Category: Philosophy of Dying

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‘Bucket lists’ might help with end-of-life discussions

By Randi Belisomo

[S]haring your “bucket list” could be easier than discussing end-of-life medical preferences, and it might be just as useful to your physician, researchers suggest.

If you, like many Americans, have a “bucket list,” your doctor would be well-served by learning its contents, according to Stanford University researchers, who say a conversation about these goals might help guide future care.

Their study, published in the Journal of Palliative Medicine, found that 91 percent of participants had a “bucket list,” or a list of things they hope to do before they die.

Researchers say the bucket list conversation is a simple strategy to help patients consider health decisions. In learning these goals, clinicians are better suited to promote informed decision-making when discussing the potential impact of treatment options.

“The number one emotion I see in patients when they are dying is regret,” said study author VJ Periyakoil, director of the Stanford Palliative Care Education and Training Program in California.

Her team’s online survey asked more than 3,000 participants nationwide if they had a bucket list and what was on it, in order of importance. The average participant was about 50 years old.

Travel was the most prevalent desire. More than 78 percent submitted travel-related hopes. Among college-educated women, 84 percent had destinations in mind.

Accomplishing a goal, like finishing a degree and learning to swim, was important to about 78 percent.

Roughly half hoped to achieve milestones, like getting married, celebrating an anniversary and reconnecting with old friends.

Desire to spend quality time with friends and family ranked fourth, followed by hope for financial stability.

Daring activities turned up on 15 percent of lists. Respondents 25 and younger were much more likely to report daring activities, such as skydiving and swimming with sharks.

Participants who said religion or spirituality was important were the most likely to have a bucket list.

“Faith allows you to imagine something that cannot be verified,” Periyakoil explained. “The ability to imagine something is a proxy for a level of hope even in the face of little evidence. Those are the people who have things on their list and hope they can do them.”

The researchers did not have participants share their lists with physicians, nor did they ask physicians for their opinions on the idea of sharing patients’ bucket lists. Furthermore, the survey did not target people living with chronic or terminal disease.

Still, the researchers hope their findings will help shift end-of-life planning away from an over-reliance on documents.

“If we look at advance directives as the savior of our health system, it’s not going to work,” Periyakoil said. “I don’t want to wait for my doctor to tell me it’s time to do my advance directive. I would rather go to the doctor and say what’s on my bucket list.”

Such a discussion is more intimate than the more sterile conversations that sometimes accompany advance directives, said Susan Mathews, a bioethicist, nurse and instructor at Indian River State College in Fort Pierce, Florida.

“Advance directives are about death; a bucket list is about living,” Mathews said. “A bucket list, if prepared with a dose of serious reflection, gets to the heart of our relationship with self and the others for whom we care.”

Patients should still complete advance directives, she said, but with periodically updated companion documents that express goals.

Like advance directives, bucket lists can change.

The changing of a patient’s health status is one concern with the bucket list strategy, according to medical anthropologist Craig Klugman, who teaches classes on death and dying at DePaul University in Chicago. “Being asked about a bucket list could create anxiety that they should have a list and take efforts to fulfill it,” Klugman said.

Periyakoil said, too often, physicians don’t realize what patients want from life. If they ask about these desires, they can avoid the clinical vacuum in which treatment plans are too often made.

“We need patients to understand that it’s their life, have a better understanding of what they want to do, and understand that medical procedures are a pathway they are signing into,” Periyakoil said.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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The 11 qualities of a good death, according to research

Opening up about death can make it easier for ourselves and our loved ones.

by Jordan Rosenfeld

[N]early nine years ago, I received a call from my stepmother summoning me to my grandmother’s house. At 92 years old, my Oma had lost most of her sight and hearing, and with it the joy she took in reading and listening to music. She spent most of her time in a wheelchair because small strokes had left her prone to falling, and she was never comfortable in bed. Now she had told her caregiver that she was “ready to die,” and our family believed she meant it.

I made it to my grandmother in time to spend an entire day at her bedside, along with other members of our family. We told her she was free to go, and she quietly slipped away that night. It was, I thought, a good death. But beyond that experience, I haven’t had much insight into what it would look like to make peace with the end of one’s life.

