Month: April 2023

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How To Support A Loved One Suffering From A Life-Threatening Illness


By Amanda Chatel

Watching someone you love suffer through an illness that could possibly lead to the end of their life is one of the most difficult things anyone can encounter. It doesn’t matter if your loved one lived well into their 90s or they’re still in the prime of their life — it’s a tragic loss for everyone involved. That’s especially true for the one who’s been diagnosed.

“You can be the most intelligent, organized person in the world, but hearing distressing news about your condition makes it hard to keep things straight,” associate medical director for Capital Caring Farrah Daly, M.D. tells WebMD.

Because of this, trying to navigate how to support a loved one in such a position can feel daunting. You want to be there for them, but you also want to give them their dignity and space when they need it. You want to be helpful, but also not treat them as though they’re incapable of things that they can still manage — and even want to manage — to do. It’s all about finding the right balance as to how to support them in a way that makes their mental and physical health as stress-free as possible during this difficult time.

Be honest with each other

There’s no sense in tiptoeing around the truth. If your loved one has a life-threatening illness, then it simply can’t be ignored. If there are children who will be affected by the illness, the truth shouldn’t be kept from them either. We live in a culture that still treats death as a taboo subject, which makes talking about it even more difficult. But it shouldn’t have to be that way.

“Death is an inevitable part of all our lives, and yet in modern society we have become far more distanced from the first-hand reality of it,” chief executive of Sue Ryder, a bereavement support center, Heidi Travis tells BBC. “It’s really time to open up a national conversation on death and dying with greater education and dialogue.”

While the illness shouldn’t be the only thing that’s discussed during this time, having conversations about it (instead of fearing the talks) will help everyone. It may not lead to acceptance of the illness — but it will help eliminate the stigma surrounding sickness and death.

Allow your loved one to feel their feelings

Until you’ve been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, you’ll never truly know what that type of information does to a person. With this in mind, it’s important to allow your loved one to feel their feelings — all of them. If they’re feeling rage, anger, sadness, fear, guilt, cheated, or any other emotion, the best way to support them is to let them feel it all and actively listen to everything they’re saying. It’s important to realize that there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. Being given such news can bring out parts of your loved one that you may have never seen before.

“Let them feel what they want to feel by ensuring they are comfortable around you,” CEO of Grief Coach Emma Payne tells TZR. “But remember, everyone mourns differently, so be there for them whichever way they choose to cope (unless it’s dangerously unhealthy) … simply listen and sit with them as they grieve.”

If your loved one is dying, you can’t change that or take it away. But you can give them all the space they need to mourn their impending passing. Talk about everything they need to say before it’s too late.

Ask your loved one who they want to notify

Because of the taboo surrounding death and life-threatening illnesses, make sure you get the okay from your loved about who they would like to know about their sickness — and whom they’d prefer to keep in the dark. Not everyone is comfortable sharing such news, just like not everyone is comfortable receiving such news.

“Some people want to tell their story over and over again to each person — it helps them process their feelings,” associate medical director for Capital Caring, Farrah Daly, M.D., tells WebMD. “Others don’t want to relive the experience and would rather someone explain things for them. There’s no one right way.”

Even if you disagree with your loved one about certain people knowing that they’re sick, this is not your journey. While anyone who knows and loves someone with a life-threatening illness is involved, ultimately, this isn’t about you; it’s about the person who has the illness. Do right by them and only tell those whom they want to know about it.

Come up with a schedule

Depending on how far the illness is, there may be a need for a schedule for family members to stick to make sure your loved one is as comfortable as possible. For example, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, someone might be in charge of taking your loved one to doctor’s appointments. On Sundays, someone can bring over food for a few days so the person who is ill doesn’t have to think about preparing meals.

“Don’t wait for them to ask,” Dr. Varun Choudhary tells Bustle. “Instead, offer to help by bringing over dinner, shopping, gardening, etc.”

When people are very sick, they sometimes forget to take care of themselves because their mind is someplace else. Creating a schedule that everyone agrees works for them to make sure your loved one has food, takes their medication when they’re supposed to, and never misses a doctor’s appointment, creates an entire network of support so no one feels alone during this heartbreaking time.

Help them achieve any final wishes

If it looks as though your loved one is coming to the end of their life, then it’s time to have the very difficult talk about end-of-life wishes. In addition to helping them get their affairs in order so they don’t have to worry about how their last will and testament will be received by beneficiaries, you also want to talk to them about things they didn’t do, but might still want to. They’ve never seen the Pacific Ocean? Then it looks like it’s time for a road trip. They’ve always wanted to see the Red Sox play against the New York Yankees? Well, buy some tickets and get ready to heckle the opposing team’s fans (and enjoy boxes and boxes of extra salty popcorn).

Of course, not all wishes can be granted. But those that can fulfilled? Do your best to honor them for your loved one’s sake.

Allow yourself to grieve

Although you should try to avoid grieving in front of your sick loved one, it’s only natural to grieve what you’re going to lose — and grieve what your loved one is losing too. Grief is complicated. While your grief is going to look very different from the grief of your sick loved one (because you’re grieving different things), you shouldn’t try to suppress your feelings. People can’t be fully present and supportive if they’re hiding from their own feelings.

