In Memory

A follow-up

Photo by Mike Labrum on Unsplash

Last week, I shared with you the draft text of a talk I would be giving at the annual Memorial Service for the hospice program that served our family during Susan’s last weeks. Many of you sent me comments or suggestions, either here in the app, or via text or email or in person. I appreciated the affirmations as well. Your comments helped me strengthen my presentation, and I am very grateful for your suggestions as well as for your connection to me.

Thank you!

Fifty to 75 people attended the service; many were close family members and friends of a loved one who had passed in the preceding year. A harp prelude set the tone of the gathering as a time to reflect and exhale. In addition to my talk, there was a ceremony in which the hospice staff lit candles in memory of those who had passed. A slide show of family photos made it very personal and showed the loved ones in their early vital years as well as more recently. A favorite of mine included pictures of a man who had a great white beard and loved to dress up for holidays -- a leprechaun for St. Patrick’s Day, and of course, Santa Claus. He was real, and he was loved dearly by his family and friends. Gone, but fondly remembered and honored.

I’d say my talk was well-received, and I felt pleased with it. A number of people approached me afterwards not only to thank me, but to mention specific points that resonated to them. With one man, I talked about my mantra borrowed from Henri Nouwen (”We never know the full path ahead of us, but there is usually enough light to take the next step.”) He wanted to make sure he had it memorized, and we recited it together a few times until he felt he had it.

With another man, I discussed the difficulty of asking for help. He is no longer able to drive, and therefore must rely on others for transportation. He hates to ask his kids. But when he does, they say, “Dad -- remember all those times you took us to school and work and shopping and doctors and practice ...??? Well, now it’s our turn to help you!” Lovely.

I stopped by the book table and was excited to see Atul Gawande’s brilliant book, “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End.” I wrote about the book in my essay “Seeing the Whole Person” (6-24-24):

I recently re-read a brilliant book by Atul Gawande, Professor of Health Policy and Management at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health and a surgeon based at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston. In Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End, Gawande argues that medicine, as it is currently practiced in the US, is poorly prepared to meet the needs of elders and patients nearing the end of their lives -- because it doesn’t focus on what matters most TO THEM. He lays out his ideas in a compelling way, through stories about patients carefully chosen to help readers see them as whole people in need of much more than just a fix for a discrete complaint.

The book’s pithy chapter titles provide clear signposts for the journey he takes us on: The Independent Self; Things Fall Apart (essential reading, but not for the faint of heart); Dependence; Assistance; A Better Life; Letting Go; Hard Conversations; and Courage.

I was so pleased to see that the hospice staff are recommending this book. I’ve actually recommended it to a few of my doctors. And I recommend it to YOU as well, regardless of your age or family circumstance. It’s an engaging read.

A woman I met on the way out is a volunteer at the hospice shop where I had donated many of Susan’s clothes. She told me how much working there meant to her and how much they appreciate all donations.

All in all, it was a very positive event - I left with a very warm feeling. I was very pleased that I had the opportunity to share my experiences with those in attendance. I also appreciated the event personally, because it gave me space to consider my personal growth as well.

Thanks once again to all of you who provided feedback. If you want to read the text again, here it is.