Category: Talking about death

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Going gentle

A sociologist explains how to get the most out of the final months of life

By Bob Holmes

We are all going to die — and most of us will be able to see death coming, months or even years before it happens. That foreknowledge means we should embrace the end of life as a distinct life stage, just like childhood, adolescence and maturity, says Deborah Carr, a sociologist at Boston University. In the 2019 Annual Review of Sociology, Carr and her co-author, Elizabeth Luth of Weill Cornell Medicine in New York, explore how to make the most of this final stage in our lives.

Carr spoke with Knowable about how to find a good death. This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

You claim that the end of life is a life stage that’s unique to the modern world. Why do you say that?

In past centuries, people tended to die younger, but more important, they tended to die quickly after they became ill. The end of life was basically a week, if that. People died at home. Today, with people dying of conditions like dementia and cancer, someone can experience a month or 10 years between diagnosis and actual death. And today, ventilators and feeding tubes allow people to prolong the length of their life, even if not the quality of life. So it’s a longer and more uncertain stage than in the past.

Is it fair to say that the objective of the end of life is to find a good death?

I think that is one of the main objectives. And that’s a new construct. In the days when people died suddenly, death was really a discrete event. You didn’t have to find ways to soothe them or provide music or other amenities. Today, because people tend to die over prolonged time periods, there’s a real emphasis on ensuring that the quality of that experience, whether it’s a week, a month or six months, is as positive as possible.

What are the components of a good death?

A good death typically has several pillars. First and foremost is freedom from pain. A sizeable portion of dying patients have physical pain and difficulty breathing. So the use of painkillers, palliative care, devices that allow someone to breathe comfortably, is very important.

Another is self-determination. Dying patients and their families want to have some control over the process. They want to choose where they die: at home or in a hospital. They want to choose what kind of treatment they get, whether they get life support.

And the third pillar is a broad category called death with dignity. People want to be treated as a whole person. They want their spiritual and psychological needs met. People even think about planning a funeral that has their favorite music and foods. They want to die being the human being they were in their younger years.

An increasing number of people in the US are dying in their homes or in hospices, as shown by these CDC data from 2003 and 2017. “Hospital” includes inpatient, outpatient, ER and dead on arrival. Hospice deaths in 2003 were just 0.2% of US deaths, compared with 7.8% in 2017.

Are there socioeconomic factors that affect access to a good death?

A good death, like a good life, is often a matter of socioeconomic privilege. There are stark race differences in satisfaction with pain treatment at the end of life. There are a lot of explanations for that, but one is discriminatory practices in prescribing painkillers.

Economic factors probably matter most for advance care planning. Low-income people don’t tend to have living wills. One of the main reasons is they can’t afford a lawyer, or they don’t go to a lawyer for a property will because they don’t own a home. Usually it’s when you go to make a will that the lawyer asks if you would like a living will as well.

Socially isolated people are especially vulnerable to a bad death. Family and loved ones are critical in advocating for quality care, for ensuring that one has a clergy person by their side, getting help, making decisions in a sensible way. That’s a lot more difficult for those who don’t have a spouse or child or close friend nearby. So social isolation is a risk factor for a low-quality death.

This is a life stage that most of us will pass into, and we can only do it once. What can we do to make it as good as possible?

Data show that as people get closer to death, they often change their minds about things. Their values change, they start to value things like comfort, spiritual comfort, relationships with family, and they stop fighting. There’s less of a desire to live longer, and more to live better. People need to think about priorities, think about what’s important to them and their families, and adhere to their values, whether personal or religious. That really guides a lot of decision-making. Open and honest communication, along with formal preparations like advance care planning, are healthy approaches that bring both patients and their families peace.

Families and patients can prepare for the end of life by doing things like writing a living will, and specifying what kind of treatment plan one wants, even specifying how much money to leave behind for one’s children and one’s spouse. All of that planning is guided by some sense of when one’s end is coming. That’s why it’s really important that doctors try to give some estimate of how long someone’s future lifespan is. But that’s very hard to do, both psychologically and technically.

