When a Dear Friend Dies....

 

This was a post I was hoping I didn't have to write.

Way back in 1994, when I was a senior in high school, I had a job shelving books for the Toledo Lucas-County Public Library.  Back then libraries had considerably more physical books, and it's kind of funny thinking how Encyclopedia Britannica and World Book were the closest thing we had to the Internet before the Internet really took off.   After a few months of working there I met a new co-worker: Tom Ellis.  We hit it off with each other right away.  After working together for a few months, Tom would leave after getting a job with the U.S. Air Force.  Unfortunately we didn't stay in touch, until by a massive stroke of luck a few years later when I met Tom's brother, Bob.  Bob and I became good friends, while Tom lived in Florida, close to their parents.  Then --I'm tempted to say it was in 2008 -- Tom moved back to Ohio, and he and Bob shared a mobile home in Bowling Green.

For the next 15 years I would visit Tom and Bob at their home.  We would eat meals together, watch T.V. together, spend time in deep conversation with one another.   It didn't happen quite as often as I would have liked -- due to our competing work schedules and responsibilities, but I deeply cherished the times that it did.  Then, in 2022, after my mom and Carter and Milton passed, Tom and Bob really stepped up to the plate for me during my time of immense grief and sadness.  There were times where they would even let me crash at their place for the night, when I didn't want to be alone.  It was very comforting knowing that they continued to be a fixture in my life, even as so many other parts of my life were crumbling away.  To me they were like angels in human form.

Then, in June of this year, Tom received a devastating diagnosis: Glioblastoma, a very aggressive form of brain cancer with a 5-year survival rate of 5-10 percent.  The median survival time after diagnosis is a mere 12-18 months.  Tom had surgery not long after diagnosis, and for a very brief period he showed some improvement.  I remember the last time seeing him this past summer -- I believe it was July -- when he proudly showed me the back of his head where his scar was.  I was hopeful it would buy him a significant amount of time.

Unfortunately my hopes were misplaced.  Tom's difficulties increased over the last couple months, and he was moved to hospice on Christmas Eve, where he died peacefully on December 26 -- yesterday -- at the age of 51.  His sister called me with the news.  I was devastated.  No longer will I be going back to hang out with him and Bob, like I had been.

Why am I writing all this?  Lately I've been reflecting on how it's so difficult for so many people to find their way in this world.  Tom, I think, was one of those people.  Heck, I think I'm one of those people!  In many ways we were kindred spirits.  Like me, Tom worked various odd jobs during his adult life, trying to find his true calling.  He never married nor had children.  He conveyed a nonchalant and almost snarky attitude towards a world consumed by wealth, power, fame, and social media likes.

And yet -- underneath his almost mischievous smile and laugh of his -- I can't help but think that Tom felt a certain sense of disappointment and disillusionment towards the world he was living in.  Oftentimes it was hard for him to be out in public.  At times he struck me as being depressed and having an "it is what it is" mindset.  A couple years ago he told me that part of him wanted to move back to Florida after his parents were gone -- they had moved up to Ohio in 2023 to be closer to their family.  Part of me wanted to convince him to stay in Ohio, at least for a while.  Now, knowing that neither of those things will happen, I feel for his parents, along with the rest of his family, who have to say an awful and heartbreaking goodbye to him instead.

I don't have any other words to say at the present moment. I realize that time stops for no one.  And yet I can't help but feel sorrow for living in a world where so many kind, decent, goodhearted people are cut down long before old age, while so many others who are cunning, ruthless, and selfish live long lives and repeatedly hurt others without remorse.  But that is the world we must live in.  I don't mean to sound so dark, and I hope I can gain a better perspective in the weeks and months ahead.

Until we meet again, Tom, may God rest your soul.  I'm gonna miss the hell out of you.

Videos That Have Helped: Grieving the Life You Didn't Get

Kirby, a trauma and attachment specialist, is the man behind the YouTube channel Two Mind Method.  He has a really good video: "Grieving the Life You Didn't Get".  Grief isn't always about losing loved ones -- sometimes it's realizing that we're not going to live the life that we had originally envisioned for ourselves.

Some of the major points made in the video: 

- life is not fair - Lady Luck is oftentimes not on our side.

- so many of us have trouble finding the right romantic partner/job/financial security.

- thinking our life would be so much better if we could only have that one thing/group of things. 

- sometimes the reward we get is nowhere proportionate to the effort we put in.

