Life, Loss, and Family Heirlooms

About four months into my caregiver journey I came across this piece of paper in my parents house. Its discovery was painful for so many reason. For one, my mother no longer remembered me. The Alzheimer’s had erased her memory and she no longer recognized me as her daughter. In addition to that cruelty was another sense of loss. The paper was loose. Attached to some token at one point but in discovery, it was merely scrap. Whatever treasure was to be passed down for progeny remains a mystery. The “family heirloom” in my mind is now the paper itself. It’s a modicum of memory thanks to the handwriting; her handwriting, and the awareness that the intent of posterity was cloaked in a mother’s love. I wish I knew what the heirloom was but that piece of paper has become my keepsake.

“Family Heirloom for Ashley Look 10/31/88”

— S. Look

Being thrust into the intense world of caregiving when I was just beginning to understand adulthood, forced me to explore the “value” of things. I was tasked with downsizing our family home (see photos here) and overwhelmed by the decision-making process. Sentimental value can be found in just about any item that sparks a memory and no amount of reading KonMari books will make that magically disappear. Determining worth is discriminatory and decision includes moral hazard. Over the course of my family purge I questioned if I was making mistakes. Would I regret my decisions and later be haunted by the legacy of items no longer in my possession? Without sound guidance from my parents (my father was also suffering from dementia at the time), I was required to sift through their belongings using equal parts Ebay, personal judgement, and observations from weekly garbage days when a neighborhood truck would make the rounds picking up items left out for the trash.

Fast forward a few years and the house has been reclaimed from under the mountain of stuff, much of which was in fact trash. I saved a number of things that were obvious keepsakes and a few less than obvious treasures like the scrap paper above. But mostly I’ve held on to an awareness that the stuff we allow into our space deserves our honor and warrants the right to occupy our attention or time. Stuff is stuff, yet materialism, although fun in a moment, is often a headache later, especially when clouded by sentimentality.

I’ve thought long and hard about lineage and legacy, and the antiquity of our belongings. I’ve often wondered what I’d save of my own belongings if the house was burning down. As a “maker” my mind goes to my spoons. I’d save my work from becoming fuel as these are the things that are my legacy. They are the investments of my labor, my craftsmanship, and time represented in hand. Upon my death my Will might include a beneficiary for the spoons. They are perhaps my most important material items and why right now, I feel moved to right this. Yesterday, I lost one.

My most beloved, hand carved, Applewood spoon that I carved on a farm in Vermont which became the cornerstone of my personal brand and business. It would have been my offering as a family heirloom to the generations that follow.

If I was to leave behind a single heirloom from my life it would be/would have been this spoon. It’s on my business card, it’s my logo, it’s the only one I have refused to sell. It’s made of Applewood from an orchard in Vermont and was carved on the land where I first learned how to spoon carve, a practice that has since become my therapy. Unfortunately it took a tumble yesterday, and broke right at the neck. My brother accidentally bumped the display while moving a shelf (part of the endless house downsizing project) and in that moment knew he had destroyed something of value. Before I even knew what had happened he was alarmed with concern, approaching me with hesitation and repeating “You’re gonna kill me.” Of all the spoons to break, it was my most favorite, the one that represents so much to me…

The heart breaking remains of my most beloved personal treasure. The Applewood spoon which I personally hand carved, took a tumble and broke into two pieces right at the neck.

But of course, stuff is just stuff, and the irony lingers like a cruel reminder that loss and grief are inescapable even after you’ve made your peace. This broken spoon feels like a death in that family which I suspect many won’t understand. But losing the thing that supported me through losing my family hurts, even if it’s an inanimate object. It’s not the spoon but what the spoon represented, and the emotional relationship between hand and craft varies little from the relationship between my parents and their end of life care. It was a very long and grueling, emotional journey and I owe my sanity to spoon carving. Caregiving and end of life care are journeys of the heart, as are stories of birth. This spoon was a beginning and it’s painful to see its end.

