Italian opera superstar Luciano Pavarotti, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in July 2006 and recently hospitalized with a fever, died at his native Modena home on Thursday. With him were his wife Nicoletta, four daughters, and his sister. He was 71.
Friends and family had hoped for a miracle for Pavarotti. Sadly, this was not possible. Though to have survived pancreatic cancer for more than one year is quite amazing. The disease is deadly in most cases and most survive for only months.

Pavarotti was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just before he was set to resume a farewell tour in July 2006. Instead, he headed for surgery. He never again performed publicly.

Bill Walsh, builder of an NFL dynasty with his 49ers of the 1980s, died of leukemia Monday at his San Francisco Bay. Walsh, known as The Genius for his innovative, pass-oriented attack, was 75.

Walsh was 102-63-1 with the 49ers and won three Super Bowls and six divisional titles in just 10 years. He was named Coach of the Year in 1981 and 1984 and was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1993. He served twice as the 49ers' general manager and coached at Stanford after leaving the 49ers.

"His coaching accomplishments speak for themselves, but the essence of Bill Walsh was he was an extraordinary teacher," says NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. "If you gave him a blackboard and a piece of chalk, he would become a whirlwind of wisdom. He revolutionized the game with his offense and will always be remembered as one of the most influential people in NFL history."

Original ABC Wide World of Sports announcer Bill Flemming, also known for broadcasting college football, golf, and Olympic events, died last Friday of prostate cancer. He was 80.

Before sports fans were watching televised football games all weekend long -- and then watching on-going highlights on ESPN -- they were listening to Fleming's Sunday afternoon run-down of the previous day's games. He offered fans a glimpse into matches from other regions, and he traveled all over these same regions if it meant capturing a story. He announced 11 Olympics and more than 600 Wide World of Sports events. He once shuttled from hurling in Ireland to car racing in Santa Monica, California, to a parachuting contest in Bavaria, all in just one month.

Named Norman Flemming on the day he was born in 1926, this man grew up in the Chicago area, moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan as a high school student, and was a member of Ann Arbor High School's state championship football team in 1943. He was also co-captain of the basketball team. He came by athletics naturally. Speech, his eventual college major, was another love. In 1949, he won a campus-wide speech contest and landed the grand prize: a summer job at WUOM, the campus radio station. He worked his way up to sports director. And then his career took off.

Advertising executive and author Lois Wyse died Friday at her Manhattan home of stomach cancer. She was 80.

Perhaps best known for her famous slogan, With a name like Smucker's, it has to be good, Wyse -- who founded Wyse Advertising with her first husband Marc and went on to win the J.M. Smucker Company account -- was also the brains behind this name: Bed, Bath & Beyond. The small retail chain began as Bed and Bath. Wyse thought it would fare better with a more complete name.

Wyse was a powerful woman in business. Her company was chosen to create the first television advertising campaign for New Woman magazine. She was was the first woman on the board of the Consolidated Natural Gas Company and the Higbee Company, and she was a founding member of both the Committee of 200, a group of women with executive jobs, and of Catalyst, a women's research organization.

Nicole was a fellow member of an online group called Sisters In Survivorship. It is a Yahoo support group for women under 40 that have been diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember speaking to Nik on the phone a few times a few years ago when she needed some support and encouragement. I knew she wasn't doing that well lately and I found out today that she has passed away.

Her obituary reads as follows:

Nicole Norman Wetzel passed away on Wednesday, June 20, 2007 at her home in Mandeville, LA.

Beloved wife of Jason Steven Wetzel and devoted mother of Dominique Claire Wetzel, she is survived by her parents, Dale David and Elmire Begovich Norman; one brother, Kevin David Norman and many nieces, nephews and cousins. She was preceded in death by her grandparents: Dominick and Josephine Begovich, Dennis and Rose Norman.

Age 35 years, a native of Marrero, LA and a resident of Mandeville, LA for 14 years. Nicole was a 1990 graduate of Immaculata High School, she received a degree in Business from UNO before moving to Mandeville where she worked as a Notary and Paralegal.

