A reader recently asked, “Two people have consented to [an ethical will] but I think video taping them would be more personal for the receiving family. Can you see some possible landmines?” This was my reply….Read more.
Posted in End of life, Ethical will, How to, Tips, Video production
Tagged Ethical will, Family, How to, Tips, video, videotaping, what to avoid
Not long ago I was asked to audio record some final words from a young mother who was dying from cancer. I’ll call her Sonia to protect the family’s privacy. She was in her early thirties and she wanted to leave something for her only child, a five-year-old boy…Read more.
Posted in End of life, Inspiration, Interviewing, Life stories
Tagged audio legacy, child, End of life, interview, legacy, Life stories, mother's dying words, wisdom
I know some of you are interested in the possibility of providing personal history services to the terminally ill. I’ve been helping those at the end-of-life record their personal histories as well as volunteering at Victoria Hospice for the past five years. I find it tremendously satisfying work but it’s not for everyone. If you’re seriously contemplating working with the dying, here are seven questions to ponder… Read more.
What part of a Life Story do you focus on when it appears patients may have only a few weeks or days to live? Patients may initially indicate that they want to talk about the broad spectrum of their lives from childhood to the present. The reality, unfortunately, is that they’re not likely to have enough time to complete such an undertaking. Here’s what I’ve suggested…Read more.
Mom at twenty-three
Those of you who are regular readers of my blog know that every Monday is devoted to Monday’s Link Roundup. This Monday is different. Yesterday Mom died at Victoria Hospice at the age of ninety-three.
Mom always believed that when she transitioned to that other side, she’d be met by my Dad, Ed Curtis, who died in 1990. I like to think she was right. And whether by coincidence or design her death took place on their seventy-second wedding anniversary. They were married December 18, 1939.
Throughout my life Mom was one of my biggest fans and supporters. In many ways she introduced me to story telling at an early age. An avid reader, her favorite activity before going to sleep was to read a few pages from her latest book. Every morning I would eagerly run into her bedroom to sit by her bed. There, she would relate the latest installment – no doubt censoring some of the racy bits for the ears of an eight-year-old.
She also regaled me with stories from her teenage years when her family homesteaded in the wilderness of northern British Columbia. Eagerly absorbed by a young boy were tales of encounters with grizzly bears, hunting, and snowy winter nights, hunkered down in their log cabin.
People have remarked that it’s sad that Mom’s death came so close to Christmas. In part that’s true. I certainly haven’t had time in the past few weeks to think much about the holiday season. But central to this time of year is the message of peace, comfort, and joy. And I’ve experienced all of those in a personal and profound way. Mom and I were surrounded at Victoria Hospice by loving and compassionate care. Her final days brought her comfort and her death was blessedly peaceful. And we had joyful moments – reminiscing about Christmases past, enjoying cups of her favorite tea from her favorite cup, and laughing at this comedy called life. One of the last things she said to me, opening her eyes briefly was, “Having fun?”
I miss her dearly. My world has changed forever. But surrounded and supported by my loving partner, friends, and colleagues I’ll carry on doing honor to those values she tried to instill in me – kindness, loyalty, grace, and a good sense of humor.
Thanks, Mom.
Posted in End of life, Holidays, Inspiration, Palliative care
Tagged Christmas, death, End of life, holiday, hospice, Inspiration, memories, Mom, Palliative care, Victoria Hospice
At Victoria Hospice we’re into the third year of a Life Stories service for patients registered with Hospice. This is a program that I initiated and continue to be involved with as a trainer and a mentor for our Life Stories Volunteer Interviewers… Read more.
“My friends, love is better than anger.
Hope is better than fear.
Optimism is better than despair.
So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic.
And we’ll change the world.”
~ Jack Layton, (1950-2011) MP and Leader of the Official Opposition, Canada
These were the inspirational closing words of a farewell letter to Canadians written by Jack Layton days before he died on August 22nd.
While not known widely outside his native land, Layton held a special place of affection and admiration for Canadians. This could be seen in the unprecedented outpouring of sorrow during a week that culminated in his state funeral on August 27th in Toronto.
