Funeral Planning Can Prevent Further Grief

— Losing a loved one is stressful enough without having to deal with a botched funeral. Preplanning, due diligence and good communication can head off difficult surprises.

When a loved one dies, the grief experienced by family members may be overwhelming. Even when the deceased was elderly and the death was expected, it can be challenging to move forward with funeral planning and burial preparations. Imagine how much more difficult it can be for a family who loses a loved one unexpectedly.

Horror stories about unscrupulous funeral homes have been front-page fodder for more than a century – see Jessica Mitford’s 1963 book American Way of Death – and I have personally handled more of these cases than I care to think about. When people are dealing with the death of someone close to them, the last thing they should be dealing with is a botched funeral.

Despite strong consumer protection laws and the licensing of funeral home directors, it is still possible to experience bad service from a funeral home. But with good information and careful planning, family members should have their moment to pay their respects with dignity.

Preplanned Funerals Present Best Scenario

The best scenario is, of course, a preplanned funeral. The deceased has either made arrangements in advance or has left written instructions about how things should be handled. The directive clearly outlines the steps to be taken by loved ones, saving them from having to make those decisions following the death.

It sounds simple and straightforward, but it is not always so simple. Family members owe it to the deceased – and to themselves – to ensure that the provider chosen by the deceased a year or a decade ago is still in business and reputable. Just because the directive names a specific funeral home does not mean that survivors are obligated to entrust the remains to that home. If the named funeral home raises concerns for the family (more about this below), it is far better to move forward with a different funeral home, despite the deceased’s wishes.

Due Diligence When Looking for a Funeral Home Can Head Off Surprises

If the deceased failed to make funeral plans in advance, or if the family believes plans must be changed because of new information they’ve received about the designated funeral home, the process of shopping for a good funeral home begins. It isn’t like shopping for a car: There are no lemon laws or do-overs if they get it wrong. Once a contract for funeral or burial services has been signed and the funeral home has taken possession of a body, it may be impossible to back out of the commitment. Therefore, the more due diligence done beforehand, the better everyone should sleep.

It starts with doing basic research. Read customer reviews. Check for complaints with the Better Business Bureau and state licensing agencies. Look at county records to see if there is a history of lawsuits against the funeral home. The more you know up front, the fewer surprises there should be down the line.

Then meet with representatives of the funeral home to learn about their services. Every funeral home is obligated to provide prospective customers with a menu of choices before having them sign an agreement. If the funeral home staff try to sell you a package, or you feel in any way pressured to make a choice before you have seen their menu, leave the premises and look for another provider.

Don’t Hesitate to Ask Questions and Keep Lines of Communication Open

Ask questions before signing anything. Find out whether the home has received a death certificate for the deceased and, if not, how long it should take to get a certificate following an autopsy or medical examiner’s review. If there will be a cremation, consider asking the home whether they can preserve the body so that it can be viewed prior to the cremation. Make sure you feel comfortable that the funeral home will honor the deceased’s wishes, if preplanning was done, or that they understand and will honor your wishes if no advance directive was created by the deceased.

After you’ve signed an agreement with the funeral home on the package you’ve chosen, the ball is essentially in the funeral home’s court. It will be extremely difficult to undo things if you’re unhappy with its work. Even though there is nothing left for you to do other than wait for the work to be completed, expect to have ongoing communications with the home.

The funeral home should continue to be available to answer your questions, and it should be keeping you apprised of its progress with your case. If you believe that something has not been done correctly, or you have other concerns about the services being performed, representatives of the home should be willing to meet with you to discuss these issues.

Reporting Issues to the Proper Agencies

Unfortunately, even with the best of planning, things can go wrong. If you believe that a funeral home has handled things improperly or violated your trust, you can and should report it to the proper agencies. At the federal level, this would be the Federal Trade Commission. At the state level, it will likely be the appropriate licensing board for the industry. You can also reach out to nonprofit groups such as Funeral Consumers Alliance or the Funeral Consumer Guardian Society.

