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"Whatever" upon waking. "Oh well" upon going to sleep. This is how the lovely writer and speaker extraordinaire Annie Lamott describes her daily mantras. But, as we know, she meant something more profound. She is certainly not cavalier about her day, her work, her life. Here's what I think she meant: We do the best we can. Every day. We plan. We show up. We consider. We try to be better. We choose. We move on. Sometimes it works out well. And sometimes our efforts are not successful. We are reminded to let go of attachment to the results. All we can do is our best. Some things are outside of our control. Things have an energy of their own. The point is to show up fully and give it our all, and then let go of attachment to the outcome. Its what the Buddhists call 'metta' or approximately, 'good will'. The mantra of 'whatever' and 'oh well' is code for we are doing our best, without aversion or attachment or suffering; with the intention to be kind to all beings, to spread good will to all beings, and to remember to include ourselves! What do you think?

“I would say that happiness is the sweetness of desiring what you have, fully aware of its fragility, its brevity and its limits. Happiness isn’t the absence of sadness, but the capacity to hold reality without needing it to be otherwise.” This quote by Stephen Grosz makes my heart happy. I have always felt that the word 'contentment' captures the sweetness of desiring what I have.  Likewise, I have always felt that the word 'acceptance' means to hold reality without needing it to be otherwise. The idea that these peaceful states are in fact happiness is new to me. And exciting. When people ask me how can I do the work of being with the dying, I think that perhaps I am comfortable with the uncomfortable.  But maybe its more that it brings me into that quiet, peaceful state of happiness.

What if rain drops had names? When they splashed down to the ground and broke apart, would you grieve them? Would you memorialize each drop by name? There are 8.3 billion people alive on the planet right now. Each of us was born, lived, cared for (however well or badly), and will die.  Each of has a name. Let us honor all life. Let us honor all death. We die because we were born. Every raindrop existed, exists and will exist again.

When you are in a conversation with someone, do you feel connected or like you are each giving a monologue?  Shortly before his untimely death, the great Irish poet, John O'Donahue, talked about beauty in general, and specifically about the beauty of listening in his interview with Krista Tippett, for her podcast, On Being, on Feb. 10, 2022.  He said that we often miss the beauty of a real conversation, when two people end of talking at each other without deep listening. He likened it to two people giving monologues. My ears perked up. I have felt this! I have tried to bridge the gap. I have gotten quieter. I have interrupted. Anything to feel connected. But sometimes I have lacked the skill. As a doula, I get to listen to people who are at the end of their lives, as well as their loved ones. As a conscious dying educator and facilitator of Death Cafes for five and a half years, I get to listen to people talk about all things death and dying, as well as grief and loss. I love listening.  "Listening creates a holy silence. When you listen generously to people, they can hear truth in themselves, often for the first time. And in the silence of listening, you can know yourself in everyone. Eventually you may be able to hear, in everyone and beyond everyone, the unseen singing softly to itself and to you." - Rachel Naomi Remen What more is there to say?

"The silence of this place is as real and solid as sound. More real, in fact." Written by Admiral Byrd in 1934, alone in a shack near the South Pole for five months. He received messages by radio from his friend President Roosevelt. Though close at times to death, he "felt more alive," he confesses, in his solitude, "than at any other time in my life." To feel alive because of silence, reminds me of the silence of death in a weird kind of way. Byrd's solitude, by definition, translated to silence. I love that he viewed silence as solid as sound. What is the Sound of Silence? You might have thought I was going to move onto the Simon & Garfunkel song! But no! The sound of silence makes beautiful sense to me. I think about it often when I feel a certain stillness from within. One of my first awarenesses of silence was brought to me in my teen years, by the artist/composer/musician, the late John Cage. John Cage's composition "4.33" proved silence was full of sound. Composed in 1952 for any instrument or combination of instruments; the score instructs performers not to play their instruments throughout the three movements. Cage performed it in the open lobby at CalArts, where I did my graduate work. The piece was first conceived in 1948 as a “Silent Prayer,” relating to the composer’s curiosity in Zen Buddhism and its emphasis on silent meditation. During the early 1950s. He began using I Ching, a Chinese practice based on flipping coins onto various charts, to determine aspects of works like Music of Changes (1951). He was known for cultivating a more abstract “compositional silence” by diminishing the composer’s control over the music. Another interesting influence on 4’33” was Cage’s 1951 visit to Harvard’s anechoic chamber, a space creating a near silent environment using surfaces designed to absorb all sounds. He was dismayed to find the quiet broken by the noise of his own nervous system and blood circulation. These factors suggest the piece is an invitation to meditate on the indeterminate ambience of any given environment, and the impossibility of “true” silence. In dismissing 4’33” as silent, and thus empty, audiences failed to tune in to these sounds. (source: https://lnkd.in/gMvS8-rF) When you get quiet within, do you hear sound? What sound are you aware of in a silent space? Does silence make you feel more alive? Listen to the sound of silence and let me know what you think.

