Do kids belong at funerals?

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Cook Book Memories

I love to cook, I’ve been interested in cooking since I could eat, I think! I remember standing on a chair around age 4 learning how to make biscuits from Mammie (my maternal grandmother) . . . and also beginning to ‘invent’ my own recipes. My first was adding sugar to peanut butter, mixing it up, and patting it into ‘cookies’ then freezing it. My sweet grandmother patiently let me experiment, then would explain why it didn’t work out like I thought it would.

This guest post brought back those sweet memories. I hope you enjoy this guest blog as much as I did.

God's Grace and Mom's Alzheimer's

I shouldn’t keep it, but I can’t throw it away.  Dad cleaned out another cupboard and asked me if I wanted any of Mom’s cookbooks. I have a cupboard stuffed with cookbooks already.  But I had to look.  I had no problem turning away from the nice, new looking books.  But then I saw it. The tattered, falling apart Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book.  And I was helpless to turn my back on it.

The book was copyrighted in 1953. Mom probably started out with it as a young bride. And the cookbook was part of my whole childhood. The red and white gingham checks with the silhouettes of black pans on the cover shout home and comfort to me.

I leaf through the pages, many of them loose now because the holes have torn.  I look for some notations in Mom’s handwriting, and am disappointed to find…

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Everything Doesn’t Happen For A Reason

Thank you Tim Lawrence… your Oct. 20 blog meant so much to me, I had to share it with my readers. 

I emerge from this conversation dumbfounded. I’ve seen this a million times before, but it still gets me every time.

I’m listening to a man tell a story. A woman he knows was in a devastating car accident; her life shattered in an instant. She now lives in a state of near-permanent pain; a paraplegic; many of her hopes stolen.

He tells of how she had been a mess before the accident, but that the tragedy had engendered positive changes in her life. That she was, as a result of this devastation, living a wonderful life.

And then he utters the words. The words that are responsible for nothing less than emotional, spiritual and psychological violence:

Everything happens for a reason. That this was something that had to happen in order for her to grow.

That’s the kind of bullshit that destroys lives. And it is categorically untrue.

It is amazing to me that so many of these myths persist—and that is why I share actionable tools and strategies to work with your pain in my free newsletter. These myths are nothing more than platitudes cloaked as sophistication, and they preclude us from doing the one and only thing we must do when our lives are turned upside down: grieve.

You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve heard these countless times. You’ve probably even uttered them a few times yourself. And every single one of them needs to be annihilated.

Let me be crystal clear: if you’ve faced a tragedy and someone tells you in any way, shape or form that your tragedy was meant to be, that it happened for a reason, that it will make you a better person, or that taking responsibility for it will fix it, you have every right to remove them from your life.

Grief is brutally painful. Grief does not only occur when someone dies. When relationships fall apart, you grieve. When opportunities are shattered, you grieve. When dreams die, you grieve. When illnesses wreck you, you grieve.

So I’m going to repeat a few words I’ve uttered countless times; words so powerful and honest they tear at the hubris of every jackass who participates in the debasing of the grieving:

Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried. 

These words come from my dear friend Megan Devine, one of the only writers in the field of loss and trauma I endorse. These words are so poignant because they aim right at the pathetic platitudes our culture has come to embody on a increasingly hopeless level. Losing a child cannot be fixed. Being diagnosed with a debilitating illness cannot be fixed. Facing the betrayal of your closest confidante cannot be fixed.

They can only be carried.

I hate to break it to you, but although devastation can lead to growth, it often doesn’t. The reality is that it often destroys lives. And the real calamity is that this happens precisely because we’ve replaced grieving with advice. With platitudes. With our absence.

I now live an extraordinary life. I’ve been deeply blessed by the opportunities I’ve had and the radically unconventional life I’ve built for myself. Yet even with that said, I’m hardly being facetious when I say that loss has not in and of itself made me a better person. In fact, in many ways it’s hardened me.

While so much loss has made me acutely aware and empathetic of the pains of others, it has made me more insular and predisposed to hide. I have a more cynical view of human nature, and a greater impatience with those who are unfamiliar with what loss does to people.