“Many people say they are feeling a heavy sadness — and what they’re describing is grief,” thanatologist David Kessler tells The Guardian. “We’re grieving the world we have lost: normal life, our routines, seeing our friends, going to work. Everything has changed. And change is actually grief — grief is a change we didn’t want.”

There will be okay days, and there will be bad days, but rarely good days as you support your loved one through this. You can’t undo reality. But as long as you stand by them and give them all the love and support you can, then you will have done right by them — and you won’t regret what you should have done differently down the road.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Before your real funeral, you should attend a “living funeral”

— At this event, you’ll be around to hear the eulogy.

by Alexandra Keeler

  • A “living funeral” — also known as a “living wake” — is a ceremony held for a person who is still alive.
  • The living funeral has cultural roots in Japan as well as in long-held indigenous North American traditions.
  • While living funerals can ease fear and anxiety about death, traditional post-mortem funerals retain an important role in the grieving process.

“What a waste. All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it.”
— Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

Death is inevitable. It is out of our control. But how we die is within our control. One way to reclaim some measure of control over death is by way of a “living funeral,” also known as a “living wake” — a ceremony held for a person who is still alive, often to celebrate their life and legacy while they are able to participate. Unlike a traditional funeral, it is a way for the person to say goodbye to loved ones and to be able to smell the flowers at their own funeral.

These events are often planned with the help of a “death doula,” who can provide guidance and support in creating a meaningful ceremony that reflects the individual’s wishes, values, and beliefs. The word “doula” is derived from the Greek term doulē, which means “female servant.”

A death doula is a trained guide who can provide  a holistic, community-based and personalized end-of-life experience. They work alongside medical and palliative care professionals rather than replacing them. Their training can include knowledge of the biological, psychological, social, spiritual, legal, and ethical aspects of end-of-life care. Overall, death doulas can help to alleviate the collective fear of death and promote greater peace and understanding in the face of this universal experience.

Where did living funerals come from?

The specific origins of living funerals are difficult to trace, as rituals like these have developed independently in different cultures over time.

The Lakota Sioux have a tradition of the living funeral in which they repair relationships or make amends, distribute family heirlooms, and eat traditional foods as a way of purifying and preparing for death. Near the time of death, family, friends, and neighbors gather to say farewell.

A living funeral is for the dying, while traditional funerals are for the survivors.

Anishinaabe people in the Great Lakes region of Canada and America also honor their dying loved ones with end-of-life ceremonies. A pipe ritual is commonly conducted by a spiritual leader to guide the person’s spirit to the spirit world. The sacred pipe is a revered tool for communication with the Creator, and during the ceremony, tobacco is smoked to express gratitude for life and creation. The dying person makes amends with the Creator while family members pray for their safe passage. Sacred medicines are burned, offerings of food and cloth are made, and loved ones sing sacred songs to ease the pain of the dying until their spirit leaves their body.

The Japanese have a non-traditional practice called seizensō, which means “funeral while alive.” According to cultural anthropologist Satsuki Kawano, this gives the elderly a novel sense of independence, countering negative perceptions of aging and the elderly. Due to various societal and economic factors, Japan’s traditional respect for elders is eroding and ageism has become a problem. Seizensō challenges the notion that the elderly are passive or burdensome members of society and emphasizes the importance of shaping their own lives and legacies.

What does a living funeral actually consist of?

Planning a living funeral is very personal and customizable, and the specifics can vary. The ceremony can be held in various locations, including a person’s home, an outdoor spot, a favorite restaurant, or any place of significance. Guests can bring mementos that trigger memories and stories, informal speeches can be made, and a designated friend or officiant typically orchestrates the activities. The sequence of events can include any variety of activities that reflect the individual’s personality and interests, but food, videography, music, art, and visiting the final resting place are some common choices.

One of the most important aspects of the living funeral is making the dying person feel comfortable and cared for. BJ Miller, a palliative care physician at the University of California-San Francisco Cancer Center, said in a 2015 TED talk, “So much of it comes down to loving our time by way of the senses — by way of the body; the very thing doing the living and the dying.” He urges people involved in end-of-life care to consider the bodily senses of the person who is dying. He recommends creating a pleasant and comforting experience for them that takes all of their senses into account and honors their dignity. He describes one elderly woman’s request to feel her dog pressing its nose against her skin.

Death doula Alua Arthur emphasizes creating an ideal deathbed as part of the living funeral ceremony. She advises making it comfortable, aesthetically pleasing, and sensually enriching by including favorite scents (incense), colors (pillows, art, flowers), and sounds (singing bowls, music).

If a ceremony is intended to help the person nearing the end of their life overcome anxiety about death, one of the events might include a guided meditation that walks the dying person through a visualization of their own death. Visualization techniques can be used to induce a sense of calm and connection to the natural world, and can help one to confront and come to terms with one’s own mortality. One such visualization guided by death doula Brooke Manning involves imagining oneself in a peaceful natural setting and then visualizing a metaphorical representation of life as a light within the body. This light is then imagined to sink down into the earth, joining up with lights that represent other people’s life sources, creating a sense of connection to the universe and fostering a deep understanding of one’s place in the world.

Informed consent should be at the center of a living funeral ceremony. It is important to ensure that the person for whom the living funeral is being planned has autonomy. A living funeral can also be an emotional experience for everyone involved, so it is important to ensure that the person and their loved ones are emotionally prepared for the experience.