I’ve been working on some service related content for this website. I created something for caregivers knowing they are struggling with minimal support. I’ve also created a service for posterity knowing all too well that loved ones are ephemeral. I’ve also been working towards an online spoon carving course and for whatever reason, I can’t seem to finish it. In part I think that’s because spoon carving is my self-care and so many wounds remain fresh. It’s difficult to discuss how to carve spoons when the why feels more important. How do I convey the how of “healing” when grief runs eternal? Stay tuned however because I do plan to complete it. At the heart of any spoon is the bowl, and the stress in what it carries is the neck. The irony is the reminder that it’s time to get back to it, keeping a handle on the chaos of time…

I know I can glue this spoon. It’s not the end of the world. But long story short, not everything that breaks can be fixed. Life and loss are tough pills to swallow and I’m tired of the cultural expectation to choke hardship down gracefully. It’s OK to be sad. It’s OK to be angry… It’s OK to not be OK, with or without an excuse. Feelings aren’t always rational and it’s far time we recognize that our pains are valid regardless of how they measure in comparison. Our struggles are not competitions so let’s stop pretending to keep it together because it makes others feel more comfortable. Life and loss are uncomfortable and moving on quickly enables culture to dismiss the legacies of the ones that left too soon. We should honor them with pause and revel in what remains. Heirlooms are like the architecture of one’s memory. Items aren’t special because of what they are but who they represent…

Rest in peace you heavy hearts. Rest up and take love!

Mother’s Day Without Your Mom

I’ve been without my mom for several years now and each Mother’s Day offers a fresh glimpse to my relationship with grief. My mother passed in the month of July so I had almost of a full year to emotionally prepare for the day in which we honor the women that give us life. In so many ways, that Mother’s Day passed relatively normally. I had found my own therapy by way of collecting flowers and was well on my way to acceptance. I would wonder the yard inspired by sticks and petals, picking them up as I paced. It was much like a moving mantra. Just something mindless and comforting but not really sure why… Eventually, I found my mother. Dead for less than year at that point yet proving to me she was very much alive. She was in the dried petals falling from her favorite orchids outside, and salvaging those bits of nature, even thought they were withered, helped me feel connected to her. She had been a florist, one of the best in Broward, and with every leaf and petal I’d find hidden in the grass, I started to understand her appreciation for flora. The colors and textures were mesmerizing. Each uniquely beautiful and thriving in the face of my grief…

If you spend enough time in nature you’ll notice that time doesn’t necessarily heal. Storms blow through and take out trees and gardens with with little regard to how you might treasure them. Nature is the sound reminder that some wounds never heal. Trauma can extend beyond repair and it’s unfortunate that we comfort ourselves with antidotes rather than concur that death is fundamental. And just as we celebrate the joy of new life, we should also hold space for the delicacy of what’s been lost. There is more to grief than a funeral. For many of us, a funeral is just the beginning of an intimate relationship with the deceased. Perhaps this all sounds a bit too morbid but finding the beauty in what remains of the dead flowers in our yard has been my antidote for life after death. She’s still here…

She’s still here, she’s still here, she’s still here! But she’s not… And fast forward a few years and the longing for a hug from my mom, the person to tell me everything will be ok, even as the world falls apart, amounts to a painfully silent echo “you must be your own guide”.

We make jokes about “adulting” but the truth is you remain a child so long as a parent can provide you council. That voice of reason, even when irrational, telling you not to travel to X location because it’s “not safe”, or cautioning you about a bad bank loan or a relationship, or the pragmatic suggestion you become a lawyer rather than a musician… That voice, with all its irritations and one sided perspectives is still a voice that’s looking out for your best interest. That parental concern is in YOUR best interest, regardless of whether the advice is what you want to hear. But at some point, that voice is gone and you realize that every relationship you have, not matter how genuine, will never carry the concerns that one’s parent held for it’s child. Even with the best of intentions, it’s still not the same, and nestled within those moments is when grief pays a visit. A reminder that each step forward is solitary and each decision is merely a guess, and the best you can hope for is that you are doing things right.

This year feels especially tough to not have a mom (and made crueler without a dad). The world feel dangerous with uncertainty and I can’t help but wonder if I’m making smart decisions. Am I doing this right? Am I being responsible? Should I sell the house? Is it safe to go back to work? Is it safe to go back out to sea? Am I OK? Should I be afraid?

The truth is, I am afraid. The world has turn wild and unpredictable and going it alone feels scary. “You must be your own guide… be your own guide…be your own guide…” The echo remains. The only comfort I find is accepting that my own life is ephemeral. I look to nature and all her beautiful dead flowers and remind myself that “we too, shall pass”…

This year I only made one Mother’s Day Box of Mother Earth. I carved a coffee scoop from salvaged wood and I nestled it into a dried sugar pumpkin that I preserved and then painted the inside. I then packed the pumpkin with dried flowers that I curated with care; a gift I know my own mother would treasure.