Globe and Mail columnist Sandra Martin in her article Why a farewell letter can comfort and inspire wrote:
Jack Layton wasn’t the first person to send a public deathbed letter to friends, colleagues and supporters and he won’t be the last…Memories fade or become altered with time, but a letter is a literary document that retains its original text and ensures that your words– rather than somebody else’s interpretation of them–are passed on…Writing a farewell letter, even in conjunction with others, forces you to think deeply and hard about the message you want to send and how you to express it… For mourners, the letter can become a talisman. You can carry it in your pocket, consult it when grief wallops you, and reread it like a gospel to help you make decisions in keeping with the deceased’s wishes.
Reading Martin’s article, I was reminded of the value of these “legacy” letters. Even if we’re not dying, a legacy letter, sometimes called an ethical will, can be a source of comfort for those who will one day be left behind. I’ve written about ethical wills in a previous article What Do Sidney Poitier and Ethical Wills Have In Common?
For those of you interested in writing your own or in teaching others to write an ethical will, check out my free Ethical Will Course here.
Have you written your legacy letter yet?
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Life continually challenges us with the unexpected. And only a fool would attempt to prepare for the unforeseen. It does help though to go into uncharted territory with our eyes open to potential risks.
Interviewing terminally ill people for their life stories is satisfying, worthwhile, and often moving work. Though it does come with precautions. I’ve previously written about some of these in Interviews May Unlock Traumatic Stories. and 7 Essential Questions to Consider.
You’re interviewing an 80-year-old woman, Rose, who lives with her daughter, Sandra. The daughter provides much of the caregiving. Rose suffers from a number of heart-related problems.
This is your third visit. The daughter tells you that she’ll be out doing errands while you spend the next hour interviewing her mother. Sandra assures you she’ll be back within the hour. It’s just you and Rose alone in the house.
About halfway through the interview Rose develops severe pains in her chest. She asks you to hurry and get her nitro pills in the kitchen. You find a tray with numerous medications but nothing labeled nitro.
Back in the living room you explain this to Rose. She suggests you call her daughter whose cell phone number is on a message board in the kitchen. But when you try to find the number, it’s nowhere to be found.
Rose is becoming increasingly agitated and calls out to bring the tray of medication to her in the living room. A number of questions race through your head.
As a general rule, it is vitally important that as a personal historian working with a terminally ill person, you don’t begin to undertake caregiving tasks. You weren’t hired for this and indeed may put yourself and your client at risk if you step into such a role.
Having said that, you could find yourself in a situation similar to the one described with Rose. And with no one available to help, you may have to step in.
There are a range of possible responses, none totally satisfactory. But here are some suggestions:
1. If Rose is registered with a local Hospice, there may be a number you can call for just such a crisis. Someone there would have a list of her medications and be able to help you. If she isn’t registered with Hospice, then go to step 2.
2. Assuming Rose is clear mentally, bring the tray and ask her to point to the nitro pills. Read out the name of the drug and ask if these are indeed the nitro pills. If she confirms they are, then allow her to select the bottle and take the prescribed dose. Don’t select the bottle for her.
3. Stay by Rose’s side and monitor her progress. If she shows signs of recovery, you can breathe easy. If her condition worsens, call 911.
4. Assuming all is well, you still have an urgent appointment to keep. Sandra, Rose’s daughter, hasn’t returned. And you feel uncomfortable leaving Rose on her own. Here’s what you might do:
One way to avoid the kind of predicament I’ve described is to make certain that you’re never alone with a person whose health is severely compromised. Don’t allow a family caregiver to use you as a means to get out of the house. Pleasantly and firmly point out that your arrangement with your client doesn’t involve caregiving responsibilities.
I’d appreciate your responses to this scenario. Please post your thoughts in the comment box below. I promise to respond to each one.
Photo by jan van schijndel
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Posted in End of life, How to, Interviewing, Life stories, Tips
Tagged End of life, handling crisis, How to, Interviewing, precautions, risks, terminally ill, Tips
I’ve been writing about the value of life stories in palliative care since 2008. I felt it was time to assemble these articles in one place for those of you who are interested in this subject. The posts are arranged chronologically from the most recent to the oldest.
Photo by David Hsu
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