Grief and Grieving – Page 86 – The Amateur's Guide To Death & Dying

October 14, 2016October 12, 2016

This Man’s Letter To The Hospital That Cared For His Wife Is Going Viral

He wants to thank the staff for their compassion.

Last month, Laura Levis died at just 34 years old after suffering a devastating asthma attack. Her husband, Boston-based writer Peter DeMarco, has been sharing tributes to Levis on Facebook since her passing. One such tribute was a thank-you note to the staff of CHA Cambridge Hospital in Boston, where Levis spent the final days of her life. The New York Times republished the letter, and it has since gone viral, touching the hearts of thousands of readers.

The letter opens with DeMarco noting that he still remembers the name of nearly every medical professional who cared for his wife in the hospital. “As I begin to tell my friends and family about the seven days you treated my wife, Laura Levis, in what turned out to be the last days of her young life, they stop me at about the 15th name that I recall,” he wrote. “The list includes the doctors, nurses, respiratory specialists, social workers, even cleaning staff members who cared for her. ‘How do you remember any of their names?’ they ask. ‘How could I not,’ I respond. Every single one of you treated Laura with such professionalism, and kindness, and dignity as she lay unconscious.”

DeMarco continued to describe the extraordinary compassion the staff exhibited towards him, his wife, and his family in what was possibly the hardest week of his life. He explained how the doctors and nurses made Levis’ father, a doctor himself, feel involved in the decisions surrounding her care. He expressed gratitude for the staff’s willingness to break hospital rules so that the couple’s cat could pay one last visit to Levis in her room. DeMarco also admired the staff’s thoughtfulness in keeping him company when he needed it most. DeMarco went on to expressparticular gratitude over a night when Levis’ family and friends stopped by to say their goodbyes:

“One special evening, you gave me full control to usher into the I.C.U. more than 50 people in Laura’s life, from friends to co-workers to college alums to family members. It was an outpouring of love that included guitar playing and opera singing and dancing and new revelations to me about just how deeply my wife touched people. It was the last great night of our marriage together, for both of us, and it wouldn’t have happened without your support.

In an especially powerful verse, DeMarco thanked two nurses for providing him with a special final hour alone with his wife. “There is another moment—actually, a single hour—that I will never forget,” he began, before explaining that on the final day of Levis’ life, DeMarco was hoping for some time alone with her. He asked Levis’ nurses, Donna and Jen, if they could help him set up a hospital recliner next to her bed. Instead, the two nurses shifted Laura further to one side of the bed so DeMarco could lay beside her, and gave the two an hour alone together.

“I nestled my body against hers,” DeMarco wrote. “She looked so beautiful, and I told her so, stroking her hair and face. Pulling her gown down slightly, I kissed her breasts, and laid my head on her chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath, her heartbeat in my ear. It was our last tender moment as a husband and a wife, and it was more natural and pure and comforting than anything I’ve ever felt.” What a beautiful act of kindness by two incredible nurses. The entire essay, which can be read at The New York Times, is full of heartfelt compassion. Our thoughts are with DeMarco and with Levis’ family as they grieve her passing.

Complete Article HERE!

October 13, 2016October 11, 2016

Things not to say to mourners (and some things you can do instead)

by Esther D. Kustanowitz

When friends announce on Facebook that a loved one needs prayers, or is in the hospital, or that they’re going through a hard time, I get a sinking feeling. And while recovery sometimes happens, sometimes, it doesn’t. So when I read, “I am heartbroken to announce …,” my heart breaks, and the pain of my own loss reawakens, in sympathy for the end of a life and for what is to follow for those still with us — a year mourning the loss through text, ritual and the communal embrace that is vital, but stands in contrast with grief’s frequent companion: a stark and searing sense of solitude.

Death is part of the organic fabric of life, our liturgy tells us, arriving sometimes in a timely manner and sometimes in a shocking and unexpected instant years or decades too soon. But regardless of the individual circumstances surrounding a loss, family members and friends are left to mourn and to try to move through the grief to live their lives in a new normal.