Above all, I’ve been left with a pervasive survivor’s guilt that has haunted me all my life. This guilt is really the genesis of my hiding, self-sabotage and brokenness.

In short, my pain has never been eradicated, I’ve just learned to channel it into my work with others. I consider it a great privilege to work with others in pain, but to say that my losses somehow had to happen in order for my gifts to grow would be to trample on the memories of all those I lost too young; all those who suffered needlessly, and all those who faced the same trials I did early in life, but who did not make it.

I’m simply not going to do that. I’m not going to construct some delusional narrative fallacy for myself so that I can feel better about being alive. I’m not going to assume that God ordained me for life instead of all the others so that I could do what I do now. And I’m certainly not going to pretend that I’ve made it through simply because I was strong enough; that I became “successful” because I “took responsibility.”

There’s a lot of “take responsibility” platitudes in the personal development space, and they are largely nonsense. People tell others to take responsibility when they don’t want to understand.

Because understanding is harder than posturing. Telling someone to “take responsibility” for their loss is a form of benevolent masturbation. It’s the inverse of inspirational porn: it’s sanctimonious porn.

Personal responsibility implies that there’s something to take responsibility for. You don’t take responsibility for being raped or losing your child. You take responsibility for how you choose to live in the wake of the horrors that confront you, but you don’t choose whether you grieve. We’re not that smart or powerful. When hell visits us, we don’t get to escape grieving.

This is why all the platitudes and fixes and posturing are so dangerous: in unleashing them upon those we claim to love, we deny them the right to grieve.

In so doing, we deny them the right to be human. We steal a bit of their freedom precisely when they’re standing at the intersection of their greatest fragility and despair.

No one—and I mean no one—has that authority. Though we claim it all the time.

The irony is that the only thing that even can be “responsible” amidst loss is grieving.

So if anyone tells you some form of get over it, move on, or rise above, you can let them go.

If anyone avoids you amidst loss, or pretends like it didn’t happen, or disappears from your life, you can let them go.

If anyone tells you that all is not lost, that it happened for a reason, that you’ll become better as a result of your grief, you can let them go.

Let me reiterate: all of those platitudes are bullshit.

You are not responsible to those who try to shove them down your throat. You can let them go.

I’m not saying you should. That is up to you, and only up to you. It isn’t an easy decision to make and should be made carefully. But I want you to understand that you can.

I’ve grieved many times in my life. I’ve been overwhelmed with shame and self-hatred so strong it’s nearly killed me.

The ones who helped—the only ones who helped—were those who were there. And said nothing.

In that nothingness, they did everything.

I am here—I have lived—because they chose to love me. They loved me in their silence, in their willingness to suffer with me, alongside me, and through me. They loved me in their desire to be as uncomfortable, as destroyed, as I was, if only for a week, an hour, even just a few minutes.

Most people have no idea how utterly powerful this is.

Are there ways to find “healing” amidst devastation? Yes. Can one be “transformed” by the hell life thrusts upon them? Absolutely. But it does not happen if one is not permitted to grieve. Because grief itself is not an obstacle.

The obstacles come later. The choices as to how to live; how to carry what we have lost; how to weave a new mosaic for ourselves? Those come in the wake of grief. It cannot be any other way.

Grief is woven into the fabric of the human experience. If it is not permitted to occur, its absence pillages everything that remains: the fragile, vulnerable shell you might become in the face of catastrophe.

Yet our culture has treated grief as a problem to be solved, an illness to be healed, or both. In the process, we’ve done everything we can to avoid, ignore, or transform grief. As a result, when you’re faced with tragedy you usually find that you’re no longer surrounded by people, you’re surrounded by platitudes.

What to Offer Instead

When a person is devastated by grief, the last thing they need is advice. Their world has been shattered. This means that the act of inviting someone—anyone—into their world is an act of great risk. To try and fix or rationalize or wash away their pain only deepens their terror.

Instead, the most powerful thing you can do is acknowledge. Literally say the words:

I acknowledge your pain. I am here with you.

