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End of Life Paperwork: Should you hire a consultant?

Catherine Musemeche — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 21:50:56 +0000

Jane Brody’s recent article on advanced healthcare directives in the New York Times gave voice to something I’ve been wondering for a long time. These forms have gotten increasingly complex over the years. I know because more and more friends, relatives and relatives of friends are sending them to me to review. Can anyone who is not a trained medical professional really understand what they mean?

I’m not talking about the language. The forms might be written in painstakingly clear prose such as “I would only choose to be on a ventilator to treat a reversible illness.” But who really knows how long a “reversible illness” might take to improve? What if the patient, while undergoing treatment for pneumonia, develops a complication or a different illness that is not reversible, e.g. kidney failure?

It is for this reason that professional consultants are now cropping up to help interpret the forms-to match the written words to the stated wishes of the patient. As the article points out, these services are pricey, an estimated $1500 per consult, more than a lot of folks pay for wills.

Healthcare directives are definitely an improvement over the days when the options for patient input were limited to whether to make someone a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) or not but there is no such thing as a failsafe roadmap to end-of-life decisions. There are just too many variables for any one document of any reasonable length to cover. There is no substitute for thorough and repeated communication between physician and patient and/or a patient’s family to ensure that final wishes are met.

How do you want to be remembered?

reversesage — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 13:50:01 +0000

Friday, my son and I are heading to Alaska for a fishing and camping adventure. It is my son Riley’s graduation present and I believe I am more excited than he is. It should be a great adventure, but yet I am truthfully a little scared. The thought of Camping in Grizzly Country has given me a few wild dreams… what if I don’t make it back… get eaten back a big grizzly? The truth is that bears don’t want to be anywhere near us and unless they think we are after their cubs or food, we should be fine.

All of this said, it made me think about my interaction with my clients. For seven years, I have been dealing with older american homeowner. I have over 400 reverse mortgage clients from my time at Wells Fargo and Metlife. Many of these fine folks have to face death in the mirror every day. Maybe because of their age or maybe because of their failing health. I have had many interesting discussions about death with my clients. I even have one lady reportedly died and says she saw the bright lights, and was in the most peaceful place…then the doctors revived her. She says she is not afraid to die … again.

Because of my Christian Faith, I am not afraid to die… but I am not anxious to either. I hope to spend many more years with my lovely wife, my wonderful children and family and friends. I have many seniors that I hope to help and a huge bucket list of things I want to do.

But I will die. So what will my family and friends say? I can lonely pray that it will be close to what I written in my prayer journal. That is between me and my Creator. What about you? What will your family and friends say about you? Write down what you would hope they would say… then start to live it out – while you can.

The Reverse Sage – reversesage@gmail.com

When I....

thegillgrylls — Sat, 07 Apr 2012 07:46:52 +0000

most people dont like to think of the day they will die or expire from this earth. Earlier tonight a

Contraindicated

LCP1 — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 10:00:40 +0000

Do You Have Your S**ff in Order?

hrawakening — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:52:43 +0000

Some of you who know me might know that on August 7, 2008,my father suffered a debilitating stroke. Prior to that, we had several conversations about how I was to be the executor of his estate and if anything happened to him, to just contact Prepaid Legal Services, because he had put all of his affairs in order with them.

When his stroke happened, I was on my way to the airport for a vacation to California. I pulled into my parking spot (was driving to the airport with the top down on the car and music on and didn’t hear my phone) and looked at my phone to see that my sister had tried to call me about 12 times in 15 minutes. As I listened to her terrified and horrifying voicemails, I could only think of one thing…get home now! I ran into the airport crying and clearly in distress and running from desk to desk to anyone who would help me and found that I could get on the next flight to Detroit in an hour. It was the worst day of my life – my father, the person that I felt closest to on earth, could be dead by the time I finally got home.

I won’t keep you waiting until the end, my father lived, and is still with us, although severely disabled.

This seems like a terrible thing to say, but in retrospect and almost 4 years later, it feels like the airlines knew of my need and clearly took advantage of it. That one way ticket on a half-empty plane was $750. Of course, it didn’t matter to me at the time. But, if you think that you’re going to get any kind of special treatment from the airlines in an emergency situation,don’t bet on it. (That airline was Northwest, for anyone who cares.)