If you have suffered emotional distress or other injury as a result of a funeral home’s actions, contact an attorney who has experience with these types of cases. The consumer organizations named above may be able to provide referrals.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

January 9, 2024January 8, 2024

‘A good send-off’

— Why food plays a major role in Irish wakes and funerals

Irish funerals and wakes since ancient times have always highlighted the importance of food, feasting and hospitality

By Marion McGarry

As one of those who lost an elderly parent during the pandemic, we were unable to give the appropriate ‘send-off’ to a member of the older generation who would have fully expected one. I found myself at one stage mechanically making two sliced pans worth of sandwiches in my late mother’s kitchen, forgetting there would be no mourners coming to serve them to due to lockdown restrictions.

This brought into sharp focus the real function of funeral hospitality: without visitors to share the food with, my immediate family lacked the impetus – or the appetite – and the food was thrown out days later. It’s the rituals that help make a funeral. Often we don’t know why, but we enact them in the knowledge that it’s what we’re supposed to do. Without the anchor of a set of traditions to follow, the days around a funeral, difficult enough to navigate with grief, felt even more rudderless at the height of Covid.

Providing appropriate provisions for guests was a deep seated concept in Ireland. Under the Brehon laws, a householder was required to offer food and lodging to any traveller passing through. The higher a guest’s social status, the higher level of hospitality they expected to receive.

Later, great funeral feasts were held for Gaelic chieftains where the new heir marked his succession by providing ceremonial meals for mourners. These funeral banquets were as much about the heir’s generosity for appearances’ sake. Lavish hospitality could help advance a family in Gaelic society by demonstrating prestige and power.

Stakes were high, and guests with elevated expectations could be quite judgemental about what was on offer. Guests attending funerals expected good food and drink to be served. Traditionally, mourners were provided with food and drink to provide sustenance while they sat up with the corpse through all-night wakes. Partaking of hospitality was one of many rituals that, once enacted during this liminal period, was another stage in signifying the soul of the deceased passing over into the next realm.

Perhaps therein lies the roots of Irish generosity in such circumstances: legislated in old Irish law and as a concept in tradition, it became innate in folk custom that it was right and proper to offer appropriate hospitality. It was also considered ‘unlucky to refuse’, and the superstitious time around a funeral was not one where people took their chances with luck.

By the early 20th century, bestowing hospitality despite humble circumstances was a key tenet of Irish identity. James Joyce wrote, albeit ironically, that “the tradition of genuine warm-hearted courteous Irish hospitality, which our forefathers have handed down to us and which we in turn must hand down to our descendants, is still alive among us.” The idea that generous hospitality must be extended continues to be key in most Irish celebrations and feasting today. Being conscious of appearances and not wanting to let the side down or being seen as ‘stingy’ can lead to the often-extravagant spread at Irish gatherings.

The multi-use table

From the post Famine period and into living memory, the ‘feasts’ that maintained formal dining seated at tables were wedding breakfasts and harvest feasts. Funeral catering involved simple food usually served ‘in the hand’ or passed around to mourners informally seated while conversing. These would have been much humbler than the medieval banquets of old.

Late 19th century traditional Irish kitchen table, still in use in the O’Brien homestead in Kilbrittain Co Cork.

At Irish wakes throughout the 19th century, sitting at the kitchen table for hospitality was off-limits, because that piece of furniture was a focal point for reasons other than food. The kitchen table or ‘bord’ might alternatively contain an altar or the corpse itself. When laid out and ready to view on the table the corpse was termed ‘over board’. According to the funeral director David McGowan, this term persisted into living memory.

In earlier times at wakes, the long wooden stretchers underneath the tabletop might be where the corpse was laid out, while the tabletop was used as an altar. Most families would have lacked appropriate furniture to serve the large number of mourners in a formal manner, and neighbours often loaned furniture and crockery.

‘Wake provisions’

As one of the key events in Irish life, guests not only fully expected ‘a good spread’ at a funeral but it had also been also keenly anticipated by the deceased that they would have, and be given, a ‘good send off’. In the more recent past, even the poorest people saved money so that their funeral could be catered suitably.

At a time of frugal diets, dominated by potatoes and buttermilk, a funeral offered a chance to feast on treats: tea with sugar, bread with jam, a glass of whiskey, good tobacco. These were key on the shopping list known as the ‘wake provisions’.