It’s weird what makes me feel rich. I feel super rich right now. I just came back from the library with a stack of books I can't wait to read. I am a voracious reader. Now that I am semi-retired, I frequently consider spending less time working as an end of life doula and conscious dying educator and more time reading. I am in two book clubs and am considering a third. I love books. Too much. They make me feel rich. I won't even go into book stores anymore because I get into a frenzied state where I can't stand that I will never get to read all the books that exist. It is painful to me to not be able to absorb every stitch written in every book published. But actually I do have some standards. I don't really want to read every book. Its mostly literary fiction that I must have and some nonfiction. I am old enough now to allow myself permission to put down a book that I truly do not like. It feels indulgent to give up on a book, to ignore the author's attempts to express themselves on page, sometimes devoting years and decades to their effort. But sometimes, I must. I love the rush of being grabbed into the world the author created and being picked up in the whirlwind of the plot, to feel as if I understand what the main characters are feeling because I know them their motivations and desires so well, to be moved by the world they have invited me to witness. I consider it a holy ritual to order my books from my local library, and to know they will ping me when they arrive, and to walk that mile, or drive if I must, to walk through the doors, glowing with richness, find my books waiting for me in the stacks, check them out, and then hold them close to me with a big smile of gratitude glued to my face as I leave the cherished building. I feel so full and luxurious and basking in the promises of words and stories and themes and other lands. Surely, gifted writers are up there with the best of our species. I would be lost without them. Its almost as good as being an end of life doula, but nothing touches the honor of accompanying someone on that journey. Happy richly reading!

Death Doulas Get A Shout Out On The Pitt on Season 2 Episode 5! In the first season of The Pitt, we got to hear renown Dr. Ira Byock's 'four most important words at the end of life', which are: Thank you, I Love You, Please forgive me, I forgive you. Now, in the second season, we got to relish a scene with a death doula (with the red hair and braid in the photo) supporting a family in a medical crisis. She was depicted as a caring, compassionate, support person, who was there to help as needed. Although we are not medical licensed professionals, we can advocate for our clients. She encouraged more pain killers and took on finding the things her client would need after being released from the ER, a wheelchair, hospital bed, etc. These are products hospice typically provides, if there is a diagnosis of 6 months or less to live. Over the five years since I have been an end of life doula, I have seen the field explode. There are so many of us doing this work of companioning and honoring folks as they and their loved ones prepare for death and dying, with grace, compassion, and humility. The Pitt is known for doing alot of research with medical professionals to make the show as realistic and accurate as possible. They also include the human touches that make the show poignant, touching and real. It’s a big day for death doulas, and a big step for creating positive death experiences for all.

My mom refused morphine for two years! My sweet mom died almost eight years ago at age 94 of COPD. Last week was her birthday and she would be 103 years old. She was on hospice for 2.5 years. The hospice nurses and I spent 2 years trying to get her to use a small, tiny amount of morphine. "It will open up your airways and help you breathe more easily," they said. "Mom, just try it once!" I said, over and over again. She refused. She associated morphine with death. It was impossible to get her permission. I kept trying but without success. Finally, when she really was getting close to the end, about 6 months before she died, she agreed. She did a complete reversal, constantly remarking, "I can't believe how much easier it is to breathe! I have more energy too because I don't have to work so hard to breathe! Why didn't I try this sooner?" I nodded each time she said, so happy she felt the benefits. I even got to tease her a few times about being a stubborn mule. When she took to her deathbed in the last two weeks of her life, she was given larger doses of morphine for pain. She was getting more anxious and agitated at that time. It was harder for her to be soothed. Her bed sores were excruciating. She needed more comfort care in the form of drugs. I made sure the hospice team wasn't giving her so much that she was unconscious, until she seemed ready for that. The last 4 days of her life she was no longer conscious and I was at peace with that. We got to say goodbye and share words of love, and I felt complete. Happy birthday Mom! I miss you! I am happy you died just the way you wanted to!

How do you honor the death anniversary of a loved one? Here is a great hack! In a recent Death Cafe that I facilitate, two women talked about the brilliant, creative and inspiring ways they honor their dead loved ones. One goes to a decidedly unfancy restaurant, eats a simple meal, and tips the unassuming wait person the age her mom would be on the anniversary of her death. That waitress just earned a $100 tip and goodness knows, she needs it. Some years, the same woman has gone through five drive-through windows at fast food restaurants and gives a $20 bill to each person who hands her an order of iced tea. The other woman loads up envelopes with some cash, a poem her son wrote and a little bio about him. She deposits these envelopes at the skate park her son frequented and at a nearby park for people to find. Sometimes she hands them out herself to people she feels will benefit from the gift. I love these ways of honoring and continuing the legacy of our loved ones. They really touch my heart. They are great hacks! I am going to give away ten $20 bills in the next two-three months to honor my mother and my sister, who are coming up on 9-year and 14-year death anniversaries, respectively. Do you have a death anniversary hack? What ideas do you have to honor your dead people?