The other thing is to communicate with the people close to you. People need support, both practically and emotionally. They need people to talk to, and literally to hold their hand, but they also need people to help them with decision-making, financial decisions, figuring out whether they’re going to spend their last week at home or in a hospital. That communication can be very helpful.

What is society doing right today?

We have rising numbers of people using hospice, which emphasizes soothing of pain and palliation, rather than treatment. I think that’s a real advance. Patients and family members who receive hospice care are almost uniformly positive about the social support they receive.

The proportion of Americans who have living wills, or who appoint a family member to be decision-maker, has skyrocketed. And under the Affordable Care Act, doctors are reimbursed for the time they spend discussing end-of-life issues with their Medicare patients. That’s really important, because doctors are so rushed today. Being reimbursed to take the time to ask older patients what they want has been another real advance. Some private insurance plans cover end-of-life discussions and others don’t. But nearly all older adults in the United States have Medicare, so in practice, nearly all older adults have this benefit. People under age 65 with a permanent disability also may qualify for Medicare, and consequently are eligible for this benefit.

For-profit hospices are on the rise in the US and nonprofit hospice numbers are falling, raising concerns about the quality of care provided and making it more difficult for some people to spend their final days at home. Data are for hospices that provide care to Medicare beneficiaries.

What are we doing wrong?

Despite all the positive trends, there are still millions of Americans who do not take steps to prepare adequately. It goes back to fear and discomfort about death. People are afraid to talk about these issues — they may think “Oh, it looks like I’m after my mom’s inheritance if I talk about it.” But these are conversations that everybody needs to have. Just like parents should have the drug conversation, people should have the death conversation, to talk about their hopes for what they will experience at the end of life. You aren’t going to achieve what you want unless you articulate it to people who can help you sort it out.

If we can normalize and destigmatize death, and recognize it as a normal part of life and aging, that will empower people to discuss these difficult issues.

The other problem is that for all the strengths of hospice, the number of nonprofit hospices has been diminishing dramatically, and the number that are for-profit has been increasing dramatically. The people who work for hospices are for the most part kind and loving workers, but the for-profits are motivated to make money, so they’re often treating only the patients who are less expensive to treat. They’re often not delivering care to rural residents who need a lot of travel time. They’re shifting hospice care to nursing homes, because that’s cheaper. But that means fewer people are given the opportunity to die at home if they wish. The move to for-profit hospice is undermining the quality of care, and it’s limiting who gets that care.

So far, we’ve been talking about the needs of people at the end of life. But does the final stage of life offer opportunities as well?

One is the opportunity to construct a “post-self,” the self people want to live on after they die. You often hear that people want to leave the world a better place. End of life is a time when they can really think about what kind of legacy they want to leave behind, whether it’s financial or emotional or social.

It’s also one of those rare opportunities to be wholly introspective. There’s long been a theory that as we get older we care less about possessions and the larger social network, and want to spend our final days dedicating our energy to those people who are nearest and dearest to us. This is an opportunity to show gratitude towards loved ones, to focus on spiritual needs, review one’s life and give love and support to those you’re going to leave behind. It’s sometimes important for dying people to tell family members, “I’m ready to go now, and you can be OK with it.” Having those difficult conversations can make people feel more prepared for the transition.

What are the areas we need to work on in the future?

A big one is physician-assisted suicide and euthanasia. That’s not something that’s taken hold in the US. There’s certainly attitudinal support for it — all the survey data show that people think if someone’s terminally ill, with no chance of recovery, and of sound mind, they should be given the option for euthanasia. I think that’s going to be one of our big questions over the next 10 years about end-of-life care.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Judy Chicago contemplates death, and all it means, in this powerful exhibition

Artist Judy Chicago

By Angela Haupt

Judy Chicago is well-aware she’s going to die one day — and she’s coming to terms with it. In her newest body of work, the 80-year-old feminist artist reckons with her own mortality, as well as the untimely death she fears for the planet’s threatened species and ecosystems.