A wake provisions list from 1912 in the Clay Pipe Museum, Knockcroghery, Co Roscommon.

The custom was that male relatives of the deceased were responsible for going to the local grocer to collect this. The men had to do this in pairs, to have another to-hand for protection from any evil spirits at a potentially dangerous spiritual time. The wake provisions included clay pipes and tobacco, alcohol such as porter and whiskey, along with tea, shop-bought white bread, jam, sugar and meat.

In the past, wakes and funerals, along with fairs and pilgrimages, were large gatherings that allowed a usually dispersed rural community to come together. Many wakes were places for young people to stay up late and socialise, and some wake games facilitated flirtation and courtship. In addition, the serving of treats and alcohol gave a party atmosphere that along with some of the ‘heathen’ customs involved drew the ire of the Catholic Church.

Funeral hospitality today

Although many customs have died out, the funeral in Ireland retains an importance as a collective event, and one where hospitality remains important. Today, this is more formal, invite-only and restrained when compared to the past, when mourners would simply turn up at the house when they heard keening begin. Wakes are now often denoted as ‘house private’ or take place, carefully regulated, in funeral homes.

Any home catering is usually informally served tea and triangle-cut sandwiches, (egg mayonnaise, or ham, or cheese for vegetarians) along with cakes and scones. Church services are followed by cremation or burial, and the ‘afters’ now usually take place at a hotel, where that intrinsic Irish hospitality is remnant in the form of a sit-down meal for invited guests.

Post Celtic Tiger, Irish hotels have become the real engines behind the hospitality for life events that once took place in the home: funerals, weddings, and other celebrations. Hotels and their staff can offer a fascinating lens through which to observe contemporary Irish customs and rituals.

One Irish chef I spoke to observed that ‘hotel’ funerals are not as big as other such events, guests do not linger long and there is a reluctance to take alcohol as many are driving. “From what I’ve witnessed, formal sit-down [funeral] meals are a much quieter affair where people don’t really know how to ‘be’“.

The formalities therefore tend to stifle the atmosphere. The wish to offer substantial hospitality to guests, versus what the guests might actually prefer, and the struggle to figure out what is appropriate these days – food truck? Barbeque? – is a particularly modern Irish conundrum, and one that might be solved by a return to slightly more traditional rituals.

Sean Moncrieff recently wrote of the comfort of funeral food from a mourner’s point of view, and how it is an evocative part of the grieving process. From the point of view of the bereaved, serving and interacting with guests (be it at a wake house or hotel) offers a welcome fleeting distraction from grief. It gently encourages eating and engagement at a time when the stomach feels hollow. To this day, wherever the location, offering and partaking of hospitality, and ritually sharing and consuming, all continues to be an essential part of the Irish funeral tradition, and will continue to be in whatever form it takes in the future.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

January 8, 2024January 7, 2024

A moment that changed me

— My dying father told me he had a secret son. Then my brother got in touch …

Kate Brody, pictured as a child with her father.

I was 14 when I found out in 2006, and Ryan was 16 months older than me. Our lives continued apart and in parallel, until he reached out over social media

By Kate Brody

Until I was 14, I believed I was my father’s eldest child. But in 2006, a month before he died, he sat me down at the kitchen table – alone, my younger sisters asleep – for the kind of talk I knew would involve bad news. “I need to tell you something.” He looked more distressed than when he told me his lung cancer had returned and had spread to his brain. “I have a son.”

My mum stood beside him, silent, as he told me about Ryan, a boy 16 months older than me. Ryan lived in Pennsylvania, driving distance from our house in New Jersey, and my dad explained that he had arranged for them to meet recently, at a local horse farm. Part of his farewell tour.

I felt panic rise in my throat. “How?” I asked. “It was … an accident. An error in judgment. Early in my relationship with your mum,” he replied. “He’s not your family though, right?” My dad nodded, and I hugged him, avoiding the wound on his chest. I promised not to tell my sisters.

Looking back, I don’t know how to explain or excuse my response, other than to say that once I understood our time together was limited, everything felt like a threat. I wanted my dad to myself.