-  a lot of times for good things to happen, we need to be in the right place at the right time in the right circumstances.

As I say every time I link to a video: the whole thing is worth watching.  And even though the YouTube comments section can sometimes be horribly toxic, reading some of the comments for this video has been humbling for me -- whenever I feel bad about my life, I realize there are many other people who are dealing with some pretty huge challenges. 

Words to Ponder Over: Robert McCammon

I found this extended passage from Robert McCammon's 1991 book Boy's Life.  I don't think I need to add any commentary here -- I think it speaks for itself:

“You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.

After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.

That’s what I believe.

The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It’s not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes. Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us. You don’t know it’s happening until one day you feel you’ve lost something but you’re not sure what it is. It’s like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you “sir.” It just happens.

These memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me. They make up a large part of who I’m going to be when my journey winds down. I need the memory of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know and remember, and I want to tell you.”

Words to Ponder Over: Dr. Mary Lamia

A few weeks ago, I was at a public library when I stumbled upon this book by Dr. Mary Lamia: "Grief Isn't Something to Get Over".  Dr. Lamia, a psychologist, published the book in 2022.

 

There were a few quotes in the book that stood out for me:

"We may find comfort in focusing our attention on what we had, rather than on our yearning to restore what is impossible to replicate in the present."

"The passage of time after a loss is helpful to us as the discrepancy between past and present memories become less stark."

"A person's death is a distinct but incongruent memory, and it is hard to assimilate it into what we know and remember." 

"Goodbyes are only a single remembered event in a lifetime."

Where There Is Death, There Is Also Life....

Years ago, my mom gave me some details about the neighborhood where she grew up in Toledo.  She told me about the beautiful American Elm trees that once lined her childhood street....that is, until the day the city had them all cut down due to Dutch Elm Disease.  It was a huge loss for her neighborhood, as the streets were now bare of so many trees.  Although hard numbers can be hard to come by, it's been estimated that 77 million American Elm trees were lost to the disease between the 1930s and 1970s.

So imagine my surprise when, one day recently, I happened to be in the basement of my dad's place and I gazed out one of the windows to see, to my amazement....

Yup, those are American Elm trees, the ones my mom had lamented the loss of so many years ago.  Obviously, due to their current location, they can't grow very much, and young trees don't develop Dutch Elm Disease for the first 10 years.  At the moment though, they appear to be thriving.  It's amazing to me how life finds a way...

Life Lessons to Remember While You're Still Here

Losing a loved one (or enduring any significant loss, for that matter) can help us realize what's truly important in life.  Some of the things that used to be so important to us don't matter as much anymore, while other aspects of our lives take on new importance and urgency.  This Reddit post nicely sums up some of those with these words of wisdom:

8 lessons people often learn too late in life 

 

• Time is your most valuable resource. You can always make more money, but never more time. Spend it wisely.

• Health is wealth. Ignoring your physical and mental health catches up, sometimes when it’s too late to reverse.

• Happiness isn’t tied to success.  Chasing titles, money, or approval won’t guarantee peace of mind or fulfillment.

• People change, and that’s okay. Not everyone will stay in your life forever, and not all relationships are meant to last.

• You’ll never please everyone. Trying to win everyone’s approval only leads to burnout and confusion about who you are.

• Failures are lessons, not life sentences. Most mistakes are just stepping stones, not dead ends. Embrace the learning.

• Small moments matter the most. The quiet dinners, laughs with loved ones, or solo walks often become the memories you cherish most.

• If you don’t choose your path, someone else will. Letting life “just happen” often leads to regret. Make intentional choices whenever you can.

 

Jeff Cleckley's NDE and Finding His Spiritual Purpose

I have read and/or listened to many people and their accounts of their near-death experiences. Many of them are truly fascinating.  One in particular that has continuously circulated in my mind in recent weeks is Jeff Cleckley's. Cleckley had his NDE in 2013.   He had been battling severe physical pain, pneumonia, and a MRSA infection when he overdosed on opioid painkillers.

In his near-death account, Cleckley recalls losing interest in his Earthly life when he crossed over, although the one thing that still concerned him was leaving behind his 4 year old son.  He had a detailed life review where he could see how his actions affected others, for both good and ill.

Other highlights of his experience include:

- realizing why so often our prayers are ineffective.  Hint: we're doing it wrong!

- protesting to his spirit guides after his life review that he didn't have the tools to live his life successfully on Earth.