Jewish rituals provide a year of structure for rudderless mourners, with customs that encourage communal engagement while acknowledging that the year is one in which the mourner is set apart from and different than the embracing community. While this state traditionally lasts a prescribed year, in emotional reality, it tends to linger. Five years after my mother’s death, when people check in on me, I’m grateful; Judaism says that I have been done with mourning for the span of a college education, but that doesn’t mean I’m back to the me I was before. It doesn’t mean that my mother’s absence from the world doesn’t affect me anymore. It’s just different.

I remember those first few months, and how many people, hoping to utter words of comfort, instead spewed forth words of frustration, anger, pain and even insensitivity. They were probably as appalled as I was, but I know — and I hope they know that I know — that their hearts were in the right place. I believe they were so concerned about saying the wrong thing that they often said something even less appropriate.

Each mourner is different. Each grief circumstance is different. Each person finds comfort differently, in different gestures and phrases. But here are seven things — in honor of the traditional seven days of shivah — that everyone should try to avoid saying, along with a few things you can do or say instead to express your love and concern for someone who is experiencing a loss.

Avoid awkward moments engaging the mourner, conversationally or physically. There’s a tradition to leave the conversational initiative entirely to the bereaved, to wait until he or she wants to speak. Some mourners crave the physical embrace of community, while others prefer a spiritual support and company, but not literal embraces (especially from virtual strangers). While challenging to all of us who love words and fear silence, or who are more inclined toward long and crushing hugs to convey what’s in our hearts, sitting quietly in a room next to someone who is grieving can send a powerful, wordless message of presence and support (even if you don’t touch).

“Read” the mourner and be mindful of your relationship with him or her. Are you a close friend, whose embrace the mourner may be expecting, or are you an acquaintance who hugs as an alternative to conversation? If you’re concerned about the potential awkwardness of your physical or verbal interaction, ask the rabbi or a relative what kind of support the mourner may want. You can also ask the mourners if they would like a hug, and don’t be offended if they say no — not everyone wants to be touched by everyone.

Avoid commentary about the illness or the last moments of the deceased. “At least your loved one’s suffering is over” falls into a category of things that people inside and outside the immediate family may think quietly, especially if the deceased has been through a long or public illness, but should not say. Similarly, “at least s/he didn’t suffer,” or “what a blessing that it happened so fast.” You are not the coroner, so don’t offer your opinion on the cause of death or its nature. Instead, sit quietly with the mourner for a while — if there’s an appropriate opening, gently ask the mourner to share their favorite memories or most memorable moments.

Avoid making comments about the afterlife. In some religious communities, it’s comforting to devout people to think about their loved one being “in a better place,” “taking his place at God’s side” or (as I’ve heard religious Christians say) “going to Jesus.” But, emotionally, most mourners do not find comfort in this concept (especially “God needed another angel”). Is there an afterlife? Heaven? Hell? Olam ha-ba, where you study Talmud all day? No one knows; there are too many theological and emotional potholes in grief’s road to cover over with religious speculation about the afterlife. Instead, focus on this life: “I hope the community is the right kind of supportive when you need it. And I’m always available to help you.” (More on this in the next paragraph.)

Avoid: “Is there anything I can do?” Think about the vastness of the word “anything,” and the one thing it cannot include: the return of the lost loved one. Also, offers to help are something mourners receive in abundance at funerals and at shivah, but as time goes on, the offers trickle down to nothing. A year in, people who haven’t been through a loss themselves may assume you’re “fine.” And while you probably will be functional to some degree, at least, you’re probably not “fine.” Instead, if you’re offering assistance, get specific — grocery shopping, picking up kids from school or activities, baby-sitting so that the mourner can have some personal time. Specific offers give the mourner a chance to say “yes” or “no, thanks,” but without challenging them to think deeply about what they need and what you can and cannot provide. And if you’re a friend who really wants to be supportive, offer assistance even after shivah, or during the year of mourning, or beyond, after the offers have faded away but the need for support remains.