A recent study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, which gathered data from terminal patients, family members and health care providers, aims to clarify what a good death looks like. The literature review identifies 11 core themes associated with dying well, culled from 36 studies:

  • Having control over the specific dying process
  • Pain-free status
  • Engagement with religion or spirituality
  • Experiencing emotional well-being
  • Having a sense of life completion or legacy
  • Having a choice in treatment preferences
  • Experiencing dignity in the dying process
  • Having family present and saying goodbye
  • Quality of life during the dying process
  • A good relationship with health care providers
  • A miscellaneous “other” category (cultural specifics, having pets nearby, health care costs, etc.)

In laying out the factors that tend to be associated with a peaceful dying process, this research has the potential to help us better prepare for the deaths of our loved ones—and for our own.

Choosing the way we die

Americans don’t like to talk about death. But having tough conversations about end-of-life care well in advance can help dying people cope later on, according to Emily Meier, lead author of the study and a psychologist who worked in palliative care at the University of California San Diego’s Morres Cancer Center. Her research suggests that people who put their wishes in writing and talk to their loved ones about how they want to die can retain some sense of agency in the face of the inevitable, and even find meaning in the dying process.

Natasha Billawala, a writer in Los Angeles, had many conversations with her mother before she passed away from complications of the neurodegenerative disease ALS (amytropic lateral sclerosis) in December 2015. Both of her parents had put their advanced directives into writing years before their deaths, noting procedures they did and didn’t want and what kinds of decisions their children could make on their behalf. “When the end came it was immensely helpful to know what she wanted,” Billawala says.

When asked if her mother had a “good death,” according to the UCSD study’s criteria, Billawalla says, “Yes and no. It’s complicated because she didn’t want to go. Because she lost the ability to swallow, the opportunity to make the last decision was taken from her.” Her mother might have been able to make more choices about how she died if her loss of functions had not hastened her demise. And yet Billawalla calls witnessing her mother’s death “a gift,” because “there was so much love and a focus on her that was beautiful, that I can carry with me forever.”

Pain-free status

Dying can take a long time—which sometimes means that patients opt for pain medication or removing life-support systems in order to ease suffering. Billawala’s mother spent her final days on morphine to keep her comfortable. My Oma, too, had opiate pain relief for chronic pain.

Her death wasn’t exactly easy. At the end of her life, her lungs were working hard, her limbs twitching, her eyes rolling behind lids like an active dreamer. But I do think it’s safe to say that she was as comfortable as she could possibly be—far more so than if she’d been rushed to the hospital and hooked up to machines. It’s no surprise that many people, at the end, eschew interventions and simply wish to go in peace.

Emotional well-being

Author and physician Atul Gwande summarizes well-being as “the reasons one wishes to be alive” in his recent book Being Mortal. This may involve simple pleasures like going to the symphony, taking vigorous hikes or reading books He adds: “Whenever serious sickness or injury strikes and your body or mind breaks down … What are the trade-offs you are willing to make and not willing to make?”

Kriss Kevorkian, an expert in grief, death and dying, encourages those she educates to write advance directives with the following question in mind: “What do you want your quality of life to be?”

The hospital setting alone can create anxiety or negative feelings in an ill or dying person, so Kevorkian suggests family members try to create a familiar ambience through music, favorite scents, or conversation, among other options, or consider whether it’s better to bring the dying person home instead. Billawalla says that the most important thing to her mother was to have her children with her at the end. For many dying people, having family around can provide a sense of peace.

Opening up about death and dying

People who openly talk about death when they are in good health have a greater chance of facing their own deaths with equanimity. To that end, Meier is a fan of death cafés, which have sprung up around the nation. These informal discussion groups aim to help people get more comfortable talking about dying, normalizing such discussions over tea or cake. It’s a platform where people can chat about everything from the afterlife (or lack thereof) to cremation to mourning rituals.

Doctors and nurses must also confront their own resistance to openly discussing death, according to Dilip Jeste, a coauthor of the study and geriatric psychiatrist with the University of California San Diego Stein Institute for Research on Aging. “As physicians we are taught to think about how to prolong life,” he says. That’s why death becomes [seen as] a failure on our part.” While doctors overwhelmingly believe in the importance of end-of-life conversations, a recent US poll found that nearly half (46%) of doctors and specialists feel unsure about how to broach the subject with their own patients. Perhaps, in coming to a better understanding of what a good death looks like, both doctors and laypeople will be better prepared to help people through this final, natural transition.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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We Need to Revolutionize End-of-Life Care — Here’s Why

Because it’s time to start thinking about death differently.