Writer Jeph Lobe has been working through the stages of grief in the most recent issues of Marvel Comics. You see, Captain America has been gunned down. And his buddies -- Wolverine, the Avengers, Iron Man, and Spider-Man -- are battling with denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. The whole story will be revealed when the latest issue, Fallen Son, hits newsstands July 5th, the day after Independence Day.

Loeb, also an executive producer for NBC's Heroes, chose his storyline to represent current politics.

"Part of it grew out of the fact that we are a country that's at war, we are being perceived differently in the world," he says. "He wears the flag and he is assassinated -- it's impossible not to have it at least be a metaphor for the complications of present day."

Christine Sansone was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2000 at the age of twenty-five. She passed away a few days ago after battling bone metastasis for eight years. She recently had leg surgery and never recovered. I met Christine a few times at the Young Survival Conference held by LBBC and the YSC.

Christine was featured in The Beautiful Eight -- An educational video for women living with metastatic disease.

She was recently quoted in the March/April issue of MAMM magazine.

"Living longer and stronger - Women with metastatic breast cancer are bringing new hope and energy to their cause." -- Christine Sansone.

Christine's story..

Liz Claiborne, fashion designer for working women climbing corporate ladders, died Tuesday at the New York Presbyterian Hospital after battling cancer for many years. She was 78.

Said Bill McComb, CEO of Claiborne's company since November: "In losing Liz Claiborne, we have not only lost the founder of our company, but an inspirational woman who revolutionized the fashion industry 30 years ago. Her commitment to style and design is ever present in our thinking and the way we work. We will remember Liz for her vision, her entrepreneurial spirit and her enduring compassion and generosity."

Claiborne, with husband Art Ostenberg and partners Leonard Boxer and Jerome Chazen, launched her label in 1976 after working for years as an unknown dress designer. Her brand featured ensemble sportswear with price tags below that of other designers and revolutionized the department store industry. Once compartmentalized, with pants in one department and skirts in another, Claiborne's coordinated clothing inspired the merging of once-separate departments.

High-profile television and newspaper gosspip columnist Claudia Cohen, most recently a regular correspondent covering entertainment for the syndicated talk show Live With Regis and Kelly, died Friday of ovarian cancer. She was 56.

Known for her aggressive pursuit of celebrity news and her public divorce from billionaire businessman Ronald O. Perelman, Cohen first hit the spotlight in the late 1970s as a reporter and editor for Page Six of The New York Post. She went on to write a gossip column titled I, Claudia for The Daily News of New York, report for Live with Regis and Kathie Lee, and dish celebrity dirt for ABC's The Morning Show.

Cohen is survived by her parents, a brother, and a daughter.

Ed Friendly, television producer and thoroughbred horse owner, helped create the hits Little House on the Prairie and Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In has died from cancer.

The show Laugh-In, that he co-created, won several Emmys. Ed served as an infantry captain in World War II. His jobs included advertising, radio and later television director, director of sales for ABC, contract producer at CBS and he eventually became NBC's vice president of special programs. Looks like he had all the major networks covered!

Friendly is survived by his second wife, a daughter, son, and three grandchildren.

I just saw a powerful American Cancer Society (ACS) public service announcement in a magazine. A picture of a young woman fills most of the page and this woman, shown holding a framed photograph of another young woman, looks solemn. The words that accompany the photo capture the sadness in her eyes:

My sister accidentally killed herself.

These are the words that follow:

She died of skin cancer.

Most people think skin cancer happens to other people, according the ACS. Yet it's the most common of all cancers. And left undetected, skin cancer can be fatal. It is also curable -- if caught early.

Kelly Jo Dowd, mom of 14-year-old golf sensation Dakoda Dowd, died of breast cancer in her Palm Harbor, Fla. home Thursday night. She was 42.

Dowd spent years battling the disease that had spread to her bones, liver, and brain. She also spent years waiting to see her young daughter play in an LPGA event. Her wish came true last spring.

"I'm prouder today than I was yesterday that my daughter has the courage and strength to play with these LPGA professionals," Dowd said after the Ginn Clubs & Resorts LPGA tournament. "And I feel great right now. I feel great. My dream came true out here."

Britney Spears, fresh out of rehab and back in the spotlight, is explaining why she publicly shaved her head back in February, following a rampage of bizarre behavior.