Avoid judgmental commentary about the funeral, the shivah or about how the mourner is grieving.

In many communities, there is variation in how people participate in mourning rituals. For instance, traditionally, shivah is held for seven days (shiv’ah means “seven” in Hebrew) for a close blood relative (parent, sibling or, God forbid, a child) or a spouse, and in a designated year of mourning, traditionally mourners abstain from “celebration.” But some (especially the non-Orthodox) are altering these traditions to fit their lives: sitting shivah for an aunt, uncle or grandparent, or only observing a few days of shivah. People want to connect to Jewish meaning and tradition, but not necessarily in a strictly Orthodox halachic framework. Saying things like “you’re not supposed to” or “not allowed to” grieve in a specific way is counter-supportive: The function of shivah, in particular, is to help the community gather around a mourner for support, not criticize the depth of their feelings or the minutiae of their approach to mourning. So don’t render a judgment as to whether it’s appropriate or halachic. Instead, if you’ve ever been on the inside of a year of mourning, you can offer, “If you ever want to know what helped me, I’m happy to share.” And if you haven’t been, just be there and listen.

Avoid over-empathizing with the mourner’s experience and emotional state. While this comes from a good place, saying, “I know exactly what you’re going through” minimizes the intensity of the mourner’s emotional state and shifts the conversation to being about you. For most mourners, especially at funerals and during shivah, this is not comforting; it’s a negation of their special status in that space. Occasionally, people double down on these kinds of statements, following up with an anecdote about a deceased pet or another “loss” story that isn’t equivalent — because no story of loss is ever really equivalent. Instead, saying, “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you,” or “I know it’s not the same, but I have some experience with loss if you ever want to talk,” is a better approach.

Avoid using shivah as an excuse to badmouth the community or its members. While this might seem a simple enough thing to avoid, the essential awkwardness that people feel when trying to comfort a community member may result in people blurting out things that are unintentionally hurtful. This may include criticizing the eulogies or the funeral service, or gossiping about the community’s failure to let everyone know the funeral was happening. Listen to the mourner. That’s why you’re there, to offer presence, an ear, and words of consolation when you have them. In most cases, that’s enough.

May we all know only simchas. But in the unfortunately inevitable event of a tragedy, let us focus our love and respect on the needs of those who are in the center of the grief circle, and may we as community members take seriously the sacred privilege of helping those who suffer to know that they are not alone.

Complete Article HERE!

October 8, 2016October 6, 2016

These Indonesians unearth their deceased loved ones every few years

Writer May-Ying Lam

People lift the coffin of Liling Saalino to a stone grave, or Liang, during a burial ritual, or Rambu Solo ceremony, in Lemo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. During the procession, people chat “Tau Tae Sengke,” which means nobody should be angry.

It is said that Torajans are people who “live to die.”

For this Indonesian ethnic group, funerals are such extravagant events that they sometimes attract tourists. Families can postpone burials years (and the deceased are considered sick and hosted at home until the funeral) until the family can raise enough money and gather as many relatives as possible. And then it’s a jubilant multiday social event with a parade, dances and animal sacrifices.

Agung Parameswara photographed these funerary practices when he traveled to South Sulawesi province, where the Torajans live. But often, their funeral isn’t the last time the dead are seen.

In August, crypts are opened, coffins are slid back out and bodies delicately unsheathed. This tender ritual is known as Ma’Nene, which is customarily performed every few years. In this practice, which honors the Torajans’ ancestors, corpses are washed and dressed in new outfits. They may be treated to betel nuts and cigarettes, sometimes even taken back to the place where they died. And, finally, they are wrapped in new shrouds and replaced in their freshly repaired coffins.