"My own body cannot help me when death comes. The body cannot help us at death; it, too, will be lost at that moment." This is the Ninth Contemplation and I have written about each of the nine of them the last two weeks.  If you have ever used a disassociating drug, you might have felt a keen separation between your body and your mind. When I had this experience, I understood how true this contemplation is, that my body cannot help me at the time of death. The Nine Contemplations, written in the 11th century by the Buddhist monk and scholar Atisha, addresses the twisting, jeweled path of life and ultimately death. They are a quiet warning of the inevitable and the need for preparation, so that we can go beyond fear and live a fully engaged life. Roshi Joan Halifax wrote about these Contemplations in her book, "Being With Dying". There are so many books on death and dying but I cherish this one as a great companion and teacher. Here is her writing on the Contemplations in full detail: The Nine Contemplations

"You can't take it with you when you die!" Right? What do you want to do with your financial legacy? When my mom died, and by prior arrangement, I got to donate $100,000 from her will to various causes she cared about. I had a great time selecting those nonprofit organizations that best supported the causes she loved.  First, I took care of the tribute gifts: there was the gift to the wonderful hospice that cared for her; the donation to research on breast cancer (her daughter/my sister died from it) and to the Seeing Eye Dogs (her same daughter was visually impaired); and to the Alzheimer's Foundation (her sister died from it); and to the Canavan's Foundation (her niece died from it); and to her deceased husband's synagogue who helped so much at the end of his life. Then, I got to research the best groups for the social causes she believed in. First, I donated to groups supporting abortion rights and women's health. Next was domestic violence, which we experienced in our home at the hands of my father.  I loved giving to a few really interesting efforts to save the environment and to microenterprise groups to help industrious people living in poverty in rural areas in developing countries build small businesses.  I made a donation to a great organization that eliminated people's medical bills that were ruining their lives (each donated dollar erased $100 in medical debt).  There were some small gifts to other progressive causes. And of course, one of the last gifts was to the Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, temples for my mom as a young woman living on her own in NYC. It truly was an honor to know my mom's gifts were helping these great groups survive and hopefully thrive. She left a legacy in the hearts of those of us who loved her - my cousins remind me she was their favorite aunt! - and for the causes she believed in. I want to do something with my resources when I die, that leaves a legacy and serves the causes I believe in. Yes, my kids will have an inheritance, and they are lucky. Inheriting familial money changed my life and allowed me to own a home. But I am excited to support the causes I love. The arts, the environment, progressive politics, conscious dying, Jewish renewal, and holistic health. The Nine Contemplations, written in the 11th century by the Buddhist monk and scholar Atisha, addresses the twisting, jeweled path of life to our ultimate death. They are a quiet warning of the inevitable, and the need for preparation, so that we can go beyond our fear of death and sit with what is true. The Eight Contemplation is apropos here:  "My material resources will be of no use to me." What do you want for your legacy? What causes do you believe in?

I refuse to write New Year's resolutions. Also, I am a little in love with Krista Tippett of "On Being" fame. She possesses the perfect mind meld of spirit and science and matters of the heart. Tippett pivots away from resolutions and towards questions. She offers a way to find our deepest question for the year, and to go on a journey of discovery to find its answer. She draws upon Rilke, another one of my favorite writers, from his "Letters To A Young Poet", "Rilke said, try to be patient with all that is unresolved in your heart. Dwell with what is unresolved. Don't treat it as something that you have to rush to an answer for, because if those questions are big and important enough, what you want is to be able to live the answers that they would give you."  I love this. We need to live these questions and to live with these questions, to know what it would mean to live our way into the answers. This is such a beautiful way to honor our journeys through life, by respecting and honoring the questions we hold deep in our hearts, and by dwelling inside the questions and get to feel them, smell them, touch them, see them, hear them until their answers are revealed to us. Tippett goes on to say, "When a new question rises up in us, stops us in our tracks, [t]hose are pivot points. Those are moments when the possibility of discovery breaks in. So the invitation here is to engage the adventure of a new reverence for the questions that are alive in you, the questions that are alive in the world around you." So often, we rush to find 'the answer'. But form follows function, the medium is the message, the means to the ends is the point, there is no 'there there' without here. She posits, "[N]ot grasping for the first thing that feels like an answer but moving with curiosity towards it and testing it and not feeling like it's a failure if it turns out that what that was meant was to be an investigation." This feels so much more relevant and resonant with me than making resolutions, that I would most likely forget about after a month. I feel focused on the joy of my work as an end of life doula and conscious dying educator. I feel happy with my partner and my kids, one of whom is getting married this year which is so joyful and fun. I love learning blues and swing dance, and reading and screening wonderful works. I love my home. I focus both on my health and on activism. But this year I am moving from sometimes writing to becoming a writer. This has been a slow and solitary evolution, requiring the shedding of copious buckets of doubt. I have joined a writing program for the year.  So my question is, how can I open to all that is in my heart and mind as I grow my writer's voice? I would love to hear your question. Please share it with me in the comments below. Pick up Krista Tippett's book, "Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living" or listen to her podcast, "On Being". She will lift you up.