Think about this:

A friend of Spears says the pop star shaved her head as a tribute to her aunt who died from cancer. The pal states Spears was definitely suffering from postpartum depression at the time and the bold hair maneuver was an act of solidarity.

"Britney's aunt had just died of cancer," says this friend. "She was feeling very guilty because she hadn't been there with her, she was overwhelmingly depressed and she shaved her head in solidarity."

My friend's husband lost his mother to liver cancer during the wee hours of Sunday morning. He had traveled with his family from Ohio to Florida expecting to take his mom home with him so she could spend her last months where she once lived.

Steve never got to take his mom home. She died just days after he landed in Florida. Still, I am confident he won't return to Ohio empty-handed. His positive and healthy perspective on losing his mom will surely keep him company.

I got to see Steve and Kim -- my very best friend whose bouncy ringlets I envied long before I got my own post-chemotherapy curls -- on the same day Steve's mom died. They needed to get away and wanted a distraction for their two small children.

I am honored to have been chosen as my friends' destination -- not only so they could begin to heal from their loss, but because I gained a renewed sense of calm about death and dying during the time we talked and laughed and reminisced.

Steve's mom, 69, died at home in the loving arms of hospice caretakers who offered her round-the-clock care. During her final hours, she received a bath, a back rub, and a massage with body lotion. She sent non-verbal messages to her family members indicating she wished to be alone and once she had convinced everyone to head for bed, she took her final breaths. She died facing a wall, in contrast to her usual position in which she faced the door, as if to welcome all visitors. Her final resting pose was perhaps her way of saying good-bye. Steve sees it this way.

Just moments after Steve's mom was driven away in a funeral home car, Steve saw the clouds part. And then the rain fell. "Mom just figured out how to turn on the water," Steve said.

I don't think I'll ever forget this remark. Or the fact that the rain didn't last for very long on Sunday. The day Steve's mom died was gorgeous, glorious, and sunny.

There's so much more we talked about -- like the convertible Steve's mom drove and how he thought about placing her urn, her photo, and a scarf in the seat and taking his mom for one last spin before turning the car in -- and we passed the day in a celebratory manner. This, I think, is exactly what Steve's mom would have wanted.

I've read stories about women whose breast cancer diagnoses were delayed because they explained away certain symptoms. One woman, an athlete, was told by her husband one day that her nipple looked different from the other. "It's probably just the jog bra I've been wearing all day," she assured him. They both moved on.

Some time later, this woman learned that her different nipple was a sign of breast cancer. And she had it. She just didn't know it. And so her diagnosis came late. Eight years later, this young mother of two small children died from a disease she explained away.

This is normal -- the art of explaining away all the odd messages our bodies give us. Perhaps it's the stigma of whining about every little ache and pain that keeps us from pursuing immediate medical attention. It could be the likelihood that our complaints are pretty normal, so we refrain from rushing to judgment.

I'm practicing this well-established art right now. It's odd for me because I've already had breast cancer, and I am usually ultra-sensitive to every twinge of pain I feel. So when I woke this morning, with a tight and aching feeling in my chest, one would have thought I'd be racing out the door, headed for the nearest emergency room. I considered the fact that perhaps I need to be seen, that a chest X-ray might be in order, but I took no action -- because I explained the feeling away. It went something like this:

It must be the way I slept. I slept in a different bed, with one child and one dog, and I don't think I moved an inch all night.

The feeling gets less intense with time. At this moment, I can only feel something -- and it's very mild -- if I inhale deeply.

If I have the same feeling tomorrow morning, I will pursue it -- no, I won't pursue it just yet because I wont' be sleeping in my own bed for a few more nights. I'll wait until I get back to my own bed and see what happens. Maybe this bed is not good for me.

This goes on and on. For me, I think it happens because I suspect nothing really is wrong with me. Perhaps I am dismissing something serious but mostly, I'm chalking this behavior to progress. Because there was a day when I ran to the dentist for a bump on the roof of my mouth -- it was nothing -- and I cried to get myself a next-day mammogram for some lumpy tissue I was convinced was cancer -- it wasn't -- and now, I am happy to feel more like a normal person. I am happy to have perfected my new art, which incidentally I will abandon in an instant if the discomfort persists.

My husband says he's had this feeling before when getting out of bed. I think I'm going to be OK.