By Laura Dorwart

[W]hen Victoria Chang’s mother was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, she didn’t have a single person she felt she could turn to. Six years earlier, her father had a stroke that led to significant neurological changes, and now the young poet realized she alone would have to care for them both. None of her friends had sick or elderly parents, so she felt completely isolated.

What followed was a decade of navigating America’s imperfect end-of-life health care system, without much guidance from the doctors and specialists she so frequently encountered. When asked what she would have done differently over the course of the stressful years, Chang says, frankly, “Everything.”

“Everything was a learning curve, everything new,” she says, noting how she wished there had been more help for people like her. “Emotions were high, and we needed a case manager or a consultant or something. Hospice seemed to help, but in the end, there was only so much they could do.”

Chang’s experience caring for seriously ill loved ones is sadly not unique. Thanks to a combination of denial, a lack of know-how and flawed systems, most Americans don’t have the support they need when it comes to end-of-life care. According to a study by the California HealthCare Foundation:

Furthermore, a majority of those surveyed had not even communicated their end-of-life wishes to the loved one they would want making decisions on their behalf. That’s where Dr. Ira Byock, chief medical officer of the Institute for Human Caring at Providence St. Joseph Health, comes in. A renowned expert in palliative care and the author of The Four Things That Matter Most: A Book About Living and The Best Care Possible, Byock wants to reimagine health care as a more personal, approachable system. He wants to boost the person-to-person communication and eradicate denial — an approach he and his colleagues call Whole Person Care.

Dr. Byock

“[Whole Person Care] attends not just to your medical problems, but to your personal priorities, values and preferences,” explains Byock. “You’re someone with bodily needs but also have emotional, relational, social and spiritual parts of your life, all of which need to be attended to.”

This perspective may not seem all that radical, but it is clearly not the current practice. American medicine is good in that it’s a “problem-based system,” Byock says. “It is organized around your problem list on your chart. Everything we do, by design, responds to a problem on your list.” But life isn’t just a set of problems to be solved; patients have lives that extend well beyond the walls of hospitals and waiting rooms. Health care, in Byock’s opinion, should address this reality at all stages of life.

Perhaps most importantly, Whole Person Care includes patients’ families at every level of care. Byock emphasizes the significance of the familial role in a patient’s comfort, as well as the ripple effects of a single individual’s illness on loved ones and their network of relationships. “Whenever one person gets a serious diagnosis, everyone who loves that person shares in the illness. It’s a family and community issue.”

Chang, for one, can attest to the need for a system like Whole Person Care. “Looking back, I can’t remember the past decade because I was so busy helping everyone around me,” she says.

When asked what advice she would give to those caring for a family member or spouse dealing with a serious illness, Chang emphasizes the importance of self-care and finding community support in whatever form that might take. Remember that “it is OK to think about yourself and to take care of yourself,” she says. “Seek out groups to share with and to get emotional support. I only did this toward the end when I started reading about and writing to people on the pulmonary fibrosis foundation website. Those forums saved my life.” She also encourages folks in similar positions to consider their options, including daycare, homecare and facilities, and weigh the pros and cons of each.

Byock also encourages those faced with these situations to manage their own health: “People can experience wellbeing even in the midst of serious illness.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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What is the Death Positive Movement?

By TalkDeath 

[S]ome of us think of it often, others none at all. Sometimes we joke about it, other times fear it. No matter your approach or point of view, the fact remains: we will all inevitably die. It is literally the one thing we all have in common. And, on top of that, we will have to bear witness to the deaths of those around us. Yet, in spite of this irrefutable fact, Western culture doesn’t seem to be able to talk about the big “it.” Instead of allowing this commonality to bring us together, it often alienates us from each other. This is where the Death Positive movement comes in.

It is allude to in popular culture, through commercials, music, and other types of media. It is the subject of films and novels, and even television series. But even though we are in many ways surrounded by representations of death and grief, its presence and role in our own lives is something many feel afraid or uncomfortable speaking about. It is this internal and societal conundrum that many of us experience that is the focus of the “Death Positive” Movement.