Note that I said with you, not for you. For implies that you’re going to do something. That is not for you to enact. But to stand with your loved one, to suffer with them, to listen to them, to do everything butsomething is incredibly powerful.

There is no greater act than acknowledgment. And acknowledgment requires no training, no special skills, no expertise. It only requires the willingness to be present with a wounded soul, and to stay present, as long as is necessary.

Be there. Only be there. Do not leave when you feel uncomfortable or when you feel like you’re not doing anything. In fact, it is when you feel uncomfortable and like you’re not doing anything that you must stay.

Because it is in those places—in the shadows of horror we rarely allow ourselves to enter—where the beginnings of healing are found. This healing is found when we have others who are willing to enter that space alongside us. Every grieving person on earth needs these people.

Thus I beg you, I plead with you, to be one of these people.

You are more needed than you will ever know.

And when you find yourself in need of those people, find them. I guarantee they are there.

Everyone else can go.

Alzheimer’s – the slow death

My Aunt AnClockn has Alzheimer’s. She is the fifth person in our family who is suffering with it.

Even though this is my 5th family member with the disease, it isn’t any easier than it was when my dad died in 1986.

He was the 1st family member to have it – early onset. He died at age 57; buried with full military honors (Lt. Col. Charles Parrish). He was exposed to nuclear testing and Agent Orange during his military career; they say that’s most likely what caused his early onset and early death.

At the time of my father’s death, our family provided a 3 generation genetic bank for the Bryan Alzheimer’s Disease Research Center, which helped researcher’s worldwide locate and identify the APOE e4 gene. <click the links to learn more>

My grandmother (Ann’s mother), father (Ann’s brother), and Ann’s oldest sister (Aunt Laura) have all passed away.

Ann’s ‘just older’ sister, Peggy, is at the blissfully unaware stage. By that I mean she doesn’t know anyone & no longer speaks or worries about anything. Peggy is lost within her own world now.

Ann is 79, and is well into the disease, but remains cheerful and pleasant to all. When she meets someone, Ann will say – with a big smile on her face, “Hello. My name is Ann and I have Alzheimer’s so I’m going to be repeating myself.”

I bring this up not only to spread the word about Alzheimer’s but to share the opportunities it gave my family; and hopefully someone reading this will benefit from the information.

The advantages of our family’s Alzheimer’s experience is that we’ve learned that time is fleeting and memories are precious.

To help you and your family, I like to offer the following insights to the benefits of The Slow Death.. .

  • My family had the chance to ‘soak up’ each member of our family because we knew their mind and memories would soon be gone.
  • We shared the stories, names & important dates of our past family members; so future generations would know their heritage.
  • We labeled photographs so the names of the people and the event when it was taken wouldn’t be lost to us forever.
  •  We learned how to help them cope with their deteriorating memory by offering them a notebook to write every visit, thought, memory in. And once, they lost the ability to read and write, we kept it for them and read it to them.. repeatedly.
  • We all learned to be more patience than any Parrish ever had before! We are strong willed and outspoken usually, but learned to react more slowly and empathetically with each new challenge.
  • We have all been advocates for Alzheimer’s – participating in studies, Alzheimer’s Walk to Remember
  •  We learned that even with a lot of time to prepare – we never quite were.
  • We talked about funeral wishes… and butterflies, flowers or gifts… a PRICELESS discussion when the time came.
  • We laughed over our proposed Epitaphs..
  • We shared our past losses, things that left a hole in our soul.
  • We ALL have preplanned and paid for our funerals.

To quickly sum it up, we grabbed every moment, every memory, every piece of information and planning ahead for the inevitable while we could. Because as anyone who has gone through A Slow Death of any type they KNOW how fleeting these precious moments are.

HELPFUL LINKS: (if you don’t see what you need, leave me a comment below, I’ll find it for you)

I recommend that you look these up NOW! Don’t delay.. you and your loved ones will be so very grateful you did.

 

 

 

 

 

DEATH COUNTS ON SIRI TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE

ANOTHER GUEST BLOG: There’s a bunch of great bloggers out there!!!

