pete's unrealized dreams, the unreached goals, the unfulfilled potential. I'm sure Pete wouldn't want that. He was never one to throw himself a pity party. Nancy spent a few hours with him a few weeks before he died, and she told me that his concerns were not for himself, but for his family and friends, and that is so like him to put others first.

People often ask me how I'm doing, and I always tell them the same thing. I'm ok. I'm hanging in there. I have good days and I have rough days. The truth is I am ok. I am hanging in there. I do have good days and I have rough days. But I also miss Pete more than I can express. I think about him every day. I wonder all the time if he knew how much I loved him. I wonder if he could hear me tell him that the last few days of his life when he was unconscious from the pain medication, increased in dosage to manage the excruciating pain from the tumors in his brain. I wonder if he's in heaven, if I'll ever see him again, if I'll have an experience as some of his friends have had, or receive a sign that he's found his way and he's ok.

2010 Luminary

I know I'm going to cry at Relay when I see Pete's picture in the slideshow, and I'm going to cry when I pass his Luminary, and I'm going to cry when the solo bagpiper marches onto the field - symbolizing the people who come into our lives - and when the sound of his bagpipe fades into the night - symbolizing those who have left. But I'm also going to try to focus on the positive. This weekend, I'm walking for Pete, but I'm not just walking in his memory. I believe that if Pete were still here, he would walk so that others could have a chance to realize their dreams, reach their goals, and fulfill their potential. That's just the kind of guy he was.



California Time - March 19, 2011

Gina and I spent some time this afternoon writing out more thank you cards to acknowledge the donations, Mass cards, etc. that we received. There are some, though, that did not include an address and some were even signed only with first names. I feel terrible that I may miss sending a personal thank you to anyone; I hope they'll understand.

Tomorrow we'll be having brunch with Dave and Brenda, two of the people that I met on the Sarcoma Alliance online chat.

I'm not adjusting well to California time for some reason.

The Morning After - March 17, 2011

Yesterday passed, but it ended on a good note, a comforting one. It's about quarter past 5 in the morning and I'm showered, dressed and finished with breakfast and my first cup of coffee. I'll be leaving around 6 to drive to Philly for my flight to CA.

I haven't been on Facebook yet, but as of last night there were an incredible number of birthday wishes for Petey on his page, another indication of the number of lives he touched. I spent some time yesterday going through all the cards and recording addresses so that I can, during the flight and layover, begin writing the "thank you" notes. That's my plan at least. I did start to do it a couple of times but just haven't been able to get in the right frame of mind to complete it.

To say I'm looking forward to my visit with Gina is an understatement. I will also be having dinner this evening with my friend, Charmilyn, who is also Gina's godmother. My CA airport is San Diego and is much closer to her home than Gina's. On Sunday we'll be meeting two wonderful cyber friends in person for the first time. They were wonderfully supportive and informative whenever I joined in on the Sarcoma Alliance chat that is scheduled every Sunday and Wednesday night. Someday I hope to meet more of the people who have been part of that incredible online experience.

It's time to finish up here and get on the road. I hope I'll have the time and energy to add to my blog while I'm out there, but if not, I know I'll make up for it when I get back home.

A Special Day, a Difficult Day - March 16, 2011

Peter Arthur Bothner, III
Born: March 16, 1975
Time: 4:05 PM
Weight: 8 lb 15 oz
Length: 21 in.

Pete was never one for celebrating his own birthday. I think that's another thing he inherited from me. I've been thinking about the day he was born.

He was my second child and I had taken the Lamaze course, so I knew what to expect. Once labor started it progressed very quickly. My contractions were so close by the time we arrived at the hospital I was sent directly to delivery with no time for prep. I can remember so vividly the doctor asking me if I felt like pushing. I told him I didn't, and asked him if he wanted me to push. He seemed a bit confused by my question, but he told me I could, so I did. One big push and the doctor got really excited and said "stop!", so I did. He was really surprised at that point and asked me again if I felt like pushing. Again, I said no, but to let me know when he wanted me to push again. He told me he was ready, so I gave another push. I had full control, I felt no pain, and so it went. A few very controlled pushes and he was out. He was a big boy right from birth, but it was such an easy delivery for me; very short labor and very mild, a natural birth, no drugs.

Today, as on the day of his birth, I have no physical pain but the emotional pain is excruciating. I know he's nearby, I can feel him, but not being able to reach out and touch him, hug him and feel his arms around me is beyond any heartache I have ever experienced before.

I know I'll get through today, it just isn't going to be easy.