Parameswara was moved when he saw the family of Yohanes Tampang bring him a new pair of sunglasses, which he loved to wear while he was alive. They touched his body and introduced him to new family members.

People carry the coffin of Liling Saalino as a part of the Rambu Solo ceremony. When a person dies, pigs, chickens and buffalo are sacrificed, as the locals believe that the animals carry the soul of the deceased into heaven. The number and type of animals killed reflect the social status of the dead person.

Villagers and relatives gather as they prepare for a parade during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. After the animals are killed, a feast is thrown and the body of the deceased placed in a stone grave, or Liang.

Men gather during a buffalo fight, or Tedong Silaga, as a part of the Rambu Solo for V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.

Men gather to perform a Ma’Badong dance during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo.

Men remove a corpse from inside a Liang as they prepare to perform Ma’Nene in Pongko Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. In Ma’Nene, bodies of the deceased are exhumed to be washed, groomed and dressed in new clothes. Damaged coffins are fixed or replaced.

A man holds the corpse of Tang Diasik, who died six years ago, as he dries the corpse during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.

A woman cries in front of the corpse of Marta Ratte Limbong during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Locals believe dead family members are still with them, even if they died hundreds of years ago.

Personal belongings of Marta Ratte Limbong inside the coffin including money, a necklace and two gold bracelets.

These practices are rooted in Aluk To Dolo, or the “way of the ancestors.” Though Torajans are predominately Christian, they still adhere to these ancient traditions.

Parameswara said via email that he felt that witnessing the rituals reminded him about how important connections with family are in a time when people can be self-absorbed. “Death is not a thing that could [separate] the Torajans people [from] their loved ones,” Parameswara said. “Love for the Torajans is eternal.”

Villagers pray before they perform the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.

The Liang with Tau-Tau, or effigies made of wood in Lemo Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. These life-size representations of the dead were once produced only for the wealthy. They are guardians of the tombs and protectors of the living.

A boy lights incense in front of Lucas Payung’s body before the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi.

Relatives cry as the coffin containing the bodies of Tikurara, Dumak and Limbongbuak arrived at the Liang in Barrupu village, Toraja. The corpses were buried in Makassar a few years ago; this year, the family decided to move the bodies to the stone grave in their hometown. But first, the family performed the Ma’Nene ritual.

Complete Article HERE!

October 6, 2016October 4, 2016

Three tips for supporting employees in tough times

By Amy Florian

Grief support in the workplace is becoming increasingly important.

Our workplace is aging. With about 10,000 baby boomers turning 65 every day in the U.S. and more seniors opting to stay employed, you are probably dealing with serious illness and deaths among employees and their families on a regular basis.

The desire for communication on a more personal level is especially strong in times of transition, crisis and death. So while employees may appreciate your skills in advising them on retirement options, they are now also looking for someone who “gets them” and knows how to support them in their grief.

It is becoming increasingly important to understand the basics of grief support in the workplace. Those who don’t know how to talk about grief may experience a loss of trust and confidence from their colleagues.

Just a few tips to help you:

Even if you have had a similar grief experience, do not say “I know how you feel” or “I understand just what you’re going through.” If you don’t want to alienate grieving colleagues, avoid telling them you know how they feel, because you are always wrong. Each person experiences grief uniquely, based on a host of factors, including their specific relationship with the person who died, their personality and style of grieving, their prior experience of loss, the strength of their support network and their culture.

Instead, use the phrase “How is it different?” For instance: “When my husband died, I felt like I was walking around in a fog for five months. Is it like that for you, or how is it different?” Or, “When my mom died, I kept picking up the phone to call her before I remembered there wouldn’t be an answer on the other side. Have you done that too, or how is it different for you?” In other words, you establish your expertise and yet allow for your colleague’s unique experience.

Avoid saying “Come by my office any time.” First, everyone says that, but few people actually mean that the grieving person can call or see them any time. More importantly, grieving people don’t have the energy and resilience to simply stop by and talk. It seems too risky and they are feeling too vulnerable to interrupt someone else’s normal day to ask for something.