- being told by his guides that humanity has been on a path of self-destruction

- the importance of loving everyone and everything, and not letting fear and doubt ruin our lives. 

Cleckley came back a deeply changed man and put his newfound spiritual gifts to work.  He spent more time meditating and being out in nature.  He was able to recognize people's inner pain and started communicating with angels. In another instance, he visited his dying nephew in the hospital, who was in the ICU and who had also overdosed on drugs.  The night before the plug was to be pulled, Cleckley went into a deep meditative state where he saw Jesus and was able to talk to his nephew and convince him to return.  The following day his nephew regained consciousness and eventually recovered.

I found Cleckley's account deeply touching and inspiring.  You can hear his story, as well as those from many other near-death experiencers,  through The Other Side NDE channel on YouTube.

Words to Ponder Over: Scott Snibbe

 

In recent days I've been wading through Scott Snibbe's book "How to Train a Happy Mind: a Skeptic's Path to Enlightenment."  Snibbe considers himself a secular Buddhist -- in other words, he only espouses the parts of Buddhism that can be backed up by modern science.  But you don't necessarily have to convert to Buddhism or become a skeptic to appreciate the numerous gems of insight and wisdom in his book.  I wanted to include an excerpt, and I am extremely grateful to Scott for letting me do so.

Do you ever find yourself getting angry, annoyed, or upset with someone?  Of course!  We all have that experience.  Maybe, as Snibbe suggests, we should learn how to be more compassionate to our fellow humans.  One way of doing this is to picture this person at the end of their lives:

"As you encounter people in your daily life, a powerful meditation on impermanence is to picture the moment each one of them was born.  Imagine their mother's pain, her exhaustion and joy at creating a fragile new being whose life depends on her.  Then, try to imagine how that person will eventually die -- alone or surrounded by loved ones, agitated or at peace.  This technique is especially helpful when you are angry with someone because it helps put your dispute in perspective.  Picture the end of that person's life: in a hospital bed or at home, after a life that was long or short, a life of virtue or misbehavior, a life ending among friends or silently alone."

Personal Musings: You're Never the Same, But It Does Get Better

 It’s hard to believe that it’s been over three years since I started this blog, and going on four years since the deaths in my family in 2021.  One thing I wish was that I was more consistent with my posting!  Sometimes I go through dry spells when I can’t think of anything, and other times I have a bunch of things I could mention.

A few weeks ago I sent the following text to my long-distance friend Kari:

"You know what?  Things get better.  I mean, I know I'm never going to fully heal from everything that's happened over these last few years, but that's ok.  Just need to keep pressing forward!"

Kari's response: "Write a blog post on that."  Ok, so here goes...

Yes, I have found that things do improve over time, and it's not the same for any two people.  Some people might feel significantly better in a few months, and for others it might take a few years.  One podcaster I regularly listen to used a great analogy to describe living a life of religious faith, and I think it can apply equally well to how we recover from grief: we think that over time it will be a continuously upward trend, when in reality it looks more like the Dow Jones Index.    One day we might feel like we're getting through things reasonably well, and the next day we might feel we're on the verge of another emotional meltdown.  The important thing is to be forgiving of ourselves and realize that the journey to recovery from grief has its own bumps and detours along the way.

And things get better in increments.  There’s a saying that’s stuck with me, and I don’t know if I posted this already, but the saying goes that the first week of grief is the hardest, then the first month is the hardest, then the first year is the hardest, then the first five years are the hardest, etc.  For me, 2022 and the first half of 2023 were extremely difficult.  The second half of 2023 got a little better....and then 2024 got a little better....and then 2025, so far, has been a little better....

I realize there's no going back to the way things were.  And maybe we're not supposed to, if that means we lose the lessons and knowledge and experiences and wisdom we've picked up since our losses. And yet, and yet...I wonder if it isn't still possible, in some way.  I have had many dreams in the last three and a half years where I've been back in my childhood home, and in other cases my grandparents' home, but not as a child, but as the person I am now...back with my mom and grandparents, relating to them as I am now, not as the naive and inexperienced child I was then.  So maybe it is possible, in a sense, to go back to the way things were  when we take leave of this world, but in a way that is infinitely better than it was before.  We can only hope....