My sisters found out on their own, of course, and in the years after his death, we spoke of Ryan in whispers. One sister to another, relaying what little information we had about “the boy” or “Dad’s son”. Never “our brother”.

I could feel him – my phantom limb – as we marched in lockstep towards adulthood, as we moved from our teens into our 20s. I went to grad school, moved to New York, and started teaching. Ryan graduated from college, joined the military, and started flying planes. I knew because of LinkedIn, the chilliest, most distant form of social media. I sent him a friend request one night when I was drunk and he accepted. And for almost 10 years, we watched each other on our screens, getting only the facts – job histories, current locations, and one photo each. I could see him looking and he could see me. Someone has viewed your profile.

‘My sisters and I spoke of Ryan as “the boy” or “Dad’s son”. Never “our brother”’ … Kate Brody.

Then in September 2023, a message appeared: “How are you? I saw that you wrote a book. I’m in flight school for the navy now after some time in the corporate world. What are your plans for the future? Are there any questions that I can answer?”

“My novel comes out in early January,” I wrote back. “But flight school? Incredible.” I included my phone number and went to bed, aware of what I didn’t say: that my book was a kind of apology, a story in which a deranged and grieving young woman uses social media to reach out to her long-lost brother. One in which the brother is vindicated by the callousness of the family that rejected him.

The next morning, a text: “If you come to Texas on tour, I will need to get a copy.” We texted about my sisters, his job, the climates in Texas and Los Angeles. It was surprisingly easy to talk, even if there was one subject we were avoiding: the man who linked us to one another.

Finally, from him: “I would love to hear any stories you have to share and pictures would be great too. I don’t know what you looked like or did.” That night, I couldn’t stop wondering about Ryan’s childhood. I thought of my own little boys. What would I do if their father chose not to be involved in their lives?

I built an album: pictures of my dad, me and my sisters, my kids – Ryan’s nephews. I wondered if it would all be too painful. Here is the man you were missing. Here he is helping me blow out my birthday candles. Here we are on the beach. Here he is sick, dying. Here I am, holding his hand.

I sent it, feeling obliged to fulfil Ryan’s one, small request. He sent me back a photo: a baby in blue velvet with a four-toothed smile and an upturned nose. Hair, reddish like mine, peeking from under a cap.

“I think we looked similar as little ones,” Ryan said. “I can’t say I have a clear picture of the man.” I tried to fill in the gaps: “Whip-smart. Very intense. Dry sense of humour. Phenomenal dancer. Loved dogs. Very sick for a long time.”

I went to bed that night angry with my dad, who had been dead for 17 years, and angry at myself, for my own cowardice and cruelty. For thinking I was ever the victim of anything, when I had experienced such a relatively charmed childhood.

The next day, Ryan asked for some of my dad’s writing. Looking through the letters my dad left me, I found one I hadn’t read in years. It ended: “Forgive my shortcomings, and your own. Don’t be sad when the acute pain of sorrow grows gratefully more distant. Be glad that life goes on. I’ll always love you.” I cried reading it. In spite of everything, I missed him. I was mad at him, and I loved him.

I sent it to Ryan. I thought once more of my own boys. “He would have been very proud of the man you’ve become. I’m sorry he didn’t give himself the chance to be.”

Our texting tapered off, and we went back to our lives. But every so often, I look up flights from Los Angeles to Houston. I picture us in a coffee shop – him in his military regalia, me in my writerly black. We are so different. Of course we are. We have lived different lives. But even our Texas waiter can see that we are the same. His smile is my smile. His laugh is my laugh. He is the brother, and I am the sister.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

January 7, 2024January 6, 2024

End-Of-Life Nutritional Support

— Improving the remaining quality of life is at the heart of proper nutrition in order to support energy and stamina levels

The goal of nutritional support for individuals in palliative care is to improve the remaining quality of life.

By Barbra Williams Cosentino

She’s almost 70 and has struggled to control high cholesterol levels and pre-diabetes for much of her adult life, resisting tempting treats like strawberry shortcake and French fries. But now her appetite is gone, and stage four ovarian cancer is gnawing away at her insides.

