To the Editor:
Re “How to Talk to the Angel of Death,” by Kate Bowler (Sunday Review, Jan. 28), written by a woman with stage IV colon cancer:
Thank you, Professor Bowler, for giving me the words “tyranny of prescriptive joy.” As a two-time breast cancer survivor (at 34 and 44 years old), I smiled with deep satisfaction at your apt and wry turn of phrase to describe the “solutions people” who urge an upbeat attitude.
We are biologically programmed to recoil from death. No amount of learned empathy, common courtesy, manners or spirituality can fully overcome that primal fear. Being confronted with death in the form of my walking-talking person creates a tension between the head and the heart in the “minimizers, teachers and solvers” who cross my path. Despite their biological sense of needing to flee, modern society dictates that they must respond in some civilized way.
Ms. Bowler’s lovely essay reminds us that when the head and the heart come into such tension, it’s usually best to let the heart win and let love do the talking. I, like your sister, wish to say: “Do not be afraid. You are loved, you are loved. You will not disappear.”
STACY STEPHENS, DENVER
To the Editor:
I was grateful to read Kate Bowler’s brave article on what to say, and not say, to people who are suffering from devastating illness. With many close friends and family members recently diagnosed with cancer, I have often found myself at a loss for words or — even worse — saying the wrong thing when trying to be of comfort.
Continue reading the main storyHowever, if some of us sometimes stumble with our words, it is not for lack of compassion. Rather, it is often an awkward attempt to express feeling in the face of an experience that many of us have never known. Perhaps our quiet presence is what is most important for those who are suffering. Terminal illness is a road that no one should have to travel alone.
SUSAN DUNN
VALLEY GLEN, CALIF.
To the Editor:
I have stage IV lung cancer, buoyed by immunotherapy for the past year with no specific end in sight. Lung cancer carries a stigma. “No, I have never smoked. I did not give this to myself,” I answer as people give me those woeful doe eyes. I am everybody’s friend and nobody’s friend — a talisman to check in with and then, with a smile, politely leave to head toward people who are more alive. I struggle with what to say. “Treatable, but not curable.” It is all so tiresome. I stick close to those who indeed love me and surround me as they always have — seeing me as me and not just a purveyor of cancer.
ERIN FARRAR, PORTLAND, ORE.
To the Editor:
As my wife was dying of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s disease), I grew to want to hear the phrase “What can I do for you?” from those who contacted me. This simple phrase cuts to the chase of what each person needs; everyone reacts differently to situations such as Kate Bowler’s. One day you may need a hug, another day you may need someone to pick up some groceries. I feel deep down that people are looking for clues how to help. “What can I do for you?” can answer that question clearly and directly.
CRAIG WROBEL
MUNDELEIN, ILL.
To the Editor:
While thoughtful and descriptive, this article at times revealed a certain superiority that seems unfortunate. Kate Bowler’s friends and family are most likely doing their utmost to show compassion and care, in the only ways they know how, and yet the author chooses to criticize them with gentle mockery?
FIONA BAYLY, NEW YORK
To the Editor:
As a woman with an incurable chronic condition, I found Kate Bowler’s essay gripping for its honesty and helpful for its straightforward advice. As a chronic illness drags on over the months and years, friends get tired of trying to talk about it. They want to care, but, honestly, they get bored. I bore myself. So we say we’re fine when we’re not. We say we don’t need anything, but what we want the most is to talk.
The losses one experiences are incalculable. I’ve lost dear friends because I can’t go out at night or I have to cancel plans at the last minute because of pain or soul-crushing fatigue. And then there’s the loss of who I was.
Honestly, at a very low point, I’ve even wished for something more dramatic or life-ending, like cancer. People might “get it,” and then I could die.
CHRIS NEWBILL, ALBUQUERQUE
To the Editor:
As she faces death, Kate Bowler has opened up a conversation that many of us need to have on this almost taboo subject. I discovered long ago as an Episcopal pastor something that may help. In the first few years, I tried to explain death and rebirth to grieving families with my highfalutin theology. I could see them looking the other way or changing the subject. Then it came to me to ask a simple question: “When you think of your loved one, what are you most thankful for?” Ah, the loved ones responded well to that, coming up with all sorts of things.
If I were Ms. Bowler’s pastor, I wouldn’t ask her what she is most thankful for — that could be intrusive — but I would say, “Kate Bowler, I am thankful for you.” I hope that when it comes my turn, I will tell loved ones of all the good things they, my angels, gave me. And I hope the same for others.
(REV.) WILLIAM BARNWELL
NEW ORLEANS
To the Editor:
As a colon cancer survivor, I relate to the feelings and thoughts that Kate Bowler expressed so eloquently. All one can do is put one foot in front of the other and address the task at hand. Staying in the present moment helped me the most. You are here now; you are a mother now; you are a wife now. You are both loved and loving now. I wish you the best, Ms. Bowler.
SANDRA SINGER, NEW YORK
To the Editor:
Dear Kate,
You have given a voice to living with the unfortunate diagnosis of stage IV cancer that I know too well. I too sync my life with my CT scans. Last spring’s positive scan allowed for a wonderful summer of short-term goals and beauty while working in my gardens. I have a new lily garden and a renewed friendship with my 86-year-old neighbor who mentored me in this process.
I, too, have endured many people’s bumbling attempts at support. I understand the fear and discomfort. If you want to truly be there for a friend, neighbor or family member, just show up. There is nothing to fix or make better. Just keep showing up.
LISA ROUNDS, CHICHESTER, N.H.
To the Editor:
Who could not feel for Kate Bowler as she faces her mortality? Yet I was offended by her article. We, as a society, stink at talking about death since we inexplicably choose to disbelieve that it is looming for our loved ones and ourselves.
I was offended not by Ms. Bowler’s reaction to all the well-meaning, albeit awkward, platitudes that she regularly endures. That’s her business. I was offended by her apparent thinking that one size fits all when it comes to fielding those platitudes. Some facing death may meet it morbidly, others angrily, spiritually or even humorously. It’s a very personal choice.
Ms. Bowler’s article should be viewed as a personal and thought-provoking (maybe even conversation-provoking) piece. It should not be taken as a guide.
PETER KEATING, CARMEL, CALIF.
To the Editor:
Last summer a fire destroyed thousands of acres, including much beloved hiking trails, in the Columbia River Gorge. The Oregonian newspaper ran an editorial that said people’s reaction to the fire was the same as being told that a loved one had terminal cancer.
I wrote to the editor that my wife had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and as much as I was saddened by the fire, the two were not the same. She responded that I was wrong, that I didn’t understand how people were grieving the loss of a forest.
The trees are now growing back. My wife died on Oct. 14.
FRED LEONHARDT
PORTLAND, ORE.