The Death Positive (or Death Positivity) Movement is represented by the general (and growing) movement toward opening platforms for discussion about the inevitability of death and dying. The movement focuses on the importance of encouraging open discussions on the reality of both our own death, and the death of others. This includes the creation of platforms and spaces where such discussions can transpire in a comfortable, honest, open, and curious environment; where individuals may come together with different perspectives and exchange them with one another.

It also has a very practical goal of teaching us how to speak to others (i.e. our parents and partners) about their end-of-life wishes, as well as our own. The hope is that death will become de-mystified, and that as a result, society (and the individuals that comprise it) will be able to prepare for death and the grief that often follows. More importantly, discussing death and dying actually enables us to think about our own immediate lives. It encourages us to lead the life we want to live, and appreciate the little things.

You may be wondering where it is that these death positive discussions take place? How can you become involved? We’ll give you hint- it doesn’t happen in mortuaries or creepy church basements over skeletons and ouija boards. There are in fact a number of platforms- both online and in physical spaces- where death positive discussions take place on a regular basis.

One of the most widely and regularly practiced organized series of discussions on death and dying are known as Death Cafés, and occur all over the world. First established in 2004 by Swiss social anthropologist, Bernard Cretan, with the intention of breaking the taboo surrounding discussing death, they have since been held in cities all over the world. At a Death Café people will gather over coffee and treats to discuss death, dying, and experiences of grief.

Much of this discussion enables the participants to understand what is most important in their lives, allowing them to focus on these positive elements to live more fully and happily. They are often held in different locations throughout a given city, but always with the intention of creating comfortable spaces to discuss personal experiences and questions about death, dying, grief, and all that’s in between.

We highly recommend taking part in a Death Cafe in your area!

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Doulas provide compassionate end-of-life care at North Hawaii Hospice

North Hawaii Hospice Volunteer Coordinator Bobbi Bryant developed an end-of-life doula program for volunteers earlier this year.

By Jan Wizinowich

[S]ince 1986, North Hawaii Hospice has been providing end-of-life care and support for their local community members. The in-home care by their trained staff and volunteers has eased the journey out of life and given support to family and friends left behind.

Recently, through the efforts of Bobbi Bryant, the hospice’s volunteer coordinator, training has been offered to volunteers to become end-of-life doulas, returning to old wisdom and benefits that can be derived from it.

“Caring for the sick and dying before the Civil War happened in the home. It was just a continuation of women raising children. They cared for the elders at the end of their life,” Bryant said.

But with the rise of medical technology, the end-of-life stage was taken out of the hands of the family, and the knowledge and wisdom was lost.

“People were being brought to the hospital to die, and then they were embalmed so we weren’t really caring for people at the end of life. We lost our skills,” Bryant said.

The resurgence of end-of-life doulas are a reflection of the return of birth doulas beginning in the 1970s.

“Midwives to the dying have been around for a long time. It started as a result of the resurgence of birth doulas and midwives. The model transferred to how we can care for people at the end. There was a lack of education around the dying process and when people wanted to start caring for their loved ones, there was a lot fear. The conversation around death had come to a standstill,” Bryant reflected.

Recognizing the need for doula training, Bryant attended a conference on death and dying on Maui last April.

“When I came back, I spent the next several months creating a curriculum and trained 14 people including nurses, an ER doc and health aids,” she said.

The decision to enter hospice care can be difficult, but once made it can free the family and caregiver to focus on the patient.

“If you come for hospice support early, you can have so much support. There’s so much pain and suffering that isn’t necessary,” Bryant shared.

The North Hawaii Hospice team includes a lead, general and vigil doula. Initially, the lead doula meets with the family and the patient to provide information about all the ways they can assist them, and establishes a relationship of trust.

The doula’s role is to provide non-medical comfort and to be a facilitator; both subtle and profound. On a practical level, the doula does whatever needs to be done — offering companionship, running errands, assisting with household chores, providing healthful meals and helping with bathing and personal care.

“You just be there, be grounded and love them. You need a way to get trust from people. As soon as I get there, I get my hands on them. The medicine doesn’t always help. So when they’re in a lot of pain I’m running energy with that pain and helping them to move the pain through, and helping them to relax,” said Rose Riedesel, a hospice volunteer and healing body worker.

But a primary role for the doula is to sit, listen and be aware of what’s happening with the various aspects of the patient’s care in order to act as an information conduit between the medical care team and the patient.

