Charlotte Hill:
Frequently Asked Questions

Charlotte, writing Traveling Home must have been difficult. Losing a son to cancer at the age of twenty-one is unthinkable. Would you tell us what motivated you write such a heart-wrenching yet inspiring book?

As a mother, the unthinkable did happen. My youngest son died. It was hard. It was heartbreaking. It was tragic. But amazingly, it was also the most beautiful and faith building experience in my life. The thirteen people surrounding Peter’s hospital bed got a vision of heaven as he flew from this world in a burst of glory. Wings of joy carried him home in a powerful display of God’s redeeming love and goodness. Peter’s death has given me a story of great hope—a hope I never dreamed or even imagined possible. A hope I want to share.

Peter was an amazing young man. When did he first get cancer and how did he deal with the situation?

It all started the June after Pete’s sophomore year in high school. A three sport athlete, he was playing summer basketball when he ripped a contact lens. Pete was eager to get back on the court so we took him to his ophthalmologist the following day. To our shock, a tumor was found in his left eye. Within a matter of weeks and after multiple tests and appointments with a specialist, Peter was diagnosed with ocular melanoma. The best hope for containing the cancer lay in removing his eye.

While we were still reeling from the loss of his eye and the shock of our teenage son having cancer, his doctor told us Pete wouldn’t be considered cancer free for twenty years. Throughout this time Peter’s primary goal was getting back to normal as quickly as possible. Normal for him was to be fully involved—both in school and in sports. His empty eye socket covered by a patch, he started football practice with great determination. Never using the loss of his eye as an excuse for a muffed play, he was very successful in football, basketball and track that year.

Pete even had a bit of a black sense of humor concerning his prosthesis, tapping it with a pencil during class or turning it upside down to startle people. The girls in track playfully fought over who got to hold it on the sidelines.

Yet unavoidably, cancer changed Pete’s definition of normal, his normal now included regular chest x-rays, blood work and doctor’s appointments checking to see if the disease had spread. His rare questions about what to expect if it reappeared let us know he thought about it privately, yet he remained positive and didn’t let the situation be the controlling factor in his life. Peter’s diligence and courage helped him excel in these challenging circumstances.

How long was it before the cancer resurfaced in Pete’s liver?

Almost four years later Peter was a sophomore at Linfield College, succeeding academically, running track and in love with a wonderful girl. When severe pain on his right side struck, his track coach sent him to the emergency room to be checked for appendicitis. It turned out he had cancerous tumors throughout his liver and abdominal cavity. The doctor let us know there was very little hope for remission, and no hope at all for a cure.

How did Peter handle having a terminal illness?

Life gets boiled down to what’s really important in the face of dying, and for Peter it was his relationship with Jesus. From the onset, Pete wanted to do God’s will and recognized God’s will for him seemed to be dying. Without bitterness or anger, Peter sought to follow God.
His doctor made it very clear that there was little or no hope when he got in Pete’s face and emphatically stated, “You have to understand what you have is bad—very, very, very bad.” Peter didn’t respond to the devastating news until we got home.

He leaned against the living room doorjamb and said with great sadness, “Mom, what do I do? I don’t know how to die. I’ve never done it before.” So Pete did the only thing he knew to do, he fought the cancer with all he had, opening and closing the chemo room while other patients came and went. Still, Peter spoke of not wanting to fight God.

His illness forced him to drop out of college that spring. That was an especially difficult blow to take. Pete had dreamed of returning to school the next fall, but didn’t live that long. It was painful watching his strong, runner’s legs waste away to spindly sticks. And saying goodbye, over and over again was simply heartbreaking. Goodbye to his home in the coastal mountains of Oregon, goodbye to his friends, goodbye to his two older brothers whom he loved, goodbye to his dad and me, goodbye to Amy, his beloved girlfriend.

As the goodbyes mounted, the reality of death intensified. And the sicker he became, the closer he grew to Christ, leaning on Jesus as his body failed him. Loosening his hold on this world, Pete began to focus on what was to come. And ultimately, the way Pete died left us with no doubt about the realness and goodness of God.

Witnessing what could only be called a miracle must have been inspiring, yet at the same time you lost a beloved son. Charlotte, how have these seemingly conflicting experiences affected you?