Instead, every time you communicate with grieving colleagues, tell them the next time that you will contact them. “I’ll call you next Tuesday, just to check in on how it’s going and see if you have any questions.” That takes the weight entirely off their shoulders and positions you as one of the rare people who are there for them without them having to give it a second thought.

Implement these approaches to distinguish your workplace and build a more trusting relationship with your colleagues. Remember, when you effectively serve others in the toughest times of their lives, it’s good for them, good for you, and it just happens to also be very good for your workplace.

Complete Article HERE!

October 5, 2016October 5, 2016

Support group helps children share the pain of loss

By Taylor Dungjen

Kela Grooms, 10, who lost her mother to cancer, cries during a group activity with volunteer Julianne Lang

A small voice from the back of the room chimed in as the laughter and chatter quieted.

“I never really smile,” said Kela Grooms. “Even when I’m happy, I don’t really smile until I’m extremely happy.”

The other four young girls seated at the table were quiet, like they understood exactly what Kela, 10, meant.

They had laughed, and they felt OK just then, but sometimes they can feel so sad they can’t explain it. Sometimes they understand why — they’re mourning the loss of a parent or a sibling or grandparent. Sometimes the sadness comes unexpectedly and hangs over them like a heavy blanket.

Each of the children in this group has experienced a traumatic loss of a loved one — a family member usually, but sometimes a friend. Twice a month they meet in a small room at Good Grief of Northwest Ohio, a peer support group for children who have experienced the death of someone significant in their lives.

The nonprofit organization, funded through grants and donations, is headquartered in Holland in western Lucas County. The group has one full-time and three part-time employees. The rest of the staff, including those who run the peer groups, are volunteers. Good Grief serves about 30 families; about 25 children come for each session. There is no cost for families seeking services at Good Grief, and they’re allowed to stay as long as they feel necessary.

Dorothy Mockensturm, the managing director, said the average length of stay is about 11 months.

“It’s up to the families to decide when they feel like they’re done for now,” she said. “The door is always open. Different milestones in kids’ lives can change how things are going.”

On a recent Tuesday, Kela and the other four girls — making up “the middles” age group — started their meeting as they do every time they’re together.

Say your name and tell us who died.

Alena Burke, 9, who was new to the group that night, introduced herself. Her dad died, she said. So did her great-grandmother.

Bailey Clark, 9, said her sister died. On Bailey’s lap was a stuffed Pikachu toy. Her sister would have loved the Pikachu, she said.

Sophia Moran, 8, told the girls her twin brother died.

Caylen Crowl, 9, lost her father.

And Kela lost her mother.

“It’s not counseling. It’s not therapy. It’s a place where kids can come and spend two hours every other week and be with other kids who have also gone through the death of someone significant in their lives,” Ms. Mockensturm said. “Everyone here is going through the same thing.”

Beth Johnston, a three-year volunteer at Good Grief, pulled a stack of cards out of a small plastic bag. On each card was written a different emotion: depressed, frustrated, enraged. The girls played a game, acting out each of the emotions and guessing what each was. It was a way to get the girls to think about the different ways they feel and the emotions they experience.

“How many feel like they might be depressed?” Ms. Johnston said.

That started the girls going. It prompted Kela to say she doesn’t smile as much as she used to.

Kela’s mother, Kristine Grooms, died March 10, 2015, from adrenal cortical carcinoma, a rare form of cancer. She was 37.

“Why don’t you smile?” Ms. Johnston asked Kela. The other girls were quiet.

“It’s still, like, my mother is not here,” she said. “What am I supposed to do? I have a good time in band, but I still don’t smile about it. This is my mother’s saxophone, and I’m playing the exact instrument that she did. It still doesn’t make me smile until I realize if I get good at this, she’d be extremely proud of me.”