“The End: A Meditation on Death and Extinction,” at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, consists of nearly 40 works of painted porcelain and glass, plus two large sculptures. It’s divided into three sequential sections: “Stages of Dying,” “Mortality” and “Extinction.” Chicago’s new series is “luminous,” according to exhibition curator Virginia Treanor. “I think it’s going to be a really contemplative experience. People will be moved by it, for sure.”

Here’s a closer look at five of the pieces on display.

“Stages of Dying 5/6: Depression.”

Stages of Dying 5/6: Depression

An aged, bald woman cradles her face in her hands in this white porcelain piece, which is part of the “Stages of Dying” section of the exhibition. The figure personifies one of the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. These stages can apply both to those who are grieving the loss of someone and to those grappling with their own end. The older woman Chicago depicts is intended to represent an Everywoman, as well as the indiscriminate inevitability of death. “For so much of human history, the male figure has been the archetype of humanity,” says Treanor. “We say, ‘mankind.’ She wanted to shift that paradigm and make an Everywoman rather than an Everyman.”

Mortality Relief

A woman’s eyes are closed, her head resting on a pillow, hands clasped around a bouquet of lilies. The bronze sculpture is a self-portrait of the artist, who in the “Mortality” section of the show imagines different scenarios in which she might die. “Mortality Relief” pays homage to traditional death masks, which were used from the Middle Ages until the 19th century — before the advent of photography — to preserve someone’s likeness after death. Treanor describes the sculpture as “peaceful and serene.”

“Mortality Relief.”

In the Shadow of Death

Thirty of the pieces in “The End” — including this one from the “Mortality” section — are kiln-fired paintings on black glass: a laborious process that requires multiple firings. Each time something’s put into the kiln, there’s a risk that it’s going to break, which means that the artist needs to be exacting. “In the Shadow of Death” is engraved with a quote from philosopher Todd May, reading, in part: “To forge our lives under the haunting shadow of death is both our reality and our opportunity,” with an emphasis on the word “opportunity.” It’s Chicago’s way of noting that there’s no need to fear death. “We have this opportunity in life because we know it’s finite,” Treanor says. “It’s going to end at some point.”

“How Will I Die? #2.”

How Will I Die? #2

A woman, once again a self-portrait of Chicago, is curled into the fetal position, text wrapped around her body — “Will I leave as I arrived?” — in this kiln-fired painting on black glass. “Linking the experience of birth and death is powerful in a visual way, but also in an existential way,” Treanor says. She particularly lauds Chicago’s use of a wrinkled, aged figure. “This is classic Judy Chicago, and it’s one of the reasons I love her and her work so much,” she says. “She’s constantly pushing the boundaries. Nude women in art are a dime a dozen, right? But very rarely do we see an older nude woman. Very rarely do we see older women at all.”

“Stranded.”

Stranded

In “Extinction,” the final section of the exhibit, Chicago turns from pondering individual death to the obliteration of entire ecosystems and species. A gaunt polar bear clings to a melting iceberg in the black-glass painting “Stranded.” Other works depict elephants killed for their tusks and trees flayed of their bark. Capturing that kind of destruction requires extensive research, which Chicago has described as an emotionally draining experience. “It was interesting to hear her speak about these works, and equating the physical exertion that went into them — like multiple [kiln] firings — with the emotional toll it took on her,” Treanor says. “She said it was really gut-wrenching.”

If you go/

Judy Chicago — The End: A Meditation on Death and Extinction

National Museum of Women in the Arts, 1250 New York Ave. NW. nmwa.org .

Dates: Through Jan. 20.

Admission: $10; $8 for seniors and students; free for members and visitors 18 and under.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Yes, Grief Can Make You Horny

Craving sex is an awkward but deeply human response to one of life’s worst moments.

by Hannah Smothers

Death is, in general, a bummer, and there’s nothing really “sexy” about it. Yet some percentage of people find themselves improbably motivated to fuck as they mourn the loss of a loved one. It turns out that grief, the emotion that should be the least horny, is actually…quite horny.