Any decisions made should also be respectful of the person’s cultural, religious, and personal beliefs. To ensure that the ceremony appropriately reflects this, it is important to involve doulas who have the necessary cultural and spiritual knowledge, so it’s often helpful to select someone who approaches this work through a polytheistic lens.

One of the main decisions when planning a living funeral involves the timing of the ceremony. While it is a personal choice, and there is no specific requirement, most people choose to have a living funeral when they receive a terminal diagnosis or when they feel that their death may be approaching. However, others may choose to have it earlier to proactively participate in the event, enjoy the celebration of their life, and have meaningful conversations with their loved ones while they are still able to do so.

Living funerals can’t replace the real thing

Unlike in a traditional funeral, a living funeral allows the central figure to speak, hear others speak, take part in rituals and rites of commemoration, all while in the presence of supporters as witnesses. It is a collaborative and personalized ceremony that empowers the person of focus with agency during a time when their control is slipping away.

Psychologist Dr. Nick Capaul, who specializes in grief and loss, explains that an appropriate way to think about the difference between the two types of funeral, is that a living funeral is for the dying, while traditional funerals are for the survivors. Although both are beneficial, the latter is often still required for the bereaved to gain closure. In his experience, when families opt for a living funeral instead of a traditional post-mortem funeral, other family members or friends of the bereaved push back. They almost always want a traditional funeral. When people are robbed of their opportunity to confront and process death, people can experience what is called “disenfranchised grief.” In reference to grief, disenfranchisement means depriving someone of their right to grieve. Dr. Capaul believes that a living funeral does not include the element of loss, and if there is no loss, you are not truly confronting grief or processing death.

Dying individuals are often isolated due to illness or conditions that limit their communication and mobility, while friends and family may also avoid interactions due to discomfort and cultural taboos around death. A living funeral can provide one last party, similar to an Irish wake. In general, while being around a person nearing the end of their life can be emotionally challenging, creating more opportunities to spend time with them can be beneficial for everyone involved.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Returning to Our Roots

— The Rise in Human Composting

More Americans are turning to human composting—now legal in six states—to avoid the environmental pitfalls of mainstream deathcare.

by Britany Robinson

Frederick “Fritz” Weresch planned on becoming a math teacher or a famous actor. He was empathetic and diplomatic, known to gently encourage the shy students to speak up in class. The high school senior loved music, learned the piano as a child, and had recently taught himself to play guitar.

He also, according to his friends, had talked about wanting to be composted after he died. His parents, Eileen and Wes Weresch, wanted this for themselves, too. They just never imagined they’d be carrying out Fritz’s wishes before their own.

Fritz, 18, was found unconscious on November 30, 2022. He died six days later from unknown but natural causes, according to his family,

His parents are still wading through the thick of mourning. “Grief brain” is making it hard to remember certain details about the months since Fritz’s death, Eileen said. But one thing she and her husband feel good and confident about was their decision to have Fritz’s body undergo human composting, also known as natural organic reduction or “terramation.”

Human composting is the process of turning human remains into nutrient-rich soil. It’s an option that avoids the environmental pitfalls of more mainstream practices: cremation releases carbon dioxide and air pollutants, and casket burial typically involves hazardous embalming chemicals and nonbiodegradable materials.

It’s a practice that some say could shift the United States’ $20 billion deathcare industry. More than 52% of Americans are interested in “green burial,” according to a 2019 survey from the National Funeral Directors’ Association (NFDA).

Six states have legalized human composting in the last four years. Washington state, where the Wereschs live, was the first, legalizing the process in 2019.

“There’s this romanticism to it,” said Haley Morris, a spokesperson with Earth Funeral, a human composting facility in Auburn, Washington. “So many people want to turn into a tree.” But at the root of this romantic idea is something that’s increasingly possible, Morris explains: “For your final act to do good for the Earth.”

When Fritz died, Eileen and Wes approached Return Home, a Seattle-based company, to care for his remains and host a laying-in ceremony. His body was placed in a large, white, reusable vessel on a bed of organic materials—straw, alfalfa, and wood chips. Loved ones added flowers and notes to the mix. Fritz’s best friend cut off his long, curly black hair to lay with Fritz, prompting other attendees to leave locks of their hair as well.

“We got to be there and be part of the process,” Eileen said. “Our culture has made dead bodies icky or scary and that’s not the case.” She said something doesn’t feel right about seeing an embalmed body. “But [Fritz’s] body felt so right. You could hold his hand, and it felt like holding his hand.”

With Eileen’s permission, Return Home captured and shared a video of the ceremony to Tik Tok, where it has more than 600,000 followers.

“The first and most important thing we need to do is win over hearts and minds,” said Micah Truman, the founder of Return Home. He said one way to do that has been to normalize and provide explanations on human composting via social media.

“There’s this romanticism to it…for your final act to do good for the Earth.” — Haley Morris, spokesperson, Earth Funeral

Human composting, or as Return Home calls it “terramation,” is typically an eight to 12-week process, depending on the provider. Once a body has arrived at a human composting facility, they’re placed in a reusable vessel. Some providers, like Return Home, offer funeral services or a “laying-in” ceremony, after which the vessel is sealed and naturally occurring microbes begin to decompose the body. Rotating the vessel along with careful control of temperature and moisture levels also help the process along. Details vary across providers, including how bones are dealt with. At Return Home, they’re removed after one month, reduced to tiny shards, and returned to the vessel to continue decomposing.

