A few weeks ago a far-away friend reminded me of the importance of keeping in touch with those who mean the most to us but whose paths no longer naturally cross ours.
Using Skype, a phone call can become a face-to-face visit where we better experience our precious time together.
She was speaking from her heart after having just learned that a dear friend, a near-family member, had died a few days earlier. She went on to describe the details that were most important to her about who he was and how he had made her feel. She recalled her precious memories of him and how she planned to spend time that evening listening to his favorite music. She also spoke of her regret.
When someone dies, we want to reach out and comfort those who were closest to the deceased. We want to show we care about the bereaved in a personal way. Just as we use our words to comfort those who are grieving the death of a loved one, we can also use our actions to show we care.
When we want our actions to say we care, we are not limited to sending flowers or bringing food. Sometimes, all we need to do is show up.
When we give our most precious gift of all, a gift of ourselves, we make a personal statement about the importance of our relationship to the deceased or to the surviving family. Continue reading
We begin our lives in birth. We end our lives in death. In between, we live a life that is not always what we think we want, but often gives us more than we ever could believe we could have.
A bittersweet celebration of the circle of life, the time in between the start of one new life, and of another one about to end.
When Dad had a spinal stroke in 2007, we knew that the long-term prognosis was there was no long term. It was fall, not quite two months after he had learned he was going to be a first-time great-grandfather. The day it happened, he had driven five hours to a board meeting, and then, instead of staying for the evening events, he drove five hours home again. He knew something wasn’t right. But he went down to the basement to ride his exercise bike, like he did every night. Mom found him on the floor, the bike on top of him, a short time later.
In a few seconds, Dad’s life changed from being involved in a half-dozen major projects that kept him out of the house eight-and-a-half days a week, as Mom called it, to being bed-ridden. Continue reading