Ms. Johnston wanted to volunteer at Good Grief to “pay forward what I’ve learned,” she said. Her fiance died five years ago.

“I found out grief is upside down and sideways. You can be happy and miserable and scream out,” she said. She learned, after about a year of grieving, that she could be happy again, but in a different way.

“I know where they are and what they’re going through,” she said.

Deb Crowl founded Good Grief after her husband, John, died unexpectedly in March, 2014. He was 49.

She and her two daughters, Caylen and Chloe, 13, go to Good Grief. When the girls are in their peer meetings, Ms. Crowl is in one of her own.

Adults who bring children aren’t required to attend a group meeting, but Good Grief offers two: one for caregivers who are helping a child deal with grief and another for caregivers who are also navigating their own grief.

“I think that’s been really beneficial,” Ms. Crowl said. “It’s two-fold for us. We get things that help us as adults and as parents but also help us with our kids who are going through that process.”

Ms. Crowl, whose father died of lung cancer when she was 21, said the peer support has helped her deal with residual grief she never worked through as a young adult.

Sophia Moran, one of the young girls in the “middles” group, held in her hands two butterfly clips. The butterfly represents her twin, Rayden.

About 30 weeks into her pregnancy, Sophia’s mother, Julia Mortensen-Moran, learned her son, who had been so active, died in utero.

Mrs. Mortensen-Moran carried the babies until they were full term, delivering Rayden stillborn. Sophia and her mother attend Good Grief to understand better their feelings about Rayden’s death.

When Sophia started school, she was having a hard time making friends with siblings; they would ask her, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Technically, yes, but explaining and understanding death at such a young age is hard.

Through some Internet searches, Mrs. Mortensen-Moran found Good Grief and, that day, they started attending meetings.

“Immediately it was life changing,” she said. “She had a connection. It’s been great.”

Complete Article HERE!

October 3, 2016October 1, 2016

How To Tell The Difference Between Sadness, Grief, And Depression

By Amy Marturana

The emotions are closely connected, but there are key differences between them.

We all know what it’s like to feel sad. Sadness is a standard human emotion. It looks different for different people and in different situations, but we all experience it regularly, maybe some of us more vividly than others.

Robin Dee Post, Ph.D., a recently retired clinical psychologist with over 30 years of experience in private practice, tells SELF that sadness is actually a desirable and necessary emotion. “It’s an emotion we sometimes think about negatively and it actually is not, it’s a very adaptive feeling.” Being sad allows us to deal with painful experiences and loss. It can be cathartic and relieve tension. “It also aids in empathy for ourselves and what we’re going through, but it’s also an emotion that can help us access other people’s pain and suffering,” Post explains.

Sadness is also one feature of depression—they’re closely tied, but not exactly the same. Being sad is normal and healthy and will pass; depression has a negative impact on your life and needs to be addressed to get you back to a happy, healthy, functional place again.

If your sadness lasts more than two weeks and is accompanied by other warning signs, it may mean it’s more than just that.

“Mood disruption for two weeks or longer,” is one diagnostic criteria for depression, Post says. The key is whether or not that sadness is paired with other factors of depression—loss of energy, trouble concentrating or making decisions, difficulty sleeping, disruption in eating patterns, feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness or thoughts of self harm.

Depression is also marked by a loss of pleasure in life and activities that once made you happy.

Loss of interest in things that normally excited you, or the inability to find pleasure in any way outside of the thing that’s saddening you, is a red flag. “You could be sad but still feel pleasure about something,” Post notes. “Depression is a pervasive lack of pleasure in things you’re doing.” This can also manifest in social withdrawal.

There’s a fine line between grief and depression, but for those predisposed to depression, it can be a slippery slope.

Grief is a normal reaction to a tremendous loss. If you lost something or someone important, it’s expected for you to be stricken with grief for a long time—much longer than the two-week criterion for depression. And chances are, you won’t find too many thing exciting or interesting or pleasurable, depending on how you grieve and what stage you’re in. “We can’t just amuse somebody out of their grief,” Post says. Many people can and should turn to counseling in a time of loss—it’s a way to help you sort out how you’re feeling and learn the best way to cope.