The resulting soil, about one cubic yard, can be used to plant trees, spread in gardens, or saved however the family sees fit. Some families opt to donate soil to a nature preserve or land restoration project, Morris said, adding that Earth Funeral owns five acres on the Olympic Peninsula where they send donated soil.

Until recently, most Americans were buried in caskets. Casket burial typically involves embalming the body with chemicals, including formaldehyde, menthol, phenol, and glycerin. Every year in the U.S. 800,000 gallons of formaldehyde go into the ground with embalmed bodies, according to the Green Burial Project. Formaldehyde is listed as a probable human carcinogen by the Environmental Protection Agency, and according to a study by the National Cancer Institute, morticians have a significantly higher rate of myeloid leukemia.

In addition to toxic chemicals, casket burial uses an abundance of materials—concrete, wood, steel—for a single purpose, which are then left in the ground. Land usage is another concern. Cemeteries use up land that might otherwise offer natural habitat to wild animals or housing for humans, covering those acres with monoculture lawns treated with petrochemicals. The space to do this, especially near population-dense cities, is becoming scarce. A traditional funeral with a casket burial is also expensive. The median cost in 2021 was $7,848, according to NFDA.

Today, slightly more Americans opt for cremation, a cheaper and less land-intensive option than burial, but one with its own problems. The impact of burning corpses on air quality made headlines in 2020 when Los Angeles county was forced to suspend limits on the number of cremations due to a backlog of bodies from the coronavirus pandemic. Those limits exist because cremation releases air pollutants, including particulate matter. Most of these are filtered out by post-treatment systems, but cremation still emits about 573 pounds of carbon dioxide—the equivalent of a 500-mile car journey—per corpse.

From a financial perspective, human composting typically costs less than casket burial and more than cremation. Return Home’s standard pricing is $4,950.

Eileen Weresch first heard about human composting on an NPR segment back in 2019. She researched the process and, that night, brought it up over chicken fajitas with her family.

“I was fascinated,” said Eileen. “We talked about how it’s carbon capturing instead of carbon emitting; how it’s going back to our roots.” And so it was decided: Eileen and Wes wished to undergo human composting when they died. Eileen recalled that Fritz, “was super into it, too.”

Fritz was an organ donor. While Wes and Eileen held vigil during their son’s final days on life support, they heard from several of Fritz’s friends. They wanted Fritz’s parents to know he had told them he wanted his body to be composted when he died. Those friends, along with hundreds of classmates and loved ones, lined the halls of the hospital for Fritz’s “honor walk,” when Fritz was wheeled to the operating room where his organs were prepared for donation.

“I believe that in the future, medical science will prove that at least one aspect of what we call ‘love’ resides in our physical bodies and ourselves,” Eileen told those who had gathered to say goodbye. After Fritz died, his body was transported to Return Home.

“I believe that in the future, medical science will prove that at least one aspect of what we call ‘love’ resides in our physical bodies and ourselves.” — Eileen Weresch, Mother to a terramated young person

Truman, the founder of Return Home, was an investor when he first heard about human composting. He’d been looking for a new focus in life. “I’d come to the conclusion that infinite growth in a finite world is madness,” he says. He wanted to build a company where “the bigger it gets, the better the world gets.”

After first hearing about human composting, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. At first, it struck him as odd. But the more he talked to people who loved the idea of becoming soil after death, the better he understood the appeal. “Love it or hate it,” he says, “this idea will live in your head rent-free. I just had to do it.” He opened Return Home in June of 2021.

Rob Goff, executive director of the Washington State Funeral Directors Association, says they receive calls from all over the world, from people who want to know more about human composting, which is estimated to become a $1 billion industry. Traditional funeral homes in Washington are responding to this demand, many of which have added human composting as a line item, working with providers to transport bodies to their facilities.

Human composting as practiced by startups like Return Home isn’t the only way to lessen the environmental burden of deathcare, said Carlton Basmajian, urban planner and author of Planning for the Deceased. The terramation process is best understood as an alternative to cremation because the body is broken down in a facility and the family is given the remains at the end of the process. He said he sees more promise in so-called “natural” or “green” burials, which entails designating land for the burial of bodies without chemicals or coffins. (Many of these sites, including one that Eileen approached, only allow for burials during warmer months when the soil is soft.)

“[Natural burial] has the potential to allow us to preserve and rehabilitate larger areas of land,” said Basmajian.

Truman said he believes the process at Return Home gives families more time to grieve, compared to the long-standing traditions of the funeral industry. With human composting, families can visit their loved one’s vessel throughout decomposition. They can call and check in on how the process is going. The traditional funeral industry, Truman says, has turned grieving into a 48-hour process, but many find that insufficient. “We hurt, and we do it for a long time.”

In February, more than two months after Fritz died, Eileen received a call notifying her that Fritz’s body had completed its transformation into soil. She and her husband are now making plans to distribute his remains to loved ones and build a memorial garden in his honor.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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How to Live When You Know You’re Dying

— If my father knew his death was imminent, why didn’t he warn us?

By Nicole Chung

Nicole Chung is a Slate Care and Feeding columnist and the author of the new memoir A Living Remedy, from which this essay was adapted.

