Reflecting on Death and Dying

My dad’s memorial service was held one year ago on this day. His and my mom’s ashes were then buried together in the cemetery where four previous generations of his family are interred. I felt immense relief at the end of the day one year ago, in completing the last step of holding my dad and honoring him as best I could during the six years we cared for and advocated for him. I imagined that I’d feel more myself at the end of the day one year ago, more like the sense of my self had come back in.

Yet, as I sit here today, I can share that I am somewhat more lost than ever. I became an empty nester at about the same time as I became an orphan. My life had been dedicated to parenting, and then to caregiving. So, now passed the crossroads of these milestones, I now have the luxury of reflecting and of finding balance.

I don’t know if I’ll come back from caregiving with the same lightness I once carried. I seek to see the world with freshness again, yet I am bone weary. I wish my parents had the courage to communicate with each other and with me about their declining health and their needs as they got older. Instead, they slammed phones and doors and avoided me, shutting out any possibility of conversing about what was inevitable. That day finally arrived when my mom suddenly passed, and it all came crashing down on my shoulders. I wish I had been prepared. I wish I had been more resilient. Most of all I wish I missed my mom and dad now. I don’t, especially her. This makes me sad, yet I am so much more relieved they are both free from their suffering; her from her demons and him from his pain.

Caregiving shattered me and it crushed me. I’m not sure how else to put it. We moved through each day working off sheer will and instinct. Outside of the high demands of his physical needs, his mind was both beautiful and complicated. He was lost when my mom died: she controlled every part of his life. Thankfully she went first. I realized immediately that I could be there for my dad. If he had passed first, there is no way in hell I could have cared for her. Sitting with sixteen months between his passing and where I am today, I know for sure now there is absolutely no way I’d go back and take care of my dad again if I had the choice.

Today I invite my heart to break open so I can peel back more layers of our complicated family dynamics. Today I have time to reflect. Today I can share too that too many years of holding complications internally does not fare well for our physical health in the long run. Life is complicated. Family dynamics are complicated. I am willing to admit that I am complicated.

Here’s to healing and releasing, opening and allowing softness back into our bodies, our lives, and especially our hearts as we all make our way forward. Here’s to quieting the multitude of distractions so the mind can fully clear.

I want to recognize those in my tribe who have stayed close, especially my husband. I have not been myself for a very long time. It is truly beautiful to see who has remained with me, holding my hand and heart tenderly in the stadium of life after a big game, after the sun has set, and the crew has turned off all the lights. From this place of supported darkness, we can truly see the stars and the moon shine.

Someday, I hope to help others feel more prepared if they find themselves in the same position. Death and the dying process are not the worst of what I faced: they have been the most magical aspects of this entire experience.

(This is the last image taken of my dad and I holding hands. He passed a few hours after this was taken.)


Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.


Here's to Mondays

So to counteract the doom and gloom of our country's ongoing political meltdown crap show, I now choose to share something that brings me great joy.

I freaking love Mondays. I've had friends laugh through the years when I share this with them, and they then ask me what the hell am I thinking! Yet why not look at Mondays differently? Mondays get a bad rap collectively, and so from the time I was young, I decided I would look at Mondays differently. There's gotta be an upside. And there sure is. And it all comes down to what we choose to believe.

On this Monday, I am celebrating my new Whole Seed Catalog and all of the promise it carries. This is my spring go-to for garden inspiration and ideas. And, while I'm at it, I love my old Bass canvas bag. This workhorse has been by my side since I was 14 and she's still going strong. Who needs new, fancy, trendy and expensive when you have trusty, sturdy, and dependable? (This, by the way, is how I look at most material objects.)

On this Monday, what brings you joy? Let's shift our worlds. Let's share what brings us joy and life and happiness.


Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.


Closing the Circle

We spent the long weekend honoring my dad and laying to rest his and Mom's ashes. We now close the circle of her sudden passing six years ago and complete this chapter of learning how to become spontaneous caregivers for Dad who has needed us so desperately.

I realize on the other side of this weekend I can now start to reframe the stories, experiences, hardships, and heartaches of being parented by two incredibly lovely, yet devastatingly out of balance individuals. They were trying to do their best. Life is full of contrasts, isn’t it? I have so much deep healing to do and stories to understand. I know I would not be who I am today without the family who raised me. Blessing upon blessing, I have also been raised (and continue to be raised) by so very many who are not related to me through bloodlines.

One thing I know for certain is that I have needed community to help care for and advocate for us especially in dire times. I've learned I cannot and do not want to journey on my own in this lifetime. No man (or woman) is an island, yet this is the message I was taught and shown for 42 years. For my mom and my maternal lineage especially, asking for assistance was shown to be a weakness and significant lack of character. How debilitating this message was and how my heart goes out to all who are not able to trust others and reach out for help when they need it most.

Now more than ever we also need to be fully accountable, honest, and vulnerable. How else are we going to make it? Every day this is our choice.

The clarity created out of absolute necessity these past six years has provided a canvas upon which to build a solid new foundation. I will begin to build again. Rest is first though: my mind has been overwhelmed, my body is exhausted, and my spirit absolutely needs quiet and stillness and space to learn how to breathe again.

I hope to write more about all of this when I find the balance in my heart and in words. I feel there will be many words to share.

For now, I thank all who have offered love, support, and encouragement through the years. I see you and I hold you close. For the first time in so many years, I am starting to see the light of hope and joy and connection in the future again.

Image: the meadow space at home where I plan to spend a lot of time in the coming months laying on the ground and coming back to foundational basics.


Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.