I’m thinking of all of you with mom’s that have left us too soon. Below is a little reminder of where they are now. Take love!

Helping Seniors Prepare for the Funeral Process

Helping seniors, or anyone for that matter, prepare for a funeral is an emotional yet necessary responsibility. Luckily, How To Feed A Senior is welcoming back Harry Cline, creator of NewCaregiver.org and author of the upcoming book, The A-Z Home Care Handbook: Health Management How-Tos for Senior Caregivers to help prepare us for one of life’s most difficult journeys. I feel fortunate to have Harry here to shed light on a day that is so full of darkness. After laying both my parents to rest I’ve found myself wanting to share a bit about the process but lost on where to begin. I’m happy to have Harry synthesize some important tips and I’ll include some personal thoughts at the bottom.

Here’s Harry!

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Photo by Francesco Corbisiero on Unsplash

On average, there are 2.4 million funerals held every year in the United States, and the typical cost of burying someone is between $7,000 and $10,000. But neither of those statistics take into account the emotional weight of losing a loved one, or the intricacies of the funeral-planning process. Since the average life expectancy in the US is 78.6 years, it would seem that a great number of older adults either attend funerals or bury spouses or partners. If you’re in that demographic and you haven’t been through this process, read on for some thoughts on how to prepare for a funeral and how to cope with grief and loss.

 Funeral Planning Process

The shock of losing a spouse can be extraordinarily painful. People often wrestle with feelings of loss and grief, sometimes for years afterwards. (Increasingly, too, those people are women, who outlive men across the world.) Managing to get through the funeral-planning process can be intricate. Here are just some questions to ask in this process:

• Who is handling the death certificate?

• What arrangements need to be made?

• How is payment to be tendered?

• What were the last wishes of the deceased?

• Which pallbearers need to be contacted?

• Who will send out the funeral announcements?

• Who is going to be in touch with the funeral director?

 The list goes on. That’s why it’s important to start this process early, even if you’re swamped with grief. So, it’s equally important to have a number of friends and loved ones around you to help you through this time.

 The Day

For many people, the day of the funeral of their spouse or partner can be surreal. You still feel like he or she is with you, you’re surrounded by people all expressing their condolences, and you’re quickly exhausted. A lot of that is inevitable. But there are some things you can do that can help the day go smoothly. These include being prepared to give a eulogy well in advance so that you’re comfortable speaking in front of a crowd, or delegating someone else to speak on your behalf. Also, figure out what to wear. This may sound trivial, but being in nice-fitting clothing will make you feel at ease around all the people who come up to share a few words with you. (On that note, it goes a long way if you wear shoes with strong supports, because you may find yourself standing for hours, and your feet and ankles will quickly tire.) Finally, anticipate all the factors you can’t control: You will have to talk to a lot of people, some of whom you may not want to see, and others might share awkward or inappropriate condolences. With all that you’re going through, it’s always okay to simply end the conversation, and to retire to another room when you feel overwhelmed.

 Life Afterwards

After the funeral, think about the long-term decisions that will affect you after losing your partner or spouse. You can expect to experience a low appetite, difficulty sleeping, problems concentrating, and a hard time making decisions. During this period, try above all to take care of yourself. Exercise, eat healthy, and get the recommended amount of sleep (7-8 hours for adults 65+). Tap into your support group to stay around friends and loved ones. Consider going to a grief support group, talking to a counselor, or signing up for a retreat in a monastery or other house or worship, if it puts you at peace. Adjusting back to a sense of normalcy following the funeral will take time, but eventually, you’ll find yourself prepared for the future.

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Now, what I can tell you from Harry’s questions above, is that I was the person coordinating things. My mom passed rather unexpectedly which is to say I was not prepared. The only information I knew about her wishes was that she wanted a party. And how could she not?! She was a florist and a party planner so I knew our funeral would be a celebration of her life. However, no one mentioned the exorbitant expense surrounding this day. It cost me more than $8,000 just to bury her and that did not not include flowers or memorial services.

If you take away only one thing from my experience let it be awareness regarding death as an industry. The funeral business is a business and you will spend a fortune on a casket, burial plot, services held and obituaries printed, let alone any flowers or receptions you might want to hold in your loved one’s honor. Any emotional burden weighing on you during such times will only be compounded by the financial obligation that’s nothing short of a kick when you’re down. Additionally the pace in which the burial process demands adds further sting. Burials are time sensitive and you’ll be hard pressed to find a moment to collect yourself in the chaos.