There are so many things you do for a person after they die, things they don’t need—the living do. Rituals, memorial services, acts of public mourning are all ways of honoring the person we loved, intended to bring us comfort as well. After my father died, I welcomed the chance to work on his obituary, look for photos for the memorial display, find something suitable for my children to wear to the funeral. I even found some strange consolation in my attempts to explain the unexplainable to them, because these were all duties to manage, tasks I could do. As long as I had responsibilities, I didn’t have to sit with the wrathful stillness of grief.

In the end, however, there were few preparations to throw myself into once I got home to Oregon, because my parents’ friends were already hard at work on their behalf. In their hands, the service and burial would be exactly what my mother wanted. The choir knew their parts by heart. There was no need to hire a caterer, because everyone was bringing a dish to share. A craftsman in the parish was working on the casket and refused to accept payment for it.

A number of items went into my father’s casket to be buried with him: a cross, also made of wood and small enough to fit in one of his hands; a white cloth draped across his forehead, representing the crown of victory he had earned for running his earthly race, adorned with the prayer Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us; and an icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent, a 12th-century monk’s rendering of St. John Climacus’ treatise on the 30 steps monastics might progress along in order to reach Christ, who awaits the faithful at the summit, his once-pierced hands outstretched.

I had never been to an Orthodox Christian funeral before, but my mother had told me it was a beautiful liturgy. With my father’s siblings unable to travel and my mother’s largely absent, it was their parish community that drew together to mourn and bury him. Many people approached before the service to tell me how much they had loved my father. As happens at all open-casket funerals, everyone told my mother that Dad looked really good for being dead. “They did a great job on him,” she agreed.

During the service, my parents’ priest spoke of the daily pain Dad had lived with and how, in the end, he’d allowed this suffering to bring him closer to God. Of course, he couldn’t know the day or the hour. But he knew he would soon meet our Lord, and he prepared for that meeting. This, he concluded, is why my father ultimately knew peace at his death: It did not find him unready.

If that was true, I thought, why hadn’t my mother and I known? Had my father truly spent the past weeks, maybe even months, preparing to die? If he’d known his death was imminent, why didn’t he warn us? I stared at him in his casket, and the sudden flare of anger I felt was so unlike sorrow that I let myself take momentary refuge in it. If you really knew and didn’t tell us, that was a real dick move, Dad.

When we approached to say our final goodbyes, Mom put her arm around my shoulders, her solid warmth a familiar comfort. “Don’t despair,” she told me. “This is our hope in the resurrection.” The words might have upset me coming from anyone else in that church, anyone else in the world. But I felt her sorrow as something deeper and more powerful than my own, and couldn’t help but feel awed by her abiding faith in what she saw as my father’s victory over death. She was a warrior, even in grief.

Though raised in a devout Catholic family, I was no longer a regular Sunday churchgoer. There were too many things that I felt ambivalent about or disagreed with altogether. And as I get older, I’ve found that there are some answers I don’t need. I can’t say whether I will ever again feel as certain of anything as my parents were of the mercy of God or the promise of heaven. But it’s also true that the faith you’re raised in can still move fathoms below the surface, even when your relationship to it has changed beyond recognition. As I held my mother’s hand at the cemetery, watching my father’s casket disappear beneath a layer of earth, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised to feel the old belief stir, bearing me up like a strong current, as undeniable as it was unseen.

My parents became Orthodox Christians after I had left home. My mother converted first—I think my father was less inclined than she to commit his time and energy to another church that might prove unworthy; plus, he liked having his Sundays free, especially during football season. Eventually Mom got tired of going to church alone. You need to find some church that’ll bury you when the time comes, you know.

The first time Dad went with her to church, he halted at the entrance, causing my mother to run into him and ask what he’d seen. He pointed to an icon above the door, one of dozens that filled the walls. “I’ve seen that before!” It was an icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent. Mom, a recent but fervent devotee of iconography, started to explain its origins, but he interrupted. “I don’t mean I’ve seen the icon before. I mean, I’ve seen that ladder. I saw it right after we moved here.”

She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

After my parents moved to the area, they would often spend their days off driving with no particular destination in mind, getting to know the landscape. One afternoon they were heading home from somewhere far out in the country, the region’s tallest mountain in full view, when my father glimpsed a ladder beside it, partially hidden by clouds encircling the peak. If he squinted, he could see tiny figures clinging to the rungs, some slowly ascending while others stumbled and fell. He watched in wonder for a few seconds, but when he blinked, the ladder had disappeared.

He didn’t have an explanation for what he’d seen, couldn’t begin to guess what it meant, so he never told anyone. Not until some 30 years later, when, entering a mission church housed in a storefront, he encountered an icon written by a long-dead monk at a monastery on Mount Sinai. “That’s what I saw on the mountain when we were driving home all those years ago,” he said to my mother, who was still looking at him in astonishment. “That’s my ladder.”

Written for monastics and studied by laypeople as well, St. John Climacus’ Ladder of Divine Ascent is an allegorical model of the Christian journey to holiness. The 30 rungs of his ladder represent 30 steps: passions to be mastered, vices to conquer, virtues to attain. Among the virtues extolled is “remembrance of death,” which, he asserted, should inspire us to live as God would wish and do as much good as we can.