This is kind of an uncomfortable premise, which could perhaps explain the (very disappointing!!!) lack of substantial, peer-reviewed research on this topic. (One of the only studies in the horny grief vein focuses on “sexual bereavement,” and basically just establishes that people who lose their long-term sexual partners will miss the feeling of sex, and not just the person they shared it with.) Therapists and sex researchers, though, say it’s a normal and fine thing to feel inexplicably horned up after someone close dies. “It’s really about filling the void — literally and figuratively,” Patti Britton, a clinical sexologist and sexuality educator, told Mel Magazine in 2018. “The grief trajectory is about a loss of closeness — a loss of intimacy. That’s why our libido kicks in: To fill that void.”

This makes sense. Living through the death of a loved one can put people in a very YOLO state of mind; faced with the fleetingness of life, you may as well bone while you can. It’s like humping away as the world burns around you (which is…kinda what we are already doing right now). Life will end, and so perhaps the way to feel most alive (at least for some people) is to smoosh your parts against another warm-blooded person.

But beyond filling a void, grief sex is also a pretty solid distraction from the pain and/or numbness that death brings. “The body becomes quite broken [after a death], and having sex— decent sex—drives the dopamine system,” Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist and senior research fellow at the Kinsey Institute, told VICE. “Any stimulation of the genitals drives the dopamine system in the brain, which gives feelings of optimism, energy, focus, and motivation.” The flood of dopamine can, at least for a little while, calm you down, Fisher explained.

Writer Anjali Pinto echoes this theory in an April 2018 essay she wrote in the Washington Post. Writing about the string of sexual encounters she started five months after the sudden death of her husband, Pinto describes a “rush of feel-good chemicals [that] created an overwhelming sense of happiness, even amid my loneliness.”

But more than the biological thrill of the dopamine hit that comes from good, consensual sex, Pinto wrote that seeking out casual flings with strangers gave her a sense of control in an otherwise bleak time. “Having sex with strangers healed me in ways that therapy, friendship, travel, writing and photography could not,” she writes. “These encounters made me feel empowered, desirable and more in tune with my body. They gave me agency when my life felt out of my control.”

Of course some people in “””polite society””” are going to poo-poo the banging of strangers (or banging anyone, TBH) in the aftermath of a major traumatic event, Pinto noted. Sex, especially when a woman is doing it, is still just taboo enough to feel like a manic response to a bad thing. But, I don’t know, man… losing a spouse is like a top-five bad thing that can happen to a person. Losing any loved one is. Barring legitimately destructive or dangerous behavior, it sort of seems like someone going through that hell of an experience should be able to do whatever it takes to feel better. As the saying goes, ‘Everyone grieves differently.” And experts say that some people grieve by boinking. That seems, in the grand scheme of things, very fine.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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My Dying Wife Has a Challenging Request for Her Funeral

She doesn’t want her estranged family to attend. I want to respect her wishes, but am not sure the excluded family members will.

By Lori Gottlieb

My wife and I have been together for 30 years. Five years ago, she started dialysis, and that same year her mother’s divorce from my wife’s stepfather was finalized. Like many divorces, it pretty much split up the family.

My wife’s health is declining rapidly now, and she was also denied placement on the transplant list due to other health issues. We have been discussing her death, and my wife has expressed that she does not want her ex-stepfather or two of her siblings to attend her funeral.

When my wife made her wishes known to her mother, her mother said that my wife’s ex-stepfather has every right to attend the funeral because he raised her since she was about 8 years old, and that the two siblings also have every right to be at her funeral because they’re her brother and sister.

My wife explained that she did not want them at her funeral, because of how her ex-stepfather treated her when she was growing up and because the two siblings sided with him during the divorce. But her mother reiterated that she wouldn’t do anything to stop these people from attending the funeral.

I told my wife that the only way to make sure her wishes are met is to not tell her family about her passing until after she has been laid to rest. My wife agreed that this may be the only solution. Is this the right course to take?