She only wants ice cream, preferably chocolate with a cascade of caramel sauce. Her daughter is adamant she shouldn’t have it. “Mom, you know it’s bad for you,” she says. But her mother is dying, and the doctor says it’s essential for her to eat.

Chemotherapy and radiation treatments, particularly to the mouth and other areas involved in the digestive process, can cause tissue injury and irritation and affect eating ability.

The goal of nutritional support for individuals in palliative care (when potentially curative treatments have been deemed unsuccessful and have been stopped) is to improve the remaining quality of life. Proper nutrition impacts energy and stamina levels.

According to Courtney Pelitera RD, a registered dietician with Top Nutrition Coaching, cachexia, wasting of the body and loss of muscle and fat are frequently seen towards the end of life. This can lead to impaired mobility, unplanned hospitalizations and increased symptoms.

Chemotherapy and radiation treatments, particularly to the mouth and other areas involved in the digestive process, can cause tissue injury and irritation and affect eating ability. Because the gut is not functioning normally and people may be less physically active, several symptoms are often seen in people undergoing cancer treatment, living with cancer or at the end of life, says Pelitera.

These changes impact appetite and ability to tolerate certain types of foods or liquids and may include:

Appetite loss, anorexia
Taste and smell changes
Diarrhea, constipation, nausea, indigestion and heartburn
Inflammation of oral mucosa and mouth sores, dry mouth
Difficulty chewing or swallowing (dysphagia), choking episodes

The Emotional Aspects of Food Refusal and Appetite Loss

According to Pelitera, “Sharing a meal is one of the most common ways to socialize. In most cultures, people use food to celebrate milestones and special occasions. It is also sometimes used for comfort and to cheer people up. When someone is ill, visitors will often bring casseroles or sweets.”

“Because hunger cues are gone, people at the end of life are not uncomfortable if they are not eating or drinking.”

However, it can be very upsetting when someone you care about is uninterested in eating or refusing previously enjoyed foods. It is painful to see someone lose weight and become weaker, even though it is the disease process and not only the decreased food intake that is causing it.

The inclination to push food and prepare elaborate meals to try and entice the person to eat is counter-productive. The ill person may feel guilty, as if they are letting you down, and might try to eat even though it can cause them physical discomfort. As Pelitera explains, “Because hunger cues are gone, people at the end of life are not uncomfortable if they are not eating or drinking.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

January 6, 2024January 5, 2024

Terminally ill Connecticut woman ends her life on her own terms, in Vermont

— A Connecticut woman who pushed for expanded access to Vermont’s law that allows people who are terminally ill to end their lives has died in Vermont

By LISA RATHKE

A Connecticut woman who pushed for expanded access to Vermont’s law that allows people who are terminally ill to receive lethal medication to end their lives died in Vermont on Thursday, an event her husband called “comfortable and peaceful,” just like she wanted.

Lynda Bluestein, who had terminal cancer, ended her life by taking prescribed medication.

Her last words were ‘I’m so happy I don’t have to do this (suffer) anymore,'” her husband Paul wrote in an email on Thursday to the group Compassion & Choices, which was shared with The Associated Press.

The organization filed a lawsuit against Vermont in 2022 on behalf of Bluestein, of Bridgeport, Connecticut, and Diana Barnard, a physician from Middlebury. The suit claimed Vermont’s residency requirement in its so-called patient choice and control at end of life law violated the U.S. Constitution’s commerce, equal protection, and privileges and immunities clauses.

The state agreed to a settlement last March that allowed Bluestein, who is not a Vermont resident, to use the law to die in Vermont. And two months later, Vermont made such accommodations available to anyone in similar circumstances, becoming the first state in the country to change its law to allow terminally ill people from out of state to take advantage of it to end their lives.

“Lynda was an advocate all the way through, and she wanted access to this law and she had it, but she and everybody deserves to have access much closer to home because the need to travel and to make arrangements around the scheduling to come to Vermont is not something that we wish for people to have, ” Barnard said.

Barnard said it’s a sad day because her life came to an end, “But more than a silver lining is the beauty and the peace that came from Lynda having a say in what happened at the very end of her life.”

Ten states allow medically assisted suicide but before Vermont changed its law only one state — Oregon — allowed non-residents to do it, by not enforcing the residency requirement as part of a court settlement. Oregon went on to remove that requirement this past summer.