“Just as the Fathers lay down that perfect love is free from falls,” he wrote, “so I for my part declare that a perfect sense of death is free from fear. … It is impossible, someone says, impossible to spend the present day devoutly unless we regard it as the last of our whole life.” It’s a charge that reminds me of the old Ash Wednesday exhortation: Remember, man, you are dust, and to dust you shall return. In the Christian sense, these are calls to repentance, but one can also read them as invitations to surrender: to accept our limitations and our mortality; to be prepared, not consumed with clawing fear, for our life’s eventual end; to focus on doing good and not harm, because any day could be our last.

After my father’s death, my mother told me she believed that he often perceived things she could not. She said he was able to grasp certain matters at an instinctive level, to accept them on faith, whereas she was always quick to question or feel frustrated by that which she could not immediately understand. Perhaps this also proved true in my father’s final months: She railed against his illnesses, resented them, as you do when someone you love is suffering. He struggled as well, and maybe at times even despaired, but I think, of the three of us, he was the quickest to understand and accept what would happen. He had to have been feeling his worst in the weeks before he died, yet when we spoke, he seemed so calm that I could almost forget how much he was enduring.

I couldn’t understand it after he died, of course, but then I am much more like my mother: I hated that he was in pain, blamed myself for not being able to help, yet could never manage to convince myself that he would die. If he had told me he was about to die but did not dread it—because he was “remembering death,” or because he had somehow found strength in something far beyond his own fear—I would not have wanted to hear him. I would have wanted him to fight. I would have denied him that peace until the end.

The cover of Nicole Chung's A Living Remedy.

Maybe our refusal to accept his suffering, accept what it meant, is why he didn’t see fit to tell my mother and me. Or maybe, she later theorized, laughing and crying at once, he wanted to spare us the knowledge: It might have been the one truly noble act of his life.

By then, I was afraid of losing her, too. I didn’t know what to believe. I still don’t know what I want to believe. In my memory, my father wasn’t prone to hiding the truth in order to comfort others. But neither was he prone to visions. Was it really there, the ladder he saw that day, propped up against the snowcapped summit? Of course it wasn’t. I am sure that he imagined it. But I can’t claim to know what it means that he did.

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Sometimes I Think About Dying (2023)

— An ode to ‘living’ through a gentle, restrained, yet poetic exploration of isolation

By

Rachel Lambert’s ‘Sometimes I Think About Dying’ relies on a highly individualistic approach. We see its modest workplace through the central character’s eyes. Daisey Ridley (Star Wars Sequel Trilogy) plays introverted Fran, who isolates herself in a cubicle of her own accord.

The world moves around without taking notice of her. Her colleagues chat about their lives outside the office while she sits silently in front of her computer, delegating tasks efficiently and getting lost in thoughts.

We do not hear even a single word from her for a long time. She stays tucked in the comfort of her desk, engulfed in her duties. You see her eyes noticing all the humdrum interactions between her colleagues. But she never partakes. When they all gather to bid farewell to a senior employee, she stands on the side of a table, playing around with a piece of cake with her spoon.

Besides a lack of interest or connection to this collective activity, you feel as if she is making a conscious effort not to get noticed. While they brim with liveliness, she resists expressing herself outwardly. Meanwhile, in her solitude, she daydreams of escaping this dreariness and of ways to kill herself.

The film presents an immersive experience of Fran’s rich inner world through thoughtful narration. We see how Fran’s way of learning is through the things that she allows to be part of her reality. We derive a sense of affinity with her workplace and her colleagues while the camera practically acts as her eyes.

The narrative opens us up to its humane themes through her minute observations and heartfelt discoveries. We perceive her as an enigma whose perception is limited to her confined world. Whether it is a crane she looks at often through her office window or a piece of cheese that she mentions as her favorite food, these personal details from her life become a gateway to building her emotional landscape.

Death seems like a viable solution to her misery, and she fantasizes about it in vivid detail. The film gives us a surreal glimpse inside her wildly imaginative mind through its particularly bleak moments. She sees herself on a bed of grass where light illuminates but does not invite her.

Even the tiniest things around her seem threatening when she indulges in her ruminations triggered by her hypersensitivity. We witness her journey toward being more accepting of herself and her life.

The film builds her limited world with clear understanding and utmost compassion. Set in a small American town on the Oregon coast, the narrative lends its distance from the hustle-bustle of modernity by the location itself. Despite its insular nature, the script resonates due to Fran’s journey to break out of her bubble.

After being shy by her volition, we see her slowly open up to Robert (Dave Maherje). This new employee quickly becomes a part of her office through his natural friendliness. Initially, he learns little about Fran besides the type of cheese she enjoys. She sits awkwardly through this meeting for the sake of showing her face.

Later, he makes up an excuse to initiate a conversation with her. She faintly smiles due to a sense of acceptance she derives from it. They chat further without bringing it to the attention of their colleagues. She sees him as a way to get out of her isolated shell of comfort. Even if the thought of getting emotionally involved in him initially scares her, she warms up to it.

However, their individual communication patterns become reasons for their conflicts. He shares a bucketload of information about himself without even realizing that he did. On the other side, she struggles to communicate even a casual detail from her life. Adding to her refusal to express herself, her stoic bluntness bothers him.

The script handles these communicational conflicts in a mature manner. Aside from its clever writing, Rachel Lambert’s direction uses the minutiae of sounds during its long winding silences and grey tones. It capitalizes on moments of discomfort to break out into fascinating moments of dark humor.