I received an email yesterday from a Henry Augustine via Linked In, inviting me to participate in his first “Prose Anthology Challenge” ,  which asked writers to write 500 words on Death and from there, the top submissions would be published in its first Kindle Anthology.

I’m not entirely sure how Henry got my name but I clicked on the link, just like I arbitrarily click on all links because I firmly believe that if God didn’t want us to receive spam and have our bank accounts hacked, he wouldn’t have created the Internet in the first place.

Anyway, I read some of the submissions and they were all pretty heavy.  Writing about heavy topics is not my thing so I thought I would submit 500 words on the lighter side of Death, something that focused on the more whimsical or positive aspects of ceasing to exist like not having to fill out a FASFA application ever again or being removed from the Lands End catalog database once and for all.

Long story short, it was short story long and I blew past the 500 word mark thus throwing myself out of the running in Mr. Augustine’s Kindle death anthology.  But Henry’s loss is also your loss because I am posting my short story entitled, “Death Comes to Hohokus, NJ” right here and if you leave, I’ll find out where you live and provide your address to  the  good people over at Land’s End.

One last thing.  After you read it and  even if you absolutely hated it, please press “like” and leave lots of positive, wildly exuberant comments about how great it was because I had to explain to my wife why I was writing this when I should have been working and she wasn’t buying it.

Here’s the story:

Death Comes to Hohokus, New Jersey

The doorbell rang and I heard my daughter Claire holler, “I’ll get it!” in that sweet, high pitched voice that made my dog Lester’s ears shoot straight up into the air as if he’d been poked with a fork.  Claire’s very responsible for a three-year old.  Loves to chip in, always asking my wife and me if she could make our bed while we were still in it.

I was in the den splayed out on the couch with a blanket pulled up to my chin.

There was more than eight inches of wet snow on the ground outside and still falling but inside a golf match was on and while I don’t play golf or like golf, I watch it religiously during the winter because winter in New Jersey is so miserably cold, grey and depressing, I take great comfort in knowing that somebody somewhere is enjoying 80 degrees of pure sunshine and lush greenery even if it’s not me.

I felt his presence before he entered the room, and when it’s your turn, trust me, you will too. Lester’s hackles were up but instead of growling he whimpered and disappeared behind one of the curtains.

Claire entered the den holding his hand.  “Dad, your friend Denny is here. Came to say hi.”

“It’s Death, sweetie, not Denny,” Death said.

The whole nine yards: skeleton, black hooded cloak that went all the way to the floor, scythe clutched in one bony hand, floated, didn’t walk.

Claire furrowed her brow for an instant, and I knew she was making sure the name revision stuck. Claire has a habit of furrowing her brow when she’s trying to remember something. I watched her silently mouth the word “death”.

“Ok, bye, Death, bye Dad!” she said, sprinting out of the room.

I suddenly realized I was standing now but with no recollection of how I got there. The blanket was still wrapped around my legs which were shaking so hard I started to vibrate across the room until the coffee table stopped me.

“What is this? Is this some sort of a joke?” I asked, knowing full well this wasn’t a joke.

“Depends on your sense of humor. I hear some people think Gilbert Gottfried is a genius. Let’s keep it simple. I’m Death, your time is up and you are coming with me. Also, contrary to what you heard, I don’t play cards. Or board games.”  He raised his hands to make air quotes. “The ‘engaging Death in games of chance and winning your soul back’ business? Sorry. Strictly Hollywood. Got it? Good. Let’s go.”

I fell back on the couch landing on the remote. The channel changed from golf to TCM. Citizen Kane was on. Death and I looked at the screen. Ironically enough, Orson Welles was on his deathbed. “Rosebud,” Orson Welles gasped.

Citizen Kane!” Death said. He sat down next to me, suddenly engrossed. “Rosebud was his sled. Have you seen it?”

“No. Always meant to,” I said.

“Sorry for ruining the ending but where you’re going, it’s really more of a favor than a spoiler alert,” Death said.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t even know what I’m dying from. Am I dying from something?

“Heart attack.”