“The doula is an adjunct to the professional people involved. They’ll find out some information that the care team needs to know and they’ll pass that on, or if the family needs some information the doula will pass that on to them,” Bryant said.

Emotional well-being is vital to ease the dying process. A big part of the doula’s role is to encourage the patient to “talk with people about their life and find places of deep meaning; a deep connection in life, the people who meant something to them in their life, the experiences, what their passions were and what their difficulties were. It allows the person to sink into this process of dying,” Bryant observed.

Another role for the doula is to notice any unresolved issues, which can cause anxiety and tension in the patient.

“They listen in the stories for anything that’s unresolved. Sometimes you’ll hear something about a family member who needs to be forgiven. We want that person to have as much relaxation as possible in the end,” Bryant said.

The lead doula also helps the patient and family with a vigil plan that includes the creation of a peaceful space, along with a team of doulas sitting in shifts when the active dying phase begins.

“They help create a beautiful space for the dying person to be in with things such as art, quilts, photos and a certain scent. They ask, ‘Would you like something read to you? Who do you want with you? Can somebody get into bed with you?’” Bryant said.

After the patient has passed, the doula assists the family in making arrangements, and follows up with them.

“The doula assesses how to help the family at that time and backs out. In a couple of days, they give the family a call and ask to come and talk about what happened, maybe a beautiful touch or an interaction before the person actually stopped speaking,” Bryant said.

Just as with the birth process, dying is a time of loving connection.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Grieving My Boyfriend’s Death… with His Ex-Boyfriend

Being gay can feel isolating. So can loss. Conquer both, together.

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[I]t’s never easy meeting your boyfriend’s exes, but it’s even harder when it’s at your partner’s funeral. So it was that I first met Donal, the love of Simon’s life. Handsome and charming, eloquent in his grief, I hated him before I even gave myself the chance to know him. While we got on fine at the wake, I had every intention of that being the only time we ever spoke.

This was made a lot harder by my decision to run the London marathon in our Simon’s name. As soon as the torrent of sweaty finish line selfies hit Facebook, Donal knew exactly why I had just run 26.2 miles, even though I’d done everything in my power not to bring his attention to what I was doing. It was about my pain, not anyone else’s.

“I wish we could have been better friends,” Donal messaged me.

“Well, we’re not the ones who are dead yet mate,” I wrote back. “So let’s Skype?”

We agreed to talk a few days later. Donal was immediately the most charming man I’d ever met. He was pleasant, complimentary, truthful, funny, and open about the fact he had felt just as alienated at Simon’s funeral as I had.

“What do you miss most about him?” he asked.

“His eyes,” I said. Donal nodded and smiled.

“I miss that ass, frankly.”

He paused, and then told me that I was the only other person who truly understood how he felt about Simon. I felt the same way: to speak to the only other person who had slept next to Simon was, perhaps, the most liberating thing in the world. Like the first time you make a Sean Cody joke with a new gay friend and realize that, for once, you’re speaking to someone who gets your shorthand.

We were both incredibly similar people—and both equally unaware of the chemsex and meth epidemic in London before meeting Simon—and both of us were trying to respond to his loss proactively. I wrote a play, he was making a film. He was helping support people he met who were in recovery, and I’d just run across half of London for Stonewall.

As we sat there, talking about our experiences with the same man, he started to cry as he told me that he wished he’d fought more for Simon to move out with him and get help in California, where the community was a lot better than it was in London.

This was not the first time Donal had told me this. At the wake, I had seen this as the most selfish opinion in the world: Didn’t I have a right to have met Simon too? This time round, less salty than I was when recently bereaved, I told him to stop being a fucking hero. Neither of us could have saved him, and we’d be arrogant to think otherwise. He smiled and told me he understood exactly why Simon fell for me.

We pledged to speak more, and we do. When Donal was back in England recently, we even popped into the bar where Simon and me—and Donal and me—had first met. Donal introduced me to the manager behind the counter, a man who I had bought pints from many times, knowing that we both had the same loss in our hearts, but had never spoken to.

“You won’t believe it,” said Donal, “but David here ran the marathon for Simon.”

The manager turned to look at me. He shook my hand. All three of us were choked up.

“Well then you’re not paying for those drinks,” he said.