We see how Fran’s inclination toward death turns her closer to bleak fantasies in her mind. She blurts out these fantasies without realizing their absurdity. A clever mix of her innocence and years of isolation makes these moments charming.

Between the film’s overall restrained storytelling, they seem particularly hilarious due to an inherent unpredictability. Amidst all its storytelling elements, Daisy’s penetrating eyes keep us glued to this dreary worldview.

Dave brings an innocent affability to his performance that perfectly complements her silence. With all their contribution, the film gently navigates an introvert’s journey to a better place while learning to embrace momentary discomforts.

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800-year-old Jin Period Tomb in China is a Window into Funeral Customs of the Age

Top image: Left image: North wall showing carved male and female tomb occupants sitting opposite each other. Center: the east wall of the tomb. Right: two adult human remains in the tomb. 

By Sahir Pandey

Detailed findings from an extraordinary Jin Dynasty tomb in Shanxi province of central China that was discovered in 2019 have recently been made public – a magnificent ornately carved brick structure.

According to a Shanxi Provincial Institute of Archaeology Exchange post on Weixin Official Accounts, the tomb located in Dongfengshan Village, Yuanqu County, about 545 miles southwest of Beijing, was discovered in 2019 when workers were laying a pipeline for a factory construction project. Archaeologists from the Shanxi Provincial Institute of Archaeology and the city and county cultural relics department then moved in to excavate and conserve the Jin Dynasty tomb.

As Weixin reports, the tomb belongs to a period officially known as the Great Jin from 1115 to 1234 AD. The dynasty rose in what is now Jilin and Heilongjiang and was founded by the Jurchen tribal chieftain, Aguda. The dynasty lasted until an attack by the Mongols impelled its last emperor, Aizong, to commit suicide by hanging to avoid capture.

Brick Carved to Imitate Wood

The tomb is built entirely of unpainted brick carved so intricately that it appears to be made of wood. According to the report, a stepped entrance passage leads into the main burial chamber through a narrow corridor. The doorway into the tomb was sealed.

The main chamber is a square, with each side measuring roughly 2 meters (6.5 ft) and a height of 3.5 meters (11 ft). The roof is octagonal and consists of 13 inclining layers of stacked brick. Every wall has elaborate carvings. The top of the chamber is inward curving and has an open skylight in the center.

Looking up through the skylight of the chamber.

Those on the south wall, to which the entrance connects, are made to imitate latticed windows. On the west and east walls again are latticed-window and door-like carvings with floral patterns on the lower panels and octagonal, square or concave shapes on the upper parts. The carvings on the two walls are so similar as to almost replicate each other.

The real showpiece, however, is the north wall, which is directly opposite the door. It protrudes in the middle and has a remarkable carving of a gatehouse flanked by a man and a woman on either side. The man and woman are sitting behind tables on ornately carved chairs and are meant to represent the principal occupant of the tomb and his wife according to the Shanxi Institute of Archeology post.

North wall showing carved male and female tomb occupants sitting opposite each other.

The man and woman are etched in great detail. The man has a goatee and is wearing a gown with a belt around the waist and has his hands in his sleeves. The carved table in front of him bears tableware and food. The woman is in a double-breasted gown with her hands folded inside the sleeves like the man.

There is a scroll on the table in front of her. The chairs of both have backrests and the couple are sitting ramrod straight with head and backrest in a straight line. The chairs and table are minutely embellished. The south wall was damaged and had partially collapsed in the construction work that had preceded the archaeological excavations.

The Occupants of the Tomb and Their Belongings in the Hereafter

There were three burials in the main chamber, all together along a single wall. One was of a child aged between six and eight years. The other two skeletons belonged to adult males, both between 50 and 60 years of age.

Three human bones were cleared from the west side of the coffin bed. Near the west wall is a juvenile aged 6 to 8, and the other two are adults aged between 50 and 60.

Given their spectacular tomb, the possessions the occupants carried with them into the next world were disappointingly frugal. A total of nine objects were unearthed, consisting of two porcelain jars, two porcelain bowls, one porcelain lamp and three clay pots placed alongside the human remains. A black glazed bowl placed in the gatehouse on the north wall completed the list.

Land Purchase Deed

Of great interest to the archaeologists was a brick “document” which has the land purchase details inscribed on it in calligraphy. Although the writing is faded, “Wang Village” and “Gongcao and Mingchang” can be discerned etched on the front of the inscription, leading archaeologists to conclude that the tomb dates to the Mingchang year during the reign of Emperor Zhangzong of the Jin Dynasty , that is between AD 1190 and 1196. The back has a geometric pattern.

A land purchase document which is a square brick with writing that can be seen on the front, most of which is blurred. From the upper right, only part of the words “Wang Village, Yuanqu County, Jiangzhou, Jiangzhou, South East Road, Dajin Kingdom… Name of Gongcao… Mingchang…” and other parts of the text can be discerned.

Highlighting the importance of the discovery, the Shanxi Institute of Archaeology post stated:

“The excavation of this tomb has enriched our understanding of the Jin Dynasty in the southern Shanxi area. The land purchase certificate has a clear date which provides an accurate basis for the dating of other tombs in the same period.”