One thing I've noticed:  I don't have the energy I did 5 years ago -- I get tired much more quickly than I used to.  But I don't mope and complain about it.  As we ourselves get older, we make adjustments to our new reality and keep pressing on, like the runner who falls down in the middle of a race, picks him/herself back up, and limps their way towards the finish line.  It doesn't matter that they finish last -- what matters is that they keep pressing forward.  And so it is the same with us -- to keep pushing on towards the finish line, to live a life that proved worth living.  When my time comes to leave this Earth, I hope I can reunite with all my loved ones who have left before me, and I want them to be proud of the journey I made while I was here.  I wish the same to be true for all of you as well.

Words to Ponder Over: St. Francis of Assisi

From St. Francis of Assisi (circa 1181-1226): 

“Remember that when you leave this Earth, you can take with you nothing that you have received — only what you have given: a full heart, enriched by honest service, love, sacrifice, and courage.”

Words to Ponder Over: Joan Didion

 From American essayist and novelist Joan Didion (1934-2021):

“Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant.

You sit down to dinner

And life as you know it ends.”

Words to Ponder Over: Erica Doyle

From American poet Erica Doyle:

"You heard some news and knelt.

You heard some news and laughed.

You heard some news and your skin cracked.

You heard some news news and your chest crashed."

Using Technology to Contact the Deceased: Klaus Schreiber

Thomas Edison may not have succeeded in developing a device to talk to the deceased, but that hasn't stopped others from trying.  One of the most notable examples was a German researcher, Klaus Schreiber (1925-1988).  According to this online article, Schreiber "was a cheerful, kind man and loved friends and parties, but his life was marked by heavy losses and economic hardship."  After marrying his first wife Gertrud in 1946, Schreiber endured a number of sorrows in his life: after their fourth child Karin was born in 1960, his wife died shortly after childbirth.  Their son Robert was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1968 at the age of 22.  Their daughter Karin then suffered a workplace injury in 1978 at the age of 18, dying herself shortly thereafter.  

All of these tragic events may have been enough to destroy Schreiber's life, when in fact it was only the beginning of many weird and unexplainable events for him.  After listening to some radio programs on EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomena), Schreiber decided to do some experimenting of his own.  Quoting from the aforementioned article again:

"On a morning of 1982, Klaus was listening to the show "Incredible Stories" (amazing stories), on  RTL (Radio Télévision Luxembourg), about the electronic voice phenomena, [wihch] was the moment that changed his life. Klaus, on the same night, during a meeting with friends in the basement of his house, decided to comment on what was heard in the morning on the radio about EVP. After discussion with his friends, Klaus decided to do an experiment. He got a tape recorder, put a [blank] tape and started a recording, addressed to Peter, [who was] a deceased friend of all those present at the meeting. To everyone's surprise, Peter responded [on the tape]: 'Hello, friends!'"  Most of Schreiber's friends were so shocked that they left his house, never to return.  

Meanwhile, Schreiber began to take on the task of converting his basement into an audio-video experimental lab, utilizing T.V. sets, video camcorders, amplifiers, Ultraviolet lamps, infra-red lamps, and microphones.  Enlisting the help of an engineer friend, Martin Wenzel, Schreiber dubbed his system the "Vidicom", which allowed images of the deceased to show up on his T.V. screen.  The TCI Seattle article contained the following schematic and goes into more detail on how Schreiber and Wenzel were able to get their assembled device to work:

 

The components in the schematic were as follows:  1) Video camera; 2) Video amplifier; 3 & 5) video recorders; 4 and 6) black and white TVs; 7) microphone; 8) sound enhancer; 9) UV Lamp; 10) Infrared lamp; 11)Aluminum Foil.  According to the article, their device worked in this manner:

"In addition to the UV and Infrared lamps, the lab was lit by ambient and natural light. The UV lamps, infrared and the ambient lighting were combined in a way to create an energy field and illuminate slightly the television screen. The aluminum foil reflected light on the TV screen. With the video camera pointed at the TV and a RCA cable connected, the camera transmitted and filmed the TV's own image, forming a feedback system, where the image of the television was repeated several times, as an infinite mirror. By changing the camera position (angle and distance), increasing or decreasing the zoom, adjusting the focus and controlling the lights reflection , he got on the screen a kind of luminous effect that periodically vibrated or oscillated. The recording time was short, only 1 to 3 minutes, because the video [had to] be analyzed frame-by-frame, and was very time-consuming."

Schreiber was able to capture many images of deceased individuals on the TV screen, apparently able to communicate from the afterlife, including King Ludwig II, Albert Einstein, Austrian actress Romy Schneider, and his own daughter Karin.