“That’s impossible! I got a clean bill of health from my cardiologist just last week. Do you have any idea how much I spend a year on fish oil? Are you sure you got the right guy?”

Death suddenly stood up, raising his scythe menacingly over his head and in an instant his eyes flashed from black to fiery red coals. Remember when you were a kid and you said or did that one thing that pushed your parents over the edge and you could actually see how someone who loved you unconditionally could also be capable of murdering you in cold blood? That’s how this felt when I crossed the line with Death. I pressed my back as deep as I could into the couch in a futile attempt to evade the heat emanating from his eye sockets as his stare bored into me.

“Do you dare mock me? I have the power to make you suffer great pain if that’s your preference.”

“No, that is definitely not my preference,” I said. “I’m sorry and I wasn’t mocking you.  Could you just do me one small favor and show me the work order or whatever it is you people, or if it’s just you, you use to keep track of everything? Just do that and I’ll go with you peacefully, I swear.”

“A work order? You’d like to see some documentation, is that it?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Death’s eyes returned to their original, and now surprisingly reassuring, black eternal void state. He laid his scythe across my coffee table, gently sliding the last glass of Glenfiddich I’d ever have out of its way. “You’re what we in the death collection business call ‘high maintenance’. Have you ever been called that before? High maintenance?”

I watched as Death reached deep inside his cloak and produced an iPhone 6. He opened an app with a tap of his bony finger.

“You have an iPhone?” I asked.

“Who do you think invents technology, Einstein? I’ll give you a hint. Same person that invented Einstein.”

Death clicked anddeath swiped for several seconds while unconsciously singing the chorus to “Who Are You?” by The Who.

“Alright, Mr. Skeptic, here we go. You are Edward Gaines. Age 61. 27 Canterbury Court, Hohokus, New Jersey. Ring a bell? Satisfied? Let’s go.”

Death snatched the scythe off the table and stood up, motioning me toward the door. “After you, Eddie,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. “That’s not me,” I said. “You got the wrong guy! My name is Michael Carmody. I’m 42 years old, not 61 and this is 27 Canterbury Place! Not Court!”

“Impossible,” Death said.

“Claire!” I shouted. “Can you come here?”

I watched Death pull out his phone and begin retracing whatever iPhone steps he took to end up in my den in Hohokus, New Jersey. Claire trotted into the room and suddenly stopped short.

“Dad, the curtain’s shaking.”

“It’s Lester. Claire, tell Death what your full name is and our address.”

“Claire Augusta Carmody, I’m three and I live on 27 Canterbury Place, Hohokus, New Jersey. Wait. Did you ask me to say how old?”

“It’s fine. And what’s my name?”

“Michael Carmody,” she said. “Need me to vacuum anything?”

“No. We’re good,” I said, watching as she ran her finger across one of the windowsills checking for dust and being somewhat disappointed in not finding any before leaving the room.

Death held his phone in front of his face. The fiery red coal eyes were back. Suddenly, I could sense there was another presence in the room. Disembodied but palpable just the same.

“What can I help you with,” the voice asked. I recognized it. It was Siri! Even people in the afterlife use her, I thought to myself. No wonder Apple stock is up to $127 already after the split.

“Directions to 27 Canterbury Court, Hohokus, New Jersey,” Death said.

“Sorry Death, I didn’t quite get that,” Siri said.

“I’m shocked,” Death muttered sarcastically. “Directions to 27 Canterbury Court, Hohokus New Jersey.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find 27 Canterbury Court, Hocus, New Jersey,” Siri said.

“Not Hocus, Hohokus! Hohokus,” Death screamed into his phone. He glared at me. “Why don’t you people have normal town names in this state like Sacramento or Buffalo?”

“Maybe you should direct your anger at Siri,” I said. “She’s the one that screwed up your directions and now my afternoon.”

Death removed the hood of his cloak and scratched the back of his head using the tip of his scythe.  I had the feeling he was in uncharted territory.

I went back to the couch, got under the blanket and flipped the channel back to the golf match. Scottsdale, Arizona. Not a cloud in the sky. All the spectators in short pants. I was already feeling warmer. Death approached.