Payback - March 12, 2011

Even before cancer invaded our lives, Pete and I helped each other. It might have been something as droll and domestic as throwing a few items in with the other's laundry; maybe one of us needed an extra hand when building, fixing or just working out a vexing problem. There were times his finances needed a boost when tuition or an unanticipated truck repair was a little more than he could handle. If it was I who was doing the helping he'd always apologize and then tell me that he'd pay me back. I'd laugh and tell him to remember that "payback's a bitch".

During the past two years our conversations often came back to that; times when he was not able to drive, when he was just wiped out by chemo or radiation, or those horrible nights at Hope Lodge when we were unknowingly dealing with pain-med withdrawal. Countless trips driving to and from NY city often prompted those apologies and promises that he would someday take care of me.

I did what I did out of love; there was no indebtedness, no expectation of repayment and he knew that. I miss him terribly, especially when I need that extra hand or someone to look at a problem I'm trying to work out and give me some ideas on how to proceed.

I need to get away for a while. Gina is on a 2-week long spring break starting Monday, so after talking with her this morning and with Bruce's urging, I booked a flight out to CA for a few days. I fly out Thursday morning and return Tuesday. I can't remember the last time I was out there, but I know it's been well over 2 years ago. I've got things under control here as far as I can tell, and the few things left to do can be done over the phone or via the Internet. Bruce will hold down the fort here and I'll get to spend some time with my daughter, whom I'm missing right now just as much as I miss Pete.

The DVD - March 10, 2011

A young woman whom we had never met did a very beautiful and wonderful thing for us. She had been following Pete's journey and she contacted us when she learned Pete had lost his battle. She contacted us and through the magic of technology she used the Internet, Facebook and some impressive software to put together a DVD of pictures of Pete taken throughout his life and set them to some of his favorite songs. She had set her video presentation on a continuous loop and the funeral home had set up a TV so that visitors could watch and listen. It was incredible.

That DVD is sitting on the cabinet and I've picked it up so many times but I just can't bring myself to watch it yet. There are stacks of Mass cards, sympathy cards and letters letting me know that people have sent donations, but the thank you notes remain unwritten. People brought meals, sent fruit baskets and all sorts of goodies. So many people offered to help out in any way or to sit and talk or listen.

It's not that I don't want to watch, or write or talk. I just can't do it right now. I'm hoping that all I need is a little more time to get my head back together. I'm hoping I'll be able to do these things soon and I hoping you understand.

It's not that I've been sitting around moping. Many times I feel almost overwhelmed with sorting through paperwork, drawers and computer files. Today Bruce and I spent a good part of the afternoon at the motor vehicle office transferring titles. Much of the morning I spent faxing forms and playing telephone tag with some of the people I need to talk to. Yesterday I sifted through pages and pages of medical bills, co-pays and insurance EOBs, trying to match them all up. Somewhere in between I opened an estate checking account and closed some of Pete's other accounts.

Time. I guess it will just take time to get things in order.

One Day Last Summer - March 9, 2011

I wrote about a lot of things in my blog, but there were also many things that I never shared because Pete would read it from time to time, and some of what I wanted to write might have upset him. I hope it won't upset him now but I need to write this, I need to get it down on paper.

Pete was so loving and full of life, but he harbored a deep sadness that he didn't want people to see. This may have been the reason he could relate to and comfort so many people; he knew what they were going through. His was a genuine empathy with those struggling through difficult times.

Last summer, after we learned from Dr K at MSKCC that there were no other treatments they could offer, I felt as if we were drowning. It was lower than any low that we had experienced up until that time. I was in the computer room, furiously researching every nook and cranny of the internet, when Pete came in and sat in the other chair.

He was crushed; a man beaten. I had never seen him this depressed before. I turned my chair to face him as he sat, shoulders slumped, head down, his hands lightly clasped together. He began talking softly about what he so desperately wanted: to get to a point in his life where he felt confident and secure enough to enjoy a relationship that would lead to marriage, a family, and a home. He wanted to finish his chemistry degree and renovating his boat so he could go fishing with his buddies, and someday go fishing down in the keys. He wanted to get another motorcycle and go on a road trip. He wanted to be able to take care of me for a change. Call it his "bucket list", his wish list, his wanting-to-do list. We sat and talked and cried some. It hurt so deep inside me to see him go through that. It hurts me even more now, knowing that he will never realize his dreams in our mortal world. My pain is compounded because I will never see, but can only imagine, the wonderful smile of joy and pride on his face as he experienced life, becoming a husband and father, homeowner and long-lived fisherman.

Our pity-party ended. He left to do some research of his own and I returned to my quest. Before long we had found a new lead to follow, a renewed hope.