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Veterinarian and author discusses the bond between pets and their people

By Meg Trogolo

Veterinarian Dr. Karen Fine has been caring for pets in Central Massachusetts for decades, often doing house calls to treat sick or injured animals. She decided to weave those stories together into a recently released memoir, “The Other Family Doctor,” on the Knopf Doubleday imprint Anchor Books, which has gained nationwide attention.

Last Call caught up with Fine, part of the veterinary team at Leominster-based Central Animal Hospital, to talk about pet loss, adoption, and “vet pets.”

Dr Karen Fine

What kind of reception has the book gotten so far?

A lot of the comments I’ve read on Amazon and Goodreads and (that I’ve heard) talking to people are that people feel seen. I just found out it’s on the New York Times bestseller list. They want to look at books that are selling well from many different places. I was on CNN on Saturday and I think that’s what got my name out there.

When did you decide to write “The Other Family Doctor”?

The idea came about because I’m a veterinarian and I see a lot of human suffering as well as animals that need medical care. People are often quite upset, especially when their animals are sick or old and the time is coming to think about euthanasia. I wrote the book wanting to tell some funny stories I had, but the real reason I wrote the book was to tell people what it’s like to be a veterinarian and a pet owner and deal with these decisions around quality of life and end of life. I’ve had the idea for a long, long time.

Veterinarian Dr. Karen Fine reflects on what pets have taught her in her memoir, "The Other Family Doctor: A Veterinarian Explpores What Animals Can Teach Us About Love, Life, and Mortality."

What’s the book about?

It follows the story of me and a few of my pets, especially a dog I had who got cancer when she was only four. She was the dog of honor in my wedding. It was about six months after that that she got diagnosed with cancer, and it’s about taking care of her and how bonded to her my husband and I were. I see so many people that have these really close relationships with their animals, and I think sometimes people feel like they’re alone in that. It’s not really talked about that much in our society.

Many people have these really close bonds with them, and they especially feel that when they get sick or old and they’re taking extra care of them, when they become a special needs animal for whatever reason. People get so bonded and are so upset when their animal needs extra care that it’s just very difficult, and I think a lot of people feel alone in that situation. I wrote the book to make people feel less alone.

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You’ve said that we might want to follow our pets’ example in some ways. Can you talk about that?

I really believe that we have a lot to learn from animals, and as they are dying, I see animals that really seem to accept the fact that they’re dying. I liken it to a dog having puppies or a cat having kittens, where no one’s told them what’s going to happen but they instinctively know what to do.

I think death is like that for them. They don’t think about it beforehand, but when they’re getting these certain signals from their body, they accept it and know what to do. I hear people say that they’re afraid of death, and I don’t feel that animals are afraid of death. It’s not that animals don’t have a survival instinct, but they don’t think about it beforehand, and when it’s happening, they’re able to accept it. People spend a lot of time thinking about fear of death, and it’s probably fear of the unknown, whereas animals don’t spend time thinking about it, yet from what I see, they seem able to comprehend it when it’s happening.

What might people not know about losing a pet?

A lot of people feel upset even when their pet is still healthy, and that’s called anticipatory grief. Some people get very worried and it turns out their animal is fine, but it can really feel overwhelming because we’re so close to them. There are now veterinary social workers, which is a good thing, and I would say try to find somebody to talk to if you’re feeling overwhelmed by your animal’s illness. Also, talk to your veterinarian. That’s why we’re there, to help people make choices so they can make the best choices for their animals. You’re not alone and you’re going to do this with your veterinarian.

How long have you been practicing veterinary medicine?

Thirty years. I always wanted to be a veterinarian. That’s fairly common. Some people went and had another career first, but I always, from when I was a little kid, wanted to be a veterinarian. At the time, I was more likely to get into Tufts because that was my local school. I grew up in Framingham and Sudbury and I settled in Worcester after graduation. I did house calls for 25 years. I stopped doing house calls during the pandemic, and now I’ve been focusing on writing. I also wrote a textbook. I’m still practicing part-time.

Animal hospitals stayed open during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. What was that like?

It was very difficult, and at the beginning, very scary, because we didn’t know if you could get COVID from someone coughing on an animal and then the animal coming into the clinic. When the vaccines came out, we were lumped in with the general public, so that was also very difficult.

A lot of people got puppies during the pandemic, so there were so many more puppies, which is great, but it was very challenging in terms of fitting everybody in with appointments. Sometimes, there was one person in the family who wanted a pet and the other person said maybe not, and then all of a sudden, everybody was home and it was a good time to get an animal. Some of it was people who didn’t have pets before getting them, and some of it was people who maybe had one dog and decided to get another one. It’s a good time to get a puppy when you’re home all the time because it’s easier to housebreak them.

What’s your advice to anyone who might be looking to adopt a dog?

Take your time. Don’t buy a dog online, because there are a lot of puppy mills advertising online. They’re very good at it, so they say they’re not puppy mills. It takes more time to go through a shelter, because they might want to call your veterinarian and see if you took good care of your previous pet, ask you a lot of questions, but they really are committed to seeing that those animals have good homes.

The term “vet pet” refers to times when veterinarians will adopt pets that need a little more care day-to-day. Have you taken in any animals that way?

Yes. My dog who got sick and had cancer had come into the clinic from animal control, and she had been hit by a car, and she had a broken toe. The other ones I’ve gone looking for, but I always had rescues. I see a lot of animals that need homes, and I know there are a lot of animals out there who need homes.

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