 

Schreiber in his basement lab, with an image of what appears to be his deceased daughter Karin on the television screen. 

Even if Schreiber's images are not truly genuine, there quite possibly is something else extraordinary going on that remains unexplainable.  Unfortunately, duplicating his experiments might prove difficult, as many of the devices he used were quite commonplace in the 1980s, but are no longer being manufactured.  

Schreiber passed away from a massive heart attack on January 7, 1988.  His obituary contained these words:

"There is no death – there is only a passing to an other level of existence. – I am with you."

 

Sources (with additional images from Schreiber's experiments):  

http://www.worlditc.org/h_08_schreiber_0.htm

https://en.tciseattle.com/klaus-schreiber-portugues

Words to Ponder Over: Allan Watts

Allan Watts (1915-1973) was a British-American writer and self-described "philosopher entertainer".  Steeped in multiple Eastern religious traditions and philosophies, he offers us these words to meditate on when considering life after death:

“[T]he anxiety-laden problem of what will happen to me when I die is, after all, like asking what happens to my fist when I open my hand, or where my lap goes when I stand up.”

Dying & Grief in T.V. and Cinema: Nomadland

For those of you who might not be familiar, the 2020 American movie Nomadland tells the story of Fern (played by actress Frances McDormand).  Fern and her husband had spent many years working in a factory in the town of Empire, Nevada.  But then everything falls apart for Fern: the factory shuts down, the town becomes mostly abandoned, her husband dies.  Fern packs her remaining possessions into a van and travels around the country doing seasonal jobs.

In a particularly emotional and poignant scene, Fern meets up with another nomad, Bob Wells, who shares his real-life story about the tragic loss of his son.  Bob sympathizes with Fern and tells her that there really are "no final goodbyes" in life:

Words to Ponder Over: from the AskReddit subreddit

Sometimes you get profound insights from ordinary people asking ordinary questions.  One Reddit user asks the question: "When does the grief from a loved one actually start getting better?"  The top responder gave this answer:

"A lot of people find this comment that [another Reddit user] wrote on a thread a few years ago to be helpful when dealing with grief. Hope it helps you:

'Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love...

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. 

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.'"

And some of us have endured tons of loss over the years.  Another user gave a reply in that same thread:

"You said it perfectly. I lost my dad in 2010, mom 2012, daughter 2016, son 2020, and my husband of 51 years December 18, 2022. The waves keep coming, but you do ride them out. It takes time for sure. Some days it seems hard to breathe."

I hope all of you reading this had a good holiday season and a good New Year.  If you're grieving, I hope you will find it easier to breathe, even if the waves are crashing around you.  Looking forward to being with you and posting more here in 2025!

Words to Ponder Over: Andrew Sullivan

I've been listening to a lot of podcasts lately, so many of the upcoming posts will have a similar theme.  On that note...

I was listening to another episode of Anderson Cooper's "All There Is" podcast, where Cooper was interviewing fellow journalist Andrew Sullivan.  I was particularly struck by Sullivan's words as he reflected on the passing of his parents:

"...we should not become obsessed with what we've lost because you've got to live and life is right there in front of you. And the whole point of surviving [the death of my mother] was to live. And they would not want you to sit around moping forever. They wouldn't. They really wouldn't." 

Sullivan then offered a pointed critique of the way we deal with death in society:

"It is an extraordinary ordeal to be a conscious being and know that you will disappear, die and leave, and the other people around you will leave and you'll never get them back. Suffering reveals the way things really are. This is how suffering works. It sometimes takes trauma to get there. Like we keep this at the margins. Always. We even put old people away. It is all a part of the denial of death that our culture has incredibly successfully achieved. And we've developed health care and comforts and wealth in ways that insulate us completely from all of this. It's not healthy. It is not healthy to keep death and loss at bay in this kind of happy, upbeat, consumerist [society]...[where] you've got to look as beautiful and as young as possible. You've got to earn as much money as you can. You've got to be as famous as you want to be...and that will make you happy. And then, you know, and then that's why I think in our culture, when grief happens to you, you're so sideswiped. This isn't supposed to happen." 

Excellent insights throughout this episode.  You can listen to it here.