As anyone would expect, I’ve felt tremendous grief and continue to feel it ten years after Peter’s death. Yet amazingly, at least to me, the end result has been a much deeper trust in a loving God and an incredible hope for the future. 

Before Peter’s illness and death my view was quite narrow—I couldn’t see beyond the here and now. Therefore suffering and death were unthinkably awful. Although I believed in Christ and heaven, they seemed remote, more wispy than solid and real. Yet as Pete lay dying in the Seaside hospital, he said, “God is good. God is very good. Christ is the answer.” These were powerful words coming from a dying young man confident of where he was headed.

And it wasn’t just the words he spoke, peace and love flowed from Peter. God’s spirit was so tangible you could feel it. And when he died I witnessed his suffering changed to joy—joy beyond my ability to ever describe. Power, freedom and glory were dramatically displayed as he flew home.

The experience has expanded my view of life, increasing my trust in a good and faithful God. The hard things in life only make sense when put in the framework of eternity. This trust has calmed fears that once controlled my life and robbed me of peace. So I can more readily accept the accompanying hazards and joys this world brings—thoroughly convinced heaven is waiting at the end of the road. Like Peter, I wasn’t made for this world and an incomparably better one is waiting. I want to live for Christ because I now understand that to die is gain. It’s the reason I wrote my part of Traveling Home.

While the pain of missing Pete is always present, sometimes piercingly so, I know he is okay, and so much more than just okay, which allows me to truly rejoice for him even as I grieve my loss. And when I join Peter, it’ll be the most glorious homecoming. This hope balances the grief, soothing what would otherwise be unbearable and trust brings new purpose to live my life for Christ.

Charlotte, how has Peter’s story affected those who have heard it?

It’s changed lives. Both Don and I have shared Pete’s story, Don in sermons, articles, and personal conversations, as well as at memorial services and in hospital rooms. Listeners, regardless of their beliefs, were riveted by the account. There’s power in what happened.
With the aid of a translator, Don even told the story in Swaziland, Africa. Surrounded by poverty-stricken people—people living smack in the middle of the AIDS epidemic with it’s suffering, grief and sorrow, Don offered them Peter’s story. And the crowd clung to every word spoken; hope bridging the cultural and language differences.

I haven’t had large audiences like Don—although I have told the story at several churches. The response has been overwhelming—people awed at what God did as Peter died—renewing their faith and expanding their vision, making death the door to heaven.
And Peter’s account has been read by grieving, heartbroken people struggling to make sense of death. Of course, the account doesn’t eliminate their pain, but it’s helped them grieve with hope—assured their loved ones have gained more than we can possibly imagine.

A couple of friends asked for permission to send Peter’s story to dying relatives or friends—people who in the last weeks of life stubbornly refused to listen to anything they considered to be religious nonsense—no quoting Bible verses to them. Angry, bitter and miserable these terminal people were willing to listen to Peter’s story. My friends told me their loved ones died in peace and faith and attributed it to the power of Peter’s story.

And I’ve seen Pete’s story make a difference first-hand. Several years ago I met Aletta, a woman dying of liver cancer. She was a Christian, yet dying terrified her. Her fears tormented her more than her physical suffering. After sharing how Peter died, she pumped me for more details. Repeatedly Aletta asked me to come back, always wanting to talk about Peter. She kept a written copy of his story, along side a picture of him, on the table by her bed. The evening she died we laughed, prayed and continued to talk, always coming back to the hope of heaven. It was the day before Peter’s birthday, and Aletta, a talented pianist, joyfully looked forward to playing Pete’s birthday music for him the following morning.

Without doubt, God has used Peter’s story in powerful ways.

In conclusion, Charlotte, what message do you want Traveling Home: A Young Man’s Journey of Courage and Faith to give the readers?

My desire is that Traveling Home will inspire a deep confidence in and hope for heaven—a longing to see Jesus face to face, to be immersed in God’s infinite love, joy and beauty. I hope Pete’s story makes the words in Phil. 1:21, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain” spring to vibrant life.

The Apostle Paul said it well:
“No eye has seen, no ear has heard,
and no mind has imagined
what God has prepared
for those who love him.”

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