Anyway, I made it home to Michigan and spent 10 days with my father and family trying to figure out what to do next. We were all devastated by his condition. It appeared that he would live, but would be profoundly affected. I found that his affairs were not in order and that, although he had contacted Prepaid Legal to begin the process of his will, living will, power of attorney, etc. he never completed it. My siblings knew of his wishes, so we all agreed that I would take the lead on what to do. And then, everything fell apart because someone, at the last minute, decided to disagree.

What resulted was a legal battle that has pulled our family apart. I won’t got into anymore detail here except to say that its a situation that you don’t want to ever find yourself in, either as the family or the victim.

What I’m embarrassed to admit is that it has taken me this long to finally get my own affairs in order after this ordeal. But, I’m working on it now. And, as a single person with no children or spouse to consider into the equation, it’s actually been tough! Who would I want to saddle with responsibility for me if the same thing were to happen to me? I have a very good friend (love you, Angie!) who saw my distress over this and said that she would be my executor and GPA. My siblings all have too much responsibility on them already and also live in a different state. So while the “will” part is easy, the “trustee” and “general power of attorney” was not.

So, hopefully over the course of the next few weeks while I finalize all of my wishes, nothing will happen to me. But, do you have your affairs in order? This situation caused one of my sisters to finally do the same and I’m so proud of she and her husband for getting all of the necessary paperwork in place “just in case.”

Have you done the same?

When I'm gone

bellab85 — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 06:24:37 +0000

What kind of funeral would you like to have? What would your final wishes be?

This is a conversation (albeit, a morbid one!) that I have had with friends and family a few times. I know exactly what I want, and since I am going to be stating it in a public place such as this,my family have no reason not to understand my wishes should I die an early death.

I don’t want an outrageously expensive funeral. I have never been one for extravagance. I want the songs “Some Sweet Day” by Mariah Carey and Boys II Men, and “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from one of my favourite movies, Carousel.

Since Im not an overly religious person, I don’t want the service to be held in a church. The service hall at the local cemetery will suffice.

Big fat "NO" to my funeral procession please!

I don’t want a funeral procession (ok, my immediate family can follow the coffin) because I absolutely hate how much it slows down traffic to our area of town (we live near the local cemetery and there is only one entrance in to our suburb…right across the road from the cemetery entrance)

Ok, it may seem disrespectful of me saying that, but is it such bad thing that I don’t want a heap of cars creating a traffic jam on my behalf? I have seen some drivers do some pretty outrageous things to avoid processions, I don’t want to put my friends and family at risk of those idiots.

Reason #3- make sure I'm dead!!

I want the cheapest coffin you can buy. I don’t care if it’s a cardboard box! I want to be burnt to a crisp anyway, so what is the point of buying an expensive coffin that I am never going to see? I want to be cremated. DO NOT bury me! This is for many reasons:

1) I don’t want bugs eating at me as I decompose

2) I don’t want to be exhumed after 100+ years to make room for new bodies. I doubt that this practise is used here, but you never know. When I’m gone, I want to stay in peace!

3) Cremate me to make sure I’m dead!

4) My family then wont have the worry about a headstone. How big? What to write? I don’t care, I don’t want one!

5) Lastly, and most importantly, I would like my ashes to be scattered. I would rather my family to visit a place that is special to me rather than a depressing cemetery.

I would prefer everyone not to wear black, but that can be up to them. I want bright, happy colours!

PART-AAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Afterwards, for a wake, I want there to be one heck of a party! I wants lots of laughing. I want my friends and family to share good stories. I want my cousins to talk about how I own the rank of “Cubby Queen”. I want my friends to laugh over how I had insatiable passion for climbing trees after a few too many drinks. I want my husband to think about our happiest days, such as our wedding day or the birth of our children (and he can forget the bits where I tried to bite him during my labours….sorry about that!!) I want my kids to remember about cooking with me, dress ups, the tickles…

I want everyone to get roaring drunk! (Well…everyone of drinking age…of course!) I want them to play the drinking games I used to (and still do when in the right environment) such as “Three Man” or “Drunken Scene It”, or if they are feeling adventurous “Have, Have Not” (ouch…that game is lethal!)