Louis
San Antonio, Texas

Dear Louis,

I’m so sorry that your wife is ill, and I can only imagine that the prospect of her wishes not being met adds substantially to the stress you’re experiencing. But what seems to be getting lost in the understandable turmoil is that your wife is still here, which means she has agency over how she interacts with these people before the funeral happens.

Let’s back up for a minute. What’s complicated about funerals is that not everyone agrees on whom they’re for. Are funerals for the dying, comforted by the knowledge that they’ll be surrounded by friends and family when laid to rest? Or are funerals for the living, a chance to grieve in the company of others and get one final goodbye? Whose comfort and peace of mind are funerals for?

It sounds like you and your wife believe that funerals are for the person who died, and therefore this person should determine before her death who will be there. And it sounds like your mother-in-law believes that funerals are for the living, and therefore that your wife’s ex-stepfather and siblings will want to be there. You probably won’t resolve this philosophical difference—though understanding it may help you to be more compassionate toward your mother-in-law’s view—but you do agree on one thing: These family members mean to attend the funeral.

The question is, why? You don’t say what these relationships are like now—whether your wife is on speaking terms with these relatives; whether they know about her prognosis; whether they’ve shown any concern for her; whether, perhaps, you’ve kept your wife’s condition from them so they haven’t had an opportunity to share their concern. Nor do you say how your wife was mistreated growing up, or whether her mom has acknowledged the extent of the mistreatment. Maybe your wife spoke with her mom about her wishes because she’s no longer in contact with these relatives, but by not communicating with them directly, she puts herself in a position of powerlessness, which may be how she felt growing up and again during the divorce.

Banning people from a funeral is both a personal request and a strong public statement. At least in part, it’s a declaration to all who attend that these people hurt your wife deeply, and in this way, her pain would finally be acknowledged. This is what her wish is fundamentally about: a way for her to deal with the pain of the past.

Quite clearly, though, there’s a catch. If banning them from the funeral represents a final, public acknowledgment of her pain, the one person who needs that acknowledgment most won’t be alive to see it. So maybe it’s worth considering what might bring your wife even more peace than their absence at her funeral: the opportunity to be heard by them now. In my therapy practice, I’ve seen people with terminal illnesses spend the time they have left in different ways. Some people don’t change much—they hold on to their anger and resentments and die with them firmly in place. Others step far outside their comfort zone and grow tremendously in ways that feel immensely gratifying.

I don’t know which route your wife will choose, but here’s an option for her to consider. Instead of saying to her family members, essentially, “I’m angry with you and I get the last word!” (because by the time they learn about the funeral they missed, she’ll already be gone), she might say, “I’m angry with you, and I’d like to understand more about what happened between us before I die.”

She may learn that these relatives don’t realize how much they hurt her; or that they feel bad for having hurt her; or that they feel hurt by her, and there’s another side of the story she hadn’t been willing to consider before—her own role in the family drama. If that’s the case, there might be room for compassion on all sides, and while compassion won’t erase what happened in the past, it might pave the way for a greater understanding that allows a connection to find its way into their lives. And that small change can be potentially transformative, especially at this time in her life.

Of course, just because your wife does something differently doesn’t mean other people will. If they’re not willing to consider your wife’s point of view (remember, they don’t have to agree with it), if they place all the blame on her or are rude or insulting in these conversations, your wife can take a different tack. She can say she believes that the time to show respect is while a person is still alive, and if they can’t show her respect in life, it would be disingenuous of them to pretend to “pay respects” when she’s dead. For this reason, it would upset her to have them at her funeral, and if they genuinely want to pay respects, they can do so by respecting her preference for that day to go as she wishes.

They may say fine. Or they may still insist on coming, in which case she can ask them point-blank, “Why are you insisting on coming to a funeral for someone whose feelings you don’t care about and who doesn’t want you there?” Just hearing the stark truth in this way may encourage them to reconsider.