“Look, I’m really sorry. This was a whole lot easier when we just used index cards. But nowadays everything is iCloud this and iCloud that. Would you believe I got an app on here that tells me what time low tide is on the Styx? I know I put you through a terrible ordeal. Is there any way I can make it up to you?’

I reached for my Glenfiddich, drained the glass and calmly set it back on the table. I looked Death right in the eye. “I don’t know,” I said. “You seem pretty good with that scythe. How are you with a snow shovel?”

© 2015 The Monkey Bellhop and John Hartnett

What do you send instead of flowers?

FI - what to send

What to Send Instead of Flowers

What to Send Instead Of FlowersWhen my dad died there were more flower arrangements at the funeral home than we could count.  Though we were overwhelmed by the support of friends and family that those flowers represented, the tradition of sending flowers has always struck me as a bit strange.  Someone has died, so their friends and family all give them something that will die too.  Hmmm . . .

Don’t get me wrong, my family is Greek and Greeks love flowers at funerals — the more the better.  So I know that sometimes flowers are the perfect gesture after a death.  But with my personal aversion to giving flowers after a loss there are a few alternatives worth sharing for those looking for alternatives.  This is just a start, so if you have other ideas of what to send instead of flowers please leave a comment.  We want as comprehensive a list as possible.

Check for an “in lieu of flower”

Sometimes families have already told you what you can do instead! Check the obituary, funeral home website, or call the funeral home to ask if the family has offered an “in lieu of flowers” suggestion.

Tree or Shrub and Memorial Stonememorial stone

Though this post may not sound like it, I am actually a plant lover! A tree or shrub the family can plant in memory of their loved one is a nice lasting memorial.  Consider whether the family has a space for a tree or shrub and pick one that you feel would make a nice memorial.  There are many beautiful memorial stones you can find here on the With Sympathy Gifts website.  Even if a tree may be too much, these garden stones are a nice gift on their own.

Photos the Family Doesn’t Have

Many times as a friend or extended family member you may have photos that the immediate family does not have.  Consider putting together a memorial album or CD of photos the family doesn’t have of their loved one.  As the weeks and months pass they will likely be glad to have as many pictures as possible.

A Self-Care Gift

One of the most difficult things for people when they are dealing with the death of a family member is taking care of themselves.  Giving someone a gift such as a gift certificate for a massage, manicure, or even a private yoga class (some instructors will come to your home) is a nice gesture that may help them take time for themselves.  A self-care basket could also be nice if you don’t think they will be up for going out (think nice pajamas, bath items, a candle, a magazine, dvd etc).  Consider the person who has experienced the loss – if they love movies or baseball, tickets to a game or a movie gift card may be more appropriate.

A Dedication or Donation

Consider a dedication or donation you could make that will reflect the life of that person, or your relationship with them.  The options for this are endless – if this is a friend from high school or college, consider a memorial donation to that institution.  If the person was involved in a church or community organization call to see if a donation could be made or an item dedicated.  If the individual had any interest, from sports to art to animals and anything in between, seek a non-profit that may be working in those areas and make a contribution in their memory.  Most places will send an acknowledgement to the family that a donation was made in memory, so make sure to check and provide the family member’s address.

A Memorial Guestbook

memorial guestbookThis is not just any guestbook!  The Guestbook Store sells a customized memorial guestbook where those who attend a memorial service can sign not just their name, but also share a memory of the person and a special message to the family.  The service is often a blur for families, so having this book will allow guest to share memories and messages that the family will be able to look back on later.  Click here to check out their memorial book!

Vacation Time

If your co-worker has lost someone and you are considering an alternative to flowers, consider donating a day of leave.  Most companies only offer a couple days of bereavement time and, if their loss was not immediate family, they may receive no leave time at all.  Donating a day can mean the difference between someone having to return to work the day after a funeral versus having a day or two to rest before returning to work. Check with your HR department to see if your company allows this and what the process is.