Fran Leibowitz said in “The Impact of AIDS on the Artistic Community” that the crisis killed off the greatest audience for art New York had ever seen. For me, it also seems to have decimated a generation of mentors. Not just because of the body count, of course, but because of ageism in the gay community, a lack of social spaces that aren’t for clubbing, and because I’m sure we, as a generation younger, can seem uncomfortably ignorant of the defining moments of the gay liberation movement in the 20th century. Before Donal I had met nobody who could say certainly that what I was experiencing was not entirely new, and could confidently tell me when what I was feeling was important or when I was being a fucking idiot.

And this is as true for bereavement as it is for homosexuality. Both can feel incredibly isolating: many experience it, but it’s almost like everyone is speaking a different language when they try and share their stories. What Donal and I give each other as Simon’s partners is also what I was desperately in need of as a gay man: A confidante. Much-needed perspective. And an understanding that we are all part of something tough and beautiful together. And, I hope, I will give somebody else that when I’m older.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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A Burial at Gethsemani

Abbey of Gethsemani

By Gregory K. Hillis

[I]t was a surprise to enter the Abbey of Gethsemani’s church and see a body lying on a bier. Br. Harold was dressed in a white cowl and his face bore no signs of being made up by a mortician. He did not look like he was sleeping. He looked like what he was: dead.

He was not alone. The community had kept vigil with Br. Harold all night, each monk taking turns at the bier, praying the psalms with him one last time, prayers he knew so well from decades of saying the Divine Office.

As the funeral Mass began, Br. Harold’s bier was carried directly in front of the altar. There was no casket and his face was not covered. He simply lay there, a monk among his brother monks, albeit a now silent and unmoving participant in the Eucharistic feast.

After the Mass, his bier was carried out the doors of the church to the cemetery, filled with hundreds of identical white crosses. Here are buried monks from more than 160 years of monastic life at the Abbey. Among them is Thomas Merton, known in the community as Fr. Louis, buried beside Dom James Fox, the abbot with whom he so often clashed.

Along with the monks and members of Br. Harold’s family, I processed to a freshly dug grave. Although I’ve come to know quite a few of the monks of the abbey, I didn’t know Br. Harold. He was already in the infirmary with Alzheimer’s when I moved to Kentucky. I learned, though, that I missed out on a beautiful and simple man who breathed God in deeply, particularly when looking at a flower in bloom.

To allow Br. Harold’s brother monks, family members, and friends to be near the graveside, I found a spot on an outlook near the church that stood above his final resting place. Cistercians dig their graves very deep and they bury their dead without caskets. From my perch I could see that a pillow had been placed in the grave, on which had been placed a flower. There was also a ladder leading into the grave.

After graveside prayers, one of the monks descended the ladder while others lifted Br. Harold from the bier. The sheet he was on had six long straps attached by which he was lowered into the ground. As his brothers lowered Br. Harold down, the monk standing in the grave gingerly held Br. Harold’s head.

There was love and gentleness in the way the monk did this. I was reminded of the care with which my wife and I would put each of our newborn sons into the crib, doing all we could to make sure that his sleep wasn’t disturbed. When Br. Harold reached the bottom of the grave, I could see his brother monk almost tuck him in for his rest. He carefully laid Br. Harold’s head on the pillow, placed a white shroud over his face, and then ascended out of the grave, pulling up the ladder behind him.

From my vantage point I could see Br. Harold at the bottom of the grave, and then, shovel by shovel, being covered in dirt. Truth be told, it was disconcerting to see a human body—not a body in a casket, but simply a body—be buried. But never before had the words Christians recite on Ash Wednesday—remember you are dust—been as real to me as they were at that moment.

More importantly, I had never experienced death as something beautiful before this funeral. What I witnessed was the care and love of a community for one of their brothers, a care that extended to the very depths of the grave.

On Ash Wednesday we are reminded once again of our mortality; some of us need this reminder more than others. However, there’s something about my experience at Br. Harold’s funeral that leads me to contemplate my mortality not as something to be feared, but as an invitation to give more completely of myself to those in my community—to my wife, to my sons, to my students and colleagues, to those in my parish, and to those in my neighborhood and city.

Br. Harold lived a life of prayer and devotion in the context of a community, staking his own existence to the existences of others. In his life, he gave himself to his community. In his illness and death, the monks in the community gave themselves to him. At his funeral I learned that to confront our mortality is to come face to face with the reality of how deeply and truly we need one another. 

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!