Manon van Bommel (55, application manager) died on November 20, 2018 from the effects of breast cancer. She was married to Hans Marinus (60) and had two children: Koen (26) and Anouk (24). Her parents Ton van Bommel (87, head of facility services) and Diny van Bommel (85, accountant) also have a daughter, Pauline, who is five years younger, who works abroad with her husband Wim.
Diny: ‘We were celebrating my 75th birthday with our youngest daughter Pauline and her husband Wim in Tanzania when Manon was diagnosed with breast cancer. She didn’t want to worry us, so she didn’t tell us until we got home – she was very sad. I know a lot of women who have had breast cancer and have been cured, so I didn’t think that was the end of the story. But Manon had not mentioned that she had a very aggressive variant.
The first year she went through the entire process of chemo, surgery and radiation and she had a very hard time. But after a year and a half it got better and then she climbed the Alpe d’Huez, twice in a row. We were waiting for her downstairs – how proud we were. At that moment she was so vital that we were convinced that everything would be fine.
Together with Hans she bought a racing bike and they went to train with a group. At a certain point that didn’t go so well, because her condition deteriorated. I thought that was suspicious. When she also got pain in her back, it turned out that there were metastases in her bones. That was very bad news, we were well aware of that. She received an aggressive radiation treatment that had arrived new from America. I went along once and was allowed to watch from another room. Manon lay in a mold, she had to lie very still. Normally you are irradiated very briefly, but with her it lasted at least ten minutes. It was terribly sad to see her lying there like this. I was supposed to be there, not her.
trips
We clung to that heavy radiation and kept hope. After that treatment, Manon went on winter sports with her family. The rest went by car, Manon boarded the plane a day later. She could ski very well, without poles, she had a nice posture. But when she got up, she was in so much pain that she didn’t dare go down. She was brought down and transported to the hospital in Salzburg. She returned to the Netherlands in an ambulance. She texted me from the ambulance: do you want to get two pieces of Old Amsterdam for the paramedics, because they are so nice. Typical Manon, always thinking of the other.
During the periods when she felt good, we went on trips together. When she was still working full-time, her days off were spent on vacations with her family – working people can’t just go away for a week. We went to La Palma and the Basque Country, where we hiked, we both loved that. We didn’t talk about death on those trips because we both wanted to keep it light. Yet the subject was not taboo. At one point she said: ‘I will never inherit from you, can’t I get something now?’
Not that money was an item, but she just liked being able to do something extra. That was also nice for us, so we immediately donated an amount. Manon was a regulator, that was in her nature, she never let things take their course. She organized the funeral and everything related to it herself. She knew she would never see her son Koen’s graduation, so she arranged for him to receive cufflinks when he graduated. The worst she thought was that she would never become a grandmother, she once told me. She once sat next to someone talking about her grandchildren when she realized she would never see them herself. She found that very sad.
metastases
Ton and I were in Scotland for four weeks with our camper when we received word that Manon was doing very badly. The cancer had spread throughout her body, she was greatly weakened. A hospital bed was installed in front of the window in the living room.
In the week before she died, she texted: will you come and hold me for a while? We went to her to hug her. She still wanted some comfort from her parents. Pauline and Wim had meanwhile returned from Mongolia and one Saturday evening I asked if they were all coming for dinner. When Manon said she couldn’t do it anymore, I suggested taking it to her. She was vegan and I had made tomato soup and savory pies. She spooned that tomato soup into a delicious spoon, I thought that was so nice to see. She even wanted a little extra.
Goodbye
On Monday she suddenly said that enough was enough, she didn’t need it anymore. She had already discussed with the GP that she would receive palliative sedation. Her daughter Anouk was already on the train to Eindhoven, where she studied, so they brought her back. Ton and I went to Manon to say goodbye. We didn’t know what to say because you don’t want to make it difficult. In retrospect I would have liked to say so much, but at the time we couldn’t. Manon said: ‘I love you so much’, we just hugged her. Then we left.
Her bed was in front of the window and we passed it on our way to our bikes. We waved at her and smiled. I can’t believe I could do that. Like I would just see her again the next week. Now that I talk about it, I get very emotional, but at the time it wasn’t that hard at all. We wanted to keep well. That evening she was put to sleep in the presence of Hans and the children and the next day she died.
sadness
In fact, I have to look back on Manon’s last years with great satisfaction. In the seven years that she has been ill, she has given me the opportunity to do a lot of fun things together. You also have parents who don’t care much for their children, so I have to be grateful for that. But I’m so sad. Your child should not go early.
She lived very close by, less than a ten minute walk away, and she was our mainstay. Manon was very caring, administratively well-versed and very handy. She even helped us install a new computer, even though she was no longer well. I’ve always thought: Manon will take care of us when we’re old. We have enough people around us who offer to do things, that’s not the problem, but a child is different from a good friend.
I was in a lot of pain for six months and I was eventually diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, an autoimmune disease. Sometimes I think it has to do with Manon, with the sadness I have, because rheumatism doesn’t run in my family at all. My mother turned 97 – I can’t help but think about that. I don’t want to live that much longer. The sadness has not diminished after three and a half years and I miss her so much.’