Something For the Kids

Though one of the first questions people will ask after a loss is how the children who were affected are doing, children are rarely considered when thinking of things that can be given to a family.  Children can often feel forgotten with all the attention around a death and funeral.  Any small gift can remind them that you are thinking of them.  Think of the age and interest of the children – a stuffed animal (to cuddle with for comfort), a journal (to express feelings), coloring books, activity books, movies, or video games (to occupy themselves when everyone else is busy) are all easy suggestions that will let a child know you haven’t forgotten them.

House Cleaning

When a loved one is ill or dies housework (understandably) gets put on the back burner.  This can continue for weeks or months as we grieve.  Immediately following a loss friends and family are often stopping by the house and it can be a big source of stress that the house hasn’t been cleaned up.  A gift certificate to a cleaning service (even better, with an offer to call and get it scheduled) can be a relief to the family.  You could offer to clean their home, but keep in mind that many people are self-conscious about their mess and would rather have a stranger do this than a friend.

Lawn Care Service

Similar to the above suggestion, many times the person who has died was the person mowing the lawn and taking care of other outside needs.  Even if this is not the case, taking care of those things can be an unnecessary stress on the family.  A gift certificate to a lawn care service (even better, with an offer to call and get it scheduled) is a thoughtful and useful gesture.

Book of Letters

One gesture we have seen and found incredibly meaningful is organizing friends to compile a book of letters.  This is common when there are young children, as friends can write letters to the children about their parent, grandparent, or other family member.  But this doesn’t need to be limited to children.  A book of letters to a parent about their adult child can be extremely meaningful, as there are often many things their child has done and lives they have touched that the parents are unaware of.  This type of book is minimal in cost (all you need is a nice binder and possibly some page protectors, or a bound book that each person writes directly in) but it requires a lot of effort and coordination in contacting friends and gathering the letters.  This is a gesture many families will appreciate for years to come.

Food

Food is a tricky one, though it is a common gesture sent instead of flowers (or in addition to flowers!).  This probably requires its own post, but for now I will just say be thoughtful about how, when, and what you bring if you decide on food.  Right after a death families are often overwhelmed with food.  In a few weeks after the death a gift of food will probably be much more appreciated than right away, when the family has more casseroles than they can shove in the freezer.  A nice basket of non-perishable foods can be nice, especially snacks they can offer to people who stop by unexpectedly.  A good standby if you really want to stick with food may be a gift card to a local restaurant or carry out.  Another nice offer would be to grab their grocery list and go shopping for them.

Flowers or Plants

If you decide flowers are the right thing for you to send, you can make this more thoughtful than a standard arrangement.  First, consider the person who died – is there a plant, flower, or color than reminds you of that person for any reason?  If so, that may be a nice choice.  If not, decide if you want to send flowers or a plant.  The plant is something the family can keep, though not all families will want or appreciate that.  Then consider if there is a flower you have found particularly comforting.  When we lost my dad someone sent an arrangement of all white irises.  It was so beautiful and, for whatever reason, I found it so comforting.  Though I rarely send flowers now after a death, when I do think flowers are the best gesture I will send white irises because they brought comfort to me.

Buy your self a gift:

If you are looking for concrete, helpful ideas for being a good friend to a griever, don’t miss our ebook: Guide to Supporting a Griever (without sticking your foot in your mouth). Don’t worry, it is cheap and jam packed with helpful info (no angels, rainbows, inspirational quotes, or fluff — just helpful tips). You can find it here on amazon:
http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=whsyogr09-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B00FXIBFQW
These are just a few ideas.  If you are looking for ways to support people after a death, check out our post on Supporting a Friend After a Death.  If you are worried about what to say to a friend, you can check out our list of What NOT to Say After a Death for some guidance.  If you have no idea what to write on your sympathy card check out our post onHow to Write a Sympathy Card.

The post today was from What’s Your Grief

Many of you probably have other suggestions to add to this list, please leave your suggestion in the comments below.   Thank you, from Patti, the Diva of Death

Nurse reveals the top 5 regrets people make on their deathbed

clasped hands

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them. When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

Credits: This article first appeared on inspirationandchai.com via Real Farmacy