Words to Ponder Over: Andrew Garfield

Yesterday marked the three year anniversary of my mom's passing ("anniversary" sounds like such an inappropriate word for such an event, doesn't it?)  My dad and I went out to lunch together and visited the lakes here in Ohio where we had scattered my mom's ashes.  It was a bittersweet day -- a time for reflection and remembrance.  It also gave me an opportunity to reflect on everything that I had experienced in my life over these past three years -- times of both personal growth and stagnation, times of agonizing grief and times of awe and wonder, times of seeing my world dramatically collapse and times of having my horizons greatly expanded.  

As I sit here thinking about what it all means, I think back to words I heard back this past October from actor Andrew Garfield, when we was being interviewed by journalist Anderson Cooper on Cooper's podcast "All There Is".  Garfield had lost his mother to pancreatic cancer in 2019, and his own reflections while walking on the beach after his own mom's passing really struck a chord with me:

"My interpretation of that moment was that it was the wisdom of nature, the wisdom of the earth, the wisdom of the ocean, letting me know, hey, yeah, it's hard. It's horrible. I'm not taking away this unique pain you're feeling. But just so you know. Us out here, us water molecules, we've been seeing this for millennia. And actually, this is the best case scenario for you to lose her rather than for her to lose you.
This is a much better situation. And again, my ego was holding on. My ego thought I knew better. My ego said, no, this doesn't make sense. No, no, no. It should be this way. It should be that way. But actually, it took the ocean, the greater opponent, to just hold me under and say, it's really horrible. 
And sons have been losing their mothers for thousands and thousands of years, and they will continue to. And you've just been initiated into that awareness and into that reality. Some illusion has been lifted. You're in a realer version of the world now, and it's painful."

The whole episode is well worth hearing in its entirety.  You can listen to it here.

Articles Worth Reading: Grieving the Old You

I'm feeling the need to post a little more as we move into the holiday season, which can be really tough for those of us who mourn the loss of loved ones at this time of year....

But one overlooked aspect of grief is mourning the loss of the person that we used to be.  This has become evident to me especially in recent days.  Do you remember the kind of person you were before your loss?  Did you have a different attitude towards life?  Did you have more faith and/or confidence?  Did you have interests or hobbies that no longer resonate with you?  

What you're feeling is actually quite common.  Shelby Forsythia, who works as a writer, podcast host, and Intuitive Grief Guide, authored a 2021 article:  "How to Grieve the Person You Used to Be". She begins by stating: "When someone we love dies, a part of us dies as well. While society has set practices and rituals for people who die, we rarely get an opportunity to honor, grieve, and release the person that we used to be and the life that we used to live."

Forsythia discusses the importance of self-compassion, as well as the importance of avoiding the tendency to either sanctify or vilify the kind of person we used to be.  I really like her ideas on creating new rituals for ourselves in the midst of our grief and loss.  One particular suggestion she makes that I really like is taking an "identity inventory": 

"Pick up a few flat stones outside or purchase a bag of river rocks from a craft store. With a permanent marker or paint pen, write your name on one of the rocks, to represent your old self, and on the others, write all the intangible things you’re grieving. These can be things like 'faith,' 'trust in myself,' 'creativity,' 'the belief that the good guys always win,' and so on. When you’re done, bury your 'old self' along with your 'losses'....

 

Demystifying Dying: Julie McFadden, Hospice Nurse

Julie McFadden has been a registered nurse for over 16 years.  She worked in hospital ICUs before transferring over to Hospice and Palliative Care. This past June, she released a highly-acclaimed book: "Nothing to Fear: Demystifying Death to Live More Fully".  She also has a YouTube channel where she's already made hundreds of videos.  

Julie is not afraid to get into the nitty-gritty details about death and dying that can be so emotionally difficult for so many of us.  While being both matter-of-fact and gentle at the same time, she talks about the "death rattle" and other symptoms that tend to emerge in the last 24 hours of a person's life.  She explains why so many patients are dehydrated at the end of their lives -- and why that's actually a good thing.

In another one of her videos, she explains why so many of us can be deeply upset when we see our loved ones pass with their mouths hanging open -- we believe that they're in agony or suffering while they're dying.  But Julie explains that that's not really the case at all -- it takes a lot of muscles to actually hold our mouths closed.  When we see others dying with their mouths open, it's a sign that our physical bodies are actually relaxing.  Julie sums it up succinctly:  "Our bodies are born knowing how to die."  

Some of Julie's videos show actual patients that are actively in the dying process, which may be difficult to watch for more sensitive viewers.  Following is a link to one of her videos which might be more comforting for all viewers: "Why You Shouldn't Be Afraid of Death and Dying":