But here’s the thing: No matter what happens, your wife will have gotten to say her piece while she still can. Whether you have a private service or they attend her funeral, it won’t matter as much as the fact that she was proactive and forthright, spoke her truth directly to the people involved, and took control of what she had control over—how she wanted to live in a way that expressed her self-worth. Some people go their entire lives and never give themselves this opportunity. She doesn’t have to be one of them.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Exploring the End with a Death Doula

By

Unlike most people, Anne-Marie Keppel isn’t afraid to talk about death. From her home office on Craftsbury Common, she works as a death doula and life cycle funeral celebrant through her businesses Stardust Meadow and Village Deathcare. When jewelry maker and Hardwick resident Cecilia Leibovitz lost Michael Secore — her partner of nearly 18 years — to cancer last September, Anne-Marie was there to help ease the transition and provide support to the family during their time of grief.

Now Cecilia makes memorial jewelry to commemorate loved ones, using pieces of clothing and personal artifacts. We sat down around Anne-Marie’s table with glasses of mint tea to talk about our experiences with death and why we are so afraid to discuss it openly.

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Review: The Green Burial Guidebook

By Jean Campbell*

This small book, The Green Burial Guidebook by Elizabeth Fournier, is packed with helpful information and resources for anyone interested in learning more about “green burials”, and what that really means. The author speaks from experience, and lays out the information in an easy to understand and well organized way. For a subject that can seem overwhelming, this book does an excellent job of simplifying the subject.

For those ready to fully commit to this end of life scenario, there is practical advice on what to do, where to go for help as well as providing historical context and tips on the subject throughout the book. For those who are just curious, may have reservations, or have not yet thought about what their end of life may “look like”, there are explanations and options presented.

Fournier mentions “….the cultural alienation….from dying….” and all things associated with that stage of life. Western society, by in large, has turned over the handling of death to others rather than embracing it. The author invites the reader to take ownership of the choices and the outcome in advance. We could look to the practices of some other cultures to remind ourselves how to cope with this inevitable life event in a thoughtful, considerate, and personal manner.

What the author does in this book more than anything is to prompt us to think about our death and how we want it handled. To make choices, and plans ahead of time so that not only are our wishes honored, but also so that family and friends are not left with hard decisions at a time when they may be least prepared for it. Green burials provide an alternative that can be comforting and healing for friends and family, and also provide a much less invasive choice for the environment and the earth itself.

A great read for those wishing to become more informed on the subject at whatever level.

* Special correspondent, Jean Campbell has no qualifications to justify or explain why she should be reviewing books other than we all have opinions, and this is hers.

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A Lesson of Death

Different Is Not Less

Tony and his daughter, Katie, who was 23 at the time of Jonny’s death, share their journey through the liminal space in this book, told from the two very different perspectives of Tony and Katie.

By Tony Rose

Tony Rose, the co-author of Beautiful Grief, shares a lesson he learned upon the death of his 28-year-old son.

Jonny was a month and a day shy of his twenty-ninth birthday when my wife, Chris, found him dead in our pool house. This was four years ago, and it began my experience with vast differentness.

“Jonny is dead,” she told me over the phone. I was in Oregon golfing with my friend when she called.

Chris’s phone call—and Jonny’s death—began a journey through what I came to know as the “liminal space.” The word liminal comes from the Latin word limen, meaning “a threshold.” The liminal space is the place wherein you have left one phase—one set of rituals or traditions—but have not yet established new rituals. You no longer hold your pre-ritual status, but you have not yet begun to transition to a new status of rites and rituals.

During the liminal space, you are standing on the threshold between your previous way and what will become your new way.

When someone you love dies, it is as if a tsunami has hit. The world as you know ceases to exist, so the word “different” feels like an understatement. When you enter the liminal space because of grief, you begin the process of being something new. The liminal space can seem permanent, and certainly so when grief accompanies it. This loss of a person or a relationship or an extreme shift in conditions—this differentness—changes the dynamic and balance of your life in such a profound way that the circumstances of joy that persisted before the liminal space cannot be recaptured.