Vermont’s law, in effect since 2013, allows physicians to prescribe lethal medication to people with an incurable illness that is expected to kill them within six months.

Supporters say the law has stringent safeguards, including a requirement that those who seek to use it be capable of making and communicating their health care decision to a physician. Patients are required to make two requests orally to the physician over a certain timeframe and then submit a written request, signed in the presence of two or more witnesses who aren’t interested parties. The witnesses must sign and affirm that patients appeared to understand the nature of the document and were free from duress or undue influence at the time.

Others express moral opposition to assisted suicide and say there are no safeguards to protect vulnerable patients from coercion.

Bluestein, a lifelong activist, who advocated for similar legislation to be passed in Connecticut and New York, which has not happened, wanted to make sure she didn’t die like her mother, in a hospital bed after a prolonged illness. She told The Associated Press last year that she wanted to pass away surrounded by her husband, children, grandchildren, wonderful neighbors, friends and dog.

“I wanted to have a death that was meaningful, but that it didn’t take forever … for me to die,” she said.

“I want to live the way I always have, and I want my death to be in keeping with the way I wanted my life to be always,” Bluestein said. “I wanted to have agency over when cancer had taken so much for me that I could no longer bear it. That’s my choice.”

January 5, 2024January 4, 2024

‘Age 30, I went through the death of my fiancé. If you’re grieving this new year, here is my advice to you’

— For those entering 2024 without a loved one, one bereaved writer offers her wisdom

By Lotte Bowser

A few days into January 2021, I lay on the bathroom floor in the foetal position, sobbing.

For non-grieving folk, the start of a new year can prompt a dogged determination. Perhaps they set goals and resolutions, run a marathon, quit smoking – that sort of thing. But for me, the striking of the clock hand at midnight on New Year’s Eve triggered a horrifying realisation. My fiancé, Ben, was dead. And, no matter how much I kicked, screamed and dug my heels in in protest, time would keep moving forwards without him.

Six weeks earlier, at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, my beautiful Ben took his final breath with the aid of a mechanical ventilator in an intensive care unit. He died from complications attributed to the virus, compounded by stage four soft tissue cancer. He was 36-years-old.<

‘There were many mornings in the early aftermath of his death when I woke up and wished I hadn’t’

There were many mornings in the early aftermath of his death when I woke up and wished I hadn’t. His absence catalysed an existential crisis, leaving no corner of my life untouched. Everything changed, from the way I went to sleep at night in an empty bed, to how I made my coffee in the morning for one instead of two.

And yet, despite the monumental sense of loss, there was a hastiness in the way others met me in my grief. They insisted that I meditated, that I stayed positive, that Ben wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad.

My GP regurgitated something about the six stages of grief, before handing me a prescription for antidepressants. The celebrant at Ben’s funeral in mid-December invited us to say our goodbyes.

‘My GP regurgitated something about the six stages of grief’

I quickly learned that bereavement support falls woefully short of what’s needed. We tend to pathologise grief. We condense the grieving process into clear-cut stages with a beginning and an end. We impose arbitrary timelines.

We hold another’s grief at arm’s length, or better yet, turn the other way. I suspect it’s because grief is a reminder of everything we stand to lose. Why would we contemplate our mortality when it causes so much fear and pain?

‘I knew that thinking happy thoughts or waving sticks of sage in the air wouldn’t make my grief disappear’

I knew that thinking happy thoughts or waving sticks of sage in the air wouldn’t make my grief disappear. I understood that while it was possible for my grief to give rise to mental illness, it was not a mental illness in itself. Nor was my grief a problem to be fixed – because try as I might, I couldn’t bring Ben back from the dead. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him either, and nor should I have; I loved him then, and I love him still.

Rather, my grief was a normal response to loss that demanded my patience and compassion. It was part and parcel of my humanness, something that would accompany me through life. It made sense then, to find a way to not merely tolerate my grief, or to overcome it like others had suggested, but to honour it. To grant it all the time it needed to metabolise.