Afterwards, I want my immediate family to do a pilgrimage together to scatter my ashes, just like Orlando Bloom’s character did in the move Elizabethtown. I want to be scattered everywhere. A part of me thrown from the lookout tower where my husband proposed, the park where we married, just outside the hospital where my kids were born, some in the sea at Middleton Beach (a local beach….because I always had so much fun there) and then, if possible, I want to be thrown off a mountain top somewhere in Scotland. As long as I can remember, I have had an obsession with that country. I don’t know why, as I have never been there, and don’t really have any family there, but it has always felt like….home, like I belong there. Then anywhere else my family thinks acceptable.

All in all, like most people, I want my death to be of celebration, not despair! I want my death to have the party of the century! Of course, I want to die an old lady…so I’m hoping that by then, I will have given people much more things to laugh over at my wake!

If my family members reading this don’t comply to my wishes…. I WILL COME BACK AND HAUNT YOU!!!

Watch out!!

What are your final wishes?

Bella

Some final wishes shouldn't be carried out

J.J. Bugs — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 20:00:46 +0000

I’m sorry, but some final wishes shouldn’t be carried out. (via)

Elizabeth Taylor's Funeral: She Did It 'Her Way,' 15 Minutes Late!

anastasios67 — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 19:30:45 +0000

Elizabeth Taylor, who converted to Judaism for her marriages to Mike Todd and Eddie Fisher, followed the rules of the religion by being buried just one day after her death on Wednesday. And she left specific instructions regarding the Thursday service. Her final wishes included that her service was to begin at least 15 minutes later than publicly scheduled. A rep announced: “She even wanted to be late for her own funeral”.

[photogallerylink id=68963 align=left]The funeral for the star, who succumbed to congestive heart failure at age 79, took place at Forest Lawn Cemetary in Glendale California, and was strictly for family members, including her 10 grandchildren. Such a spunky and strong-willed lady who always did things ‘her way!’ Her close friend Barbara Walters said that Elizabeth told her many times throughout her life and career, that she “didn’t give a damn what other people thought of her.”

I think the majority of us loved and admired her! I sure did…RIP Elizabeth, you will always have a special place in my heart! And thanks for all the great memories!

Reba shares a connection with Liz Taylor – watch the video!

Are Your Affairs in Order?

Thoughtful — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 18:50:00 +0000

Final Wishes

inspire grace 365 — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 03:46:16 +0000

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things “in order,” she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

“There’s one more thing,” she said excitedly. “What’s that?” came the pastor’s reply. “This is very important,” the woman continued. “I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.”

The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?” the woman asked. “Well, to be honest, I’m puzzled by the request,” said the pastor. The woman explained. “In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder “What’s with the fork?’. Then I want you to tell them: “Keep your fork – the best is yet to come”.

The pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming. At the funeral people were walking by the woman’s casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and her favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question “What’s with the fork?” And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you, oh so gently, that the best is yet to come.

Jodi Miller

Make-A-Wish Foundation : About Us

nursefriendly — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 16:20:00 +0000

Welcome to Wish.org, the online home of the nation’s largest wish-granting organization. Since 1980, the Make-A-Wish Foundation^® has given hope, strength and joy to children with life-threatening medical conditions. From our humble beginnings with one boy’s wish to be a police officer, we’ve evolved into an organization that grants a child’s wish in the U.S. every 40 minutes.

via wish.org

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Death, Dying, End of Life, Hospice, Inspirational Poems, Touching Stories

nursefriendly — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 09:50:00 +0000

Death, Dying, End of Life, Hospice, Inspirational Poems, Touching Stories:”Occasionally, we are graced with the presence of an earth bound Angel. They are unable to stay with us for long, but while they do, they bring unprecedented joy and happiness to all they touch.”
http://www.inspirationalnursing.com/inspiration/categories.death.dying.end.of.life.hospice.htm

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Tumor baby mama

miriamapace — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 21:11:49 +0000

First let me apologize for anyone who may find this distasteful and the fact that I have found humor in it. Humor and Dove bars are my way of getting through life. After reading this blog you’ll know why Dove bars are now off the list of things that make Jackie feel good.