If you think you might be depressed, you should seek counseling—which can be helpful even if you don’t come out with a clinical diagnosis.

If you’re grieving for a long time and it’s disrupting your life, or if you are struggling to cope with another type of sadness or stress and you’re noticing it’s affecting you physically (you’re not eating, losing weight, not sleeping or sleeping all the time), it’s a good idea to seek professional help. Meeting with a therapist can be useful for identifying coping strategies and working through complex emotions, whether you’re depressed or not. For some people, grief and sadness can segue into major depression. “Depression comes with a biological vulnerability, so not everybody who is sad or grief-stricken will morph into depression,” Post notes. For those who do, it tends to be recurrent, “so it will happen more than one time.” If you know you’re prone to depression and have been treated for it in the past, don’t wait until things spiral. Talk to a mental health professional when you are deeply sad or consumed by grief to keep yourself afloat during the most emotionally challenging times.

Complete Article HERE!

September 30, 2016September 29, 2016

Assisted death was ‘incredibly positive,’ says family of Alberta’s first patient

By Shawn Logan

[A]t the end, Hugh Wallace still remembered there were 43,560 square feet in an acre.

Surrounded by family on April 19, just before a lethal cocktail was administered to legally end his life, making him the first Albertan to do so in this province, his son asked him the question he feared he may one day not be able to answer.

“Hugh always said if he got to the point where he couldn’t remember how many square feet were in an acre, he didn’t want to go on,” said his widow, Evie.

“At the end, he scored the winning goal in the last second of play.”

Alberta Health Services this week revealed 31 Albertans have so far been granted physician-assisted deaths, two dozen of those coming after the federal government lifted the legal prohibition against the practise in June, following a 2015 Supreme Court ruling.

Wallace, who at 75 had endured a quarter-century of multiple sclerosis before contracting aggressive lung cancer, was an engineer, and at his heart an uncompromising pragmatist, said Evie, who has since become an advocate for assisted death, speaking around the province.

“He wanted to go out with his brain intact,” Evie said.

“He didn’t want to go out in a coma, with a catheter and wearing Depends. That wasn’t him.”

Wallace, like a handful of trailblazers before him, had gone before the courts earlier this year seeking an exemption against the law outlawing assisted death in the Canadian Criminal Code.

In February, Hanne Schafer became the first Alberta woman granted the legal right to take her own life, but, after struggling to find a doctor in her own province, had to go to B.C. for the procedure. A second Alberta woman also went to B.C. to have a doctor assist in her death after a ruling in May.

But Wallace was able to find an Alberta doctor willing to help him die on his own terms, opening the door to others seeking the same release. As of Tuesday, the lead for medical assistance in dying preparedness for AHS, Dr. James Silvius, said two to four patients a week are taking advantage of the service, numbers he admits are somewhat surprising.

Evie said though her husband was suffering in the waning days of his life, he found some comfort in being able to have some control of how he passed on.

“It was an incredibly positive experience,” she said. “He was able to say his goodbyes to everybody and the doctors were fantastic. They were amazing human beings.”

Evie added the doctors involved in his care had meetings with both family and Wallace privately to ensure there were no signs of coercion before he underwent the procedure.

While her family’s experience was positive, the 73-year-old widow noted those who choose assisted death need to make sure everybody’s on the same page, and there are no lingering issues to resolve.

“It’s something for people to really look at their family dynamics before they go through with this,” Evie said.

“If there’s a lot of unfinished business in a family, it’s fertile ground for explosions.”

After 51 years of marriage, Evie said she is left with wonderful memories of the man she deeply loved, and not a shadow of regret about watching Hugh end his own life.

“At the end, we didn’t have any tears left in us. It was a good day.”

Complete Article HERE!