‘If leaving them behind in 2023 feels counterintuitive, it’s because it is’

There is no such thing as ‘letting go’ or ‘moving on’, either. There is only moving forwards. When you form an intimate bond with another person, you create new neural connections that change your wiring. Your person is – quite literally – encoded into you. This coding is the physical manifestation of your bond. Your love. If leaving them behind in 2023 feels counterintuitive, it’s because it is. Take them with you instead.

You might have heard of the six stages of grief by now: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance and meaning. Perhaps you question whether you’re ‘doing grief right’, like I did. Perhaps you think you ought to be doing better than you are. But the stages of grief model was created to describe the experiences of those facing death themselves, not of those left behind. In grief, our emotions often coil together, overlap or reoccur in unpredictable ways, rather than progressing neatly.

One moment you think you’re fine, and the next you’re crying into a bowl of porridge. Some days you’re making progress, and others you’ve taken ten steps back. We all grieve in our own time and in our own way.

I urge you to meet yourself, wherever you are, with radical compassion. Recovery from loss is not easy. And it certainly doesn’t happen overnight. It happens bit by bit, in the baby steps, in the small actions taken over time. Think of a ball inside a box for a moment. The ball represents your grief. At first, the ball takes up all the space inside the box.

As time passes, the box grows bigger, creating more space around the ball. It’s not that your grief necessarily diminishes in size – it’s that the space around it expands. Eventually, those baby steps will grow bigger, becoming strides and leaps until one day you look back in awe of how far you’ve come.

Entering the fourth year without Ben feels far easier than the first. My grief, once agonising, is softer now, like a dull ache. I’ve learned that no feeling is final, and that in-between the bad bits in life, there will be good and gorgeous bits, too. Whether it’s a gentle nudge or a thread of hope, let it pull you forwards. Reach for what gives you purpose and meaning, and hold on with both hands.

Purpose does not have to mean transmuting your pain into something big and radical, like running a marathon or climbing a mountain. It can be found in the small, everyday ways you show up for yourself, and in the ways you honour your person. Meaning does not mean finding meaning in their death.

It can be found in what you do from here on out; in saying ‘yes’ to life again, in choosing joy in spite of your grief.

From my grieving heart to yours, here are some practical tips for navigating the start of 2024 without your loved one.

Feel free to take what resonates, and leave behind what doesn’t.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

January 4, 2024January 3, 2024

Death Over Dim Sum

— Conversations about end-of-life issues are difficult for everyone. But in many cultures, these important topics are considered almost taboo to discuss.

By Randi Mazzella

“Death and dying are not topics normalized to openly talk about, especially among Asian families,” says Chrislyn Choo, 29, of My China Roots, a genealogy startup.

“There’s often denial about getting older and end of life or flippant comments attached to shame [with] comments like, ‘You’ll wish you listened to me when once I’m gone.'”

For these reasons, Holly Chan and Elizabeth Wong founded Death Over Dim Sum, a workshop series geared toward opening up intergenerational dialogues about life, death and beyond.

Why Dim Sum?

Wong, 48, has been a labor and delivery nurse for over 20 years. Wong says, “My role as a nurse working with birth doulas who offer comfort and support at the beginning of life made me wonder why there wasn’t a similar doula-type role in helping people as they get older and transition through the end-of-life.”

“There’s often denial about getting older and end of life or flippant comments.”

Wong did some research and discovered that there were, in fact, end-of-life-doulas,” so she trained to become one, later co-founding Beacon Light Doulas. As a Doulagivers training partner, she set up a Facebook page to spread word about their programs, which is how she met Chan.

Chan, 29, a user experience designer in Seattle, explains, “I have been passionate about design innovations in the funeral industry and end-of-life care since I was in high school. While I was living in San Francisco I stumbled onto Elizabeth’s page and followed it. Elizabeth messaged me and we started chatting online.”

The two decided to meet over coffee. They found that despite their different upbringings, they still had much in common when it came to their experiences as second-generation Chinese American women.

The two began brainstorming on how they could work together. Their conversations led to the creation of Death Over Dim Sum. The first workshop was held in 2019 at the End of Life Festival hosted by Reimagine in San Francisco.