This loss can seem enduring. After all, how can you be okay when the joy you once had can never again be realized?

Jonny’s death created a different world for me. My life is not the same as it was before he died. He does not sit in his seat at the table during holidays. I will not attend his wedding. Never will his laugh fill my ears again.

When he died, this difference felt, at first, staggering. It was as though my boat had crashed, and the ocean was tossing me around.

But as the months and years passed, I began to realize that the differences in my life were not differences of a lesser quality. They were differences of a different quality. I have more sadness than I had before Jonny died, but my joy is deeper. I notice moments that I would not have noticed before Jonny died, and I notice that my feelings are becoming purer and more accessible.

Here is just one example: I was recently honored to be a guest at the wedding of an employee, Carmen. To be honest, before Carmen’s wedding, her fiancé, Fernando, was an acquaintance. He and I had met a handful of times prior to the wedding. We had exchanged small talk and pleasantries. I liked Fernando, but had Jonny not died, I am certain that his wedding with Carmen would never have been as extraordinary as it ended up being. Absent the differences in me that occurred due to Jonny’s death, Fernando would still be a person I think of as an acquaintance.

Yet, I can say without a doubt that I will never forget watching Fernando dance with his mother on his wedding day. I found myself crying, watching a mother so tenderly celebrate the love and happiness she felt for her adult son, mixed with the bittersweet emotion of seeing her baby turn into a man.

I watched them dancing, aware that I will never have a memory of Jonny dancing with his own mother but sure that had Jonny not died, I would never have recognized the beauty and the quiet confluence of melancholy and joy that existed in that moment.

It was—even as I think about it now—a moment that will always move me.

There’s no question in my mind that it was almost as consequential as Jonny’s birth itself. I will remember Fernando dancing with his mother until my dying day.

I can, at this very instant, see a picture of them dancing in my mind.

As I watched them, it occurred to me that those empty places that I thought would never be filled can be filled if I let them. They will be filled with something different, but not something less.

Watching Fernando dance with his own mother did not have to be a reminder of what I did not have: It was better as a great substitute, a beautiful replacement, a differentness, for a hole that would otherwise be vacant—a small, surprising moment I could treasure in my mind as its own memory.

This is the closest I have come to being grateful for the context given to me by Jonny’s death. It was the first time I really articulated that there would be many glorious moments to come. They will be different than I would have imagined four years ago, but they need not be less.

Tony and his daughter, Katie.

I began to realize that the moments did not have to come from my wife, Chris, or from my daughter, Katie, or from me, or even from someone in my immediate circle—they could come from an acquaintance. I could share in a moment with my employee’s fiancé and his mother—a moment that he will never forget, but equally, a moment that I will never forget.

I could have thought, Jonny will never dance with his mom, and I would have missed the moment between Fernando and his mother. I would have equated different with less.

Instead, I was able to share in a beautiful moment between Fernando, Carmen, and their families. Absent the context of Jonny’s death, I would have been an attendee at Fernando and Carmen’s wedding. Given the context of Jonny’s death, I was a participant.

The world, and all of the moments that unfolded at that wedding, seemed so much richer, with more depth of color, than I could have otherwise seen them.

Would I trade this to spend time in the company of my son? Of course I would. But I do also hold that my memories of Jonny, and the new memories I have made since his death, are not of a lesser quality.

I think this is important to remember because differences happen. We change jobs or move to new cities. We become parents, and then we become empty nesters. We divorce. People we love die.

What I observe of people who are grieving is that they sometimes choose to dwell on the fact that their life is different, and they stop there. Instead of saying, “Oh, this is different. I am going to experience life in a different way,” they say, “Oh, this is less. My life is less. I will never be okay because my life is so different than it was before.”

My experience is that when you decide that different and less are synonymous, you fail to see the moments. You cannot see joy and beauty when you have already decided that your life is less-than.

For me, the ocean has settled. As I look around, the view is new. It is also beautiful, rich with colors I have never before seen.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!