Do I sound bitter? Well, I am. Bitter because I feel cheated out of an authentic opportunity to explore the true meaning of loss. I was so inundated with demands that I practically shutdown. I went into some strange autopilot mode where there was no room for grief because there were tasks to get done. I can only describe it as shock. Not shock from the loss (although obviously that is its own emotional layer), but shock around the cultural norm of how we manage death. Nothing slows down. Everything just marches on and you’ll likely be trampled if you are not prepared to stand your ground when it comes to delivering on final wishes. I have never felt so manipulated by an “occurrence”. It’s worth mentioning that those conducting services and offering guidance were well intentioned. That’s partly what made the process so difficult. The funeral industry insiders were nice people, wholly seasoned in every step of the process but that’s what’s hard to swallow. Recognizing that my mother was no different from the gentleman awaiting service a few ours after her’s, or the young daughter being laid to rest the next day… There’s something about funerals operating in assembly line fashion that shook me awake and then tormented me with thoughts of how to be better advocates for the dead.

I learned a lot in those few weeks. I learned the hard way but hopefully you wont have to. I encourage anyone considering final wishes for themselves or a loved one to look into cremation. Not only is it considerably more affordable but it’s also free of the time sensitivity that burials demand. Cremation eliminates the clock. Burials do not. A body in waiting requires management and care and is best dealt with swiftly. That is very understandable however the freedom to plan and honor one’s life deserves the space to cultivate authentic closure and that looks different for everyone. Rushing due to time restraints can diminish what’s really at stake; a significant loss of life… I cremated my father. It was still painful. But cremation allowed for us to plan a service that felt personal and meaningful in a way that played tribute to the amazing man he was. It wasn’t fancy, but it was poignant and for that I am grateful.

Mortality, Loss, and Finding Peace

Dealing with the loss of a loved one is emotional torture.  It can be wretched.  Almost violent in its disruption especially when loss comes as a surprise.  Death can be insufferable for those who are left behind and therefore mortality as a topic is generally avoided.  The mere thought of a loved one dying is enough to send the mind to a dark place.  The idea alone causes enough disrupt that it's often saved for private existential moments.   Even then, those thoughts are often stifled  because losses as such produces a hurt that is better to shirk. Such thoughts are depressing at best.

Unfortunately, as a caregiver you are often forced to face mortality head on.  You become keenly aware that time is a gift and death is around the corner.  Alzheimer's is a terminal illness and having two parents with dementia makes it impossible to avoid the gloom and doom that lingers on the horizon.  The worst part is that this disease voices a slow goodbye.  The daily reminder that I am witnessing active death is mentally and emotionally exhausting.  At the same time, it is unavoidable and rather than waste time distracting myself, I have decide to explore mortality and death's inevitability by embracing it as much as possible.  This obviously is not an easy subject to swallow but I have found a few resources that are nothing short of inspirational.

1. What Really Matters At The End Of Life

This Ted Talk video by BJ Miller, a palliative care physician, is a must!  Seriously, make the time to watch it and discuss it with somebody.  It's incredibly thought provoking and provides some relief from the agony that is death and dying.  If you are confused on what is important for yourself or those you are caring for, you can find some comfort here.  He also confirms something I have been thinking a lot lately; that all things can be cured with cookies!

2. Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End

I read this book by Atul Gawande after several suggestions from friends and I am so glad I did.  The stories compiled in this book shed light on the medical industry and the efforts to prolong life at any cost.  It echos the video above but goes deeper into the perspective that quality of life is equally important if not more important than longevity.  Gawande provides outstanding examples of when to let comfort and dignity triumph over prolonged survival and offers a perspective of hope for many facing impossible decisions.

3. Moving On

If you haven't seen this music video stop what you are doing and watch it right now!  It's so smart and creative and beautifully on topic that I almost cry every time I watch it.  Ainslie Henderson is a genius!

 Everyday is a struggle but discovering resources like the ones above are proving to be a source of comfort during, what you can imagine, is a most uncomfortable time.  I believe that anguish in loss is meant to be therapeutic and that heaving cries are part of tragedy's cleanse.  That being said, it's hard to hold on to pain's authenticity when it's the daily norm but to strip ourselves from tragedy's sorrow seems like cheating the soul.  I don't want to distance myself from the pain of this loss as it diminishes the legacy of my parents memory.  Instead I am moving-in closer, finding comfort in an uncomfortable topic, and seeking out new feelings for what end of life means and the emotional grip it holds on my heart.