They gathered six local experts — Wong among them — on various topics including palliative care, funeral arrangements and financial planning. Frank Chui, the owner of Hang Ah restaurant in San Francisco, agreed to donate the food.

While it may seem odd to talk about heavy topics while enjoying fried rice and dumplings, the two believe it is an ideal combination. “In my family, we often talk over food because it’s easier to handle tough conversations when our bellies are warm and full,” explains Chan.

“From personal experience, I found dim sum is often a comfort food in Chinese American families, so what better way to bring people together to talk about a taboo subject than over a delicious meal?”

A group of people eating dim sum and laughing together. Next Avenue, death over dim sum

Creating a Comfortable Environment

Both Wong and Chan wanted to ensure an open conversation where all participants would feel safe expressing themselves. Although not mandatory, Wong and Chan do prioritize inviting bilingual subject matter experts who identify as Asian or Pacific Islander.

“I grew up in Chinatown, highly immersed in Chinese culture and surrounded by first-generation immigrants, many of whom spoke limited English. It’s important that participants can relate to the experts, understand the information presented and be comfortable asking questions.”

Because it can be difficult just knowing how to start the conversation, Wong and Chan modeled the workshop’s structure after a traditional dim sum service. “Typically, dim sum involves picking out what food you want to eat from carts being pushed around a busy restaurant,” explains Chan.

“It’s important that participants can relate to the experts, understand the information presented and be comfortable asking questions.”

“At the beginning of the workshop, participants pick up a ‘menu’ of frequently asked questions, divided by subject matter. They are encouraged to check off what questions they would like to ask the experts, but unlike at a restaurant they are also encouraged to order ‘off menu’ with their own questions.”

James Liu, a Healthcare startup founder in San Francisco, attended the second Death Over Dim Sum in March 2023. He returned for the third workshop, but this time as a volunteer. Liu was pleasantly surprised by the casual and approachable nature of the event.

Liu says, “I appreciated the breadth of the speakers and the topics covered, mixing in both practical topics, such as planning a funeral and what legal documents are required, to the more emotional and spiritual, like the goals of care conversations and navigating family dynamics.”

Different Reasons to Attend

Thanks to a grant from San Francisco Palliative Work Group, Wong and Chan have been able to hold three workshops since their inaugural event.

Currently their workshops have only taken place in the San Francisco area but they hope to expand them to Seattle and beyond in the future.

“They helped us face our fear, like ‘Let’s talk about death and dying so they no longer scare or paralyze us.'”

Participants in the workshops have ranged in age, background and reasons for attending. Choo lives with her aunt who is in her 60s so they attended a workshop together in March 2023. “Holly and Elizabeth created a helpful, safe space for intergenerational conversation,” says Choo. “The atmosphere was serious but not intimidating. They helped us face our fear, like ‘Let’s talk about death and dying so they no longer scare or paralyze us.'”

Dyanna Volvek, 39, of San Francisco attended a workshop in March 2023. She explains, “My partner and I have decided not to have children. People often ask me, ‘If you don’t have children, what will you do when you get older? Who will take care of you and your husband?’ I explain that just because you have children doesn’t mean they will take care of you. But these questions got me thinking about what I would do when I am older and my parents age, so I decided to attend the workshop.”

Taking Care of Elders

In Chinese families, it is common practice for multiple generations to live together with the expectation that they ultimately become older relatives’ caretakers. Wong explains, “My mother, like many in our community, immigrated to America for a better life. Our parents and grandparents made sacrifices for us, and when they age, we feel it is our responsibility to do the same for them.”

“Our parents and grandparents made sacrifices for us, and when they age, we feel it is our responsibility to do the same for them.”
This feeling of responsibility can be daunting. “I feel guilty that I might not be able to care for my parents or grandparents due to financial constraints,” explains Volvek. “It was helpful to be surrounded by other people who understood my feelings due to our shared cultural upbringing.”

Anni Chung, President and CEO of Self Help for the Elderly was an expert at two Death Over Dim Sum workshops. Chung says, “Many of the second-generation adults have moved out of the area due to high rents or new work opportunities since Covid. But their elderly relatives may be stuck here. They need to know how to help their loved ones from a distance such as how to choose a facility or how to find a local bilingual caretaker.”

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