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The Family Imprint: The Photographs

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  • 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.
  • Weak from chemotherapy, Dad floated effortlessly around the pool during a quick trip to a warm climate, an escape from the reality of his life back home.
  • 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.
  • The drive to chemotherapy treatment took half an hour, and Mom and Dad would take turns, resting and driving, depending on whose getting treatment that day.
  • Dad called these “his and hers chairs.” He would sit beside Mom,his partner and wife of thirty-four years, as they got their weeklychemotherapy treatments. He hadjust 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 appointmenton her calendar.
  • Howie and Laurel share a quiet moment alone in the kitchen after a long day of treatment. No longer working, their daily activities revolve around doctors appointments. Chappaqua, New York. January, 2013
  • Laurel plays with family dog Nova late one evening. While she has little strength from her treatments, the unconditional love from the dog gives her a boost, physically and emotionally. Chappaqua, New York. March 2014.
  • Late one evening, Dad shaved Mom’s head, knowing that the hair would start falling out on its own in the upcoming weeks as a side effect from the chemotherapy. Chappaqua, New York. February 2013.
  • Romantic sticky- notes from Dad to Mom hung around the home, originally put up during Mom’s first cancer recurrence in 2011.
  • It was business as usual in the Borowick home as Mom cleaned the dishes after a family dinner. Having cancer was just another task on her to do list that she dealt with daily but did not let it define her.
  • 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.
  • 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. Chappaqua, New York. February, 2013.
  • Mom prepared to have a brain scan one afternoon, hoping to find out if the tumors had shrunk after starting a new treatment.
  • 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?
  • Dad and Mom had matching port-a-caths beneath the skin on their upper right chests. This is where they had their chemotherapy injected and these are a daily reminder that they are sick.
  • “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
  • 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.
  • 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. Chappaqua, New York. March, 2013.
  • Dad was losing weight fast and needed to dramatically increase his caloric intake. Doctor’s orders were to eat anything and everything, so our family went on what we called, a “calorie-densediet.” While dad was the one who needed to gain the weight, we were a family, meaning that we were inthis together (and it didn’t take muchconvincing). If he was going to gainweight, we would help and gain weightright alongside him. Fried chicken,take-out Chinese food, and pizza weresome of our go-tos.
  • Relatives brought vitamins and supplements to the Borowick household, looking for something to help with Dad’s pain and discomfort. His disease had robbed him of the ability to do almost anything, so he was open to trying anything that might make things easier and better.
  • Along side friends and family, Howie celebrates his 58th birthday, an event he did not think he would make it to six months earlier when diagnosed with metastatic pancreatic cancer. Manhattan, New York. June 2013.
  • Newly engaged, I asked my parents’ doctor if he thought my parents would be around for an October wedding. His response, “Plan it as soon as possible.” I decided that while October was five months away, they were going to make it there. And they did. They mustered all of their strength and walked me, arm-in-arm, down the aisle. Highland, NY. October 2013.
  • Howie Borowick takes center stage at daughter Nancy’s wedding to give his father-of-the-bride speech. Highland, New York. October, 2013.
  • I was at the hospital with Dad because he needed yet another procedure. Camera on the windowsill, I watched as the nurse struggled to find a strong enough vein in Dad’s arm for an IV.My mind went blank and the next thing I knew I was being escorted into a nearby room and laid onto a bed. Did I faint? This made no sense as I had spent so many weeks in the hospitalwith my parents. This was the first time I wasn’t photographing the reality of what was happening in front of me.
  • 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. Greenwich, Connecticut. November 2013.
  • 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.
  • 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.
  • Laurel Borowick embraces husband Howard in the ICU after hearing news that the cancer had spread and there was little the doctors could do besides make him as comfortable as possible. Greenwich, Connecticut. December 2013.
  • Dad passed away, quietly and peacefully, as the sun set over the horizon. This day also marked the 43rd anniversary of his mother’s death from cancer. He was fifty-eight years old.
  • Dad left instructions for his funeral. He requested to be buried in his favorite Giants football jersey (Lawrence Taylor, #56), his favorite pair of jeans, and his HB baseball cap. Even in death he was alive in a sense, and brought a smile to Mom’s face.
  • 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.
  • Mom rested on the shoulder of her son, Matthew, as they rode in the limousine to Dad’s burial on Long Island.
  • Snow began to fall as family and friends said their final goodbyes to Dad. 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.
  • My siblings and I joined Mom for her first chemotherapy treatment since Dad’s death, a few days earlier. The couple had gone to their respective treatments together over the course of the last year, side by side and now she sits for her treatment without him, before heading home to a house full of people joining the family for Shiva.
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  • Mom’s to-do lists represented thesimultaneity of life: Order Howie’sheadstone, decide whether or not to begin radiation, join the gym and actually start going, and, mostimportantly, what happened to ourGirl 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 Dadshe was also, in a sense, mourning her own death, which was becoming more and more real.
  • Upon hearing of Dad’s death, the owner of the local gardening company sent over flowers, genuinely heartbroken of the news, having grown to know Dad well. Mom found a perfect place to hang them.
  • Like clockwork, Mom always picked up the mail at the end of each day. This full mailbox signified to me that something was very wrong as it was clear that she had not gotten the mail in a week. Ordinary tasks were becoming very challenging for her.
  • 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.
  • Family friend Judy Fuhrer took Mom through some restorative yoga in the foyer of the home, hoping to help ease her strained breathing. Tumors were pressing on her organs, making everything more difficult.
  • Jewelry was never all that important to Mom. We decided that we wanted to talk to her about some of her pieces though, because we wanted to know if any of these had an unknown story, history, or association. She was excited to go down memory lane with us, showing earrings from our great grandmother, and trying on old costume jewelry from her high-school days. We knew that once she was gone, the stories would go with her, and we wanted to hold on to whatever we could.
  • As Mom got weaker, she did not want to be touched. However, she wasn’t bothered by Moses, a five-year-old Pug-Boston Terriermix who belongs to a close friend. He lay by her side, and often on top of her, bringing her comfort and many laughs.
  • Laurel 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.
  • This morning was different from all of the others. Mom could not get out of bed and was no longer speaking in anything but a whisper. Matthew, her son, gave her a kiss on the forehead but got little reaction.
  • With each day passing, Mom became almost childlike and we, her children, became her caregivers. There were many moments of uncertainty as she lost her ability to communicate. Dying at home meant there were no machines or charts masking the reality of these moments.
  • 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.
  • 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.
  • 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.
  • The family bought plots at the Beth Israel Cemetery on Long Island many years ago. No matter the economy, the business of funerals is always booming.
  • 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 thoughfulness with which she lived her life and cared for those around her.
  • 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.
  • 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.
  • Thousands of photographs were uncovered from every corner of the home, reflecting a lifetime of memories that we will hold on to forever.
  • On the final day in the home, few remaining hints of the family and the life that had been lived within those walls were left. It was no longer our family home: it was just a house. It was a house that would become a home again, however, for a new family and a place for their memories.
  • 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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