June 29 was my birthday and I turned the big 4-7. Guess what the cosmos gave me? Stomach flu or so I thought. I went to the doctor and I’m laying on the table (Miriam: thank God she wasn’t naked) and he’s palpating me which was uncomfortable having a strange man I’m not attracted to touching my tummy. He says, “Do you know you have a mass in your uterus?” (Miriam: and I’m thinking she has priest in her uterus saying Mass. After listening to her being sick, bitching and moaning for two days I wasn’t surprised my thoughts weren’t on the same page as the doctor’s.) Jackie said, “I had no idea.” The doctor says, “How could you not know?” “Dude, I’m fat,” Jackie responds. And then it kind of hits me after a moment of panic. This isn’t the stomach flu, but something else. The MD gives me happy pills and in injection to calm my stomach (which cost $165.00). And he goes on talking about the mass and I’m thinking, fine I’ll see my doctor. In fact I already had an appointment on the schedule.

I go to my primary care doctor and she tells me I have a tumor the size of a 4 mouth fetus in my uterus and I’m thinking I’m now the proud mother of a tumor baby. So if this news was not enough, I was scheduled an ultra sound and found out I would have to drink 64 ounces of water in an hour and half and not pee for another hour and a half. Do you know how difficult that is? One word comes to mind–TORTURE. So clutching my legs together hoping I didn’t have an accident on the table, that would be embarrassing, I survived the ultra-sound.

On to the next thing. Two days after my ultra sound, guess what happens to me? Car accident. I was rear-ended and not in a fun way. (Miriam: thanks for that image.) Fortunately, I was okay and my little Hyundai came though with nothing but some bumper damage. The other car–not so lucky. Other than a few aches and bruises I was fine. But a few days after that I lost my glasses. Luckily I kept my old pair so I wasn’t a blind tumor baby mama without a car. P.S. if you ever have to be in an accident, hope it’s with someone who has the same insurance as you because they couldn’t be nicer to you. Props to State Farm.

BTW it wasn’t stomach flu, but food poisoning. (Miriam: it’s not fault we ate out that week. )

I get the results from the ultra sound which were inconclusive. Really, you couldn’t tell how bloated I was from all that water. I’m surprised my tumor baby didn’t need a life preserver. I want back to the doctor who told me the results were inconclusive and scheduled me for an MRI. And since I haven’t had a physical in a while, she arranged for the labworks, the MRI and a followup appointment. A couple days later, after driving all over I can now find every doctor and hospital in the city of Corona, (Miriam: Jackie can’t find crap, I had to drive her everywhere, she could get lost with MapQuest and a sherpa guide on her way to the bathroom) I visit the blood vampire and she gives me a cup to pee in. But the pressure unnerved me and I was in the bathroom for twenty minutes praying to the gods I’d have a little flow. The next day I am going to get the MRI when the doctor calls and says I have to come in immediately. I’m thinking, I have cancer and only three weeks to live. Who’s gonna take care of my dogs and how are Miriam and I going to get the novella done. And do I need to clean my bathroom? Do I care? I guess so, so people will judge me. “She was nice, but she was a terrible housekeeper.”

First I go for the MRI which turns out to be a no-go. It was a torpedo tube and my ass wouldn’t fit. No matter how I arranged my arms I couldn’t get in. The poor tech tried to help, but I finally said, “Dude, I need a fat girl machine.” So I finally get out of there and roll over to the doctor’s office. And basically they tell me I have a raging infection, I’m dehydrated, my triglycerides are high and my blood sugar is high. The good side–my blood pressure was excellent. Not anymore after today, though.

So they found a fat girl MRI machine, but let me tell you something it was still torture. It took me 3 hours to get it done. (Miriam: Thank God I saved the latest Jim Butcher for my adventures in MRI land. Jackie is such a drama queen) but I got through it.

This has been quite a month. The doctor just called to tell me, Tommy, my tumor baby is the size of two and half fists clenched together and benign. In Jackie speak, I’m one tumor away from being a size twelve. And the doctor is telling me about my options. I don’t care, tumor baby has to go. It doesn’t pay rent, doesn’t mow the lawn, and doesn’t make me happy.

After refering to my last blog on bumper stickers, I now have to lose weight, thereby making me easier to kidnap. My good friend Seressia Glass( reference my blog on what I want done with my earthly remains) wants to throw me a tumor baby shower. (Miriam: oh hell no. How will I decorate?) And Miriam won’t let me keep it in the refrigerator. What is life coming to?

This is what my last month and a half has been. Last night, Miriam asked me to do the dishes and I gave her my best puppy-dog look and said, “but I have a tumor.” And Miriam says, “It’s not in your hands.” I have decided my best course of action, since I’m no longer allowed Dove bars or cocktails, is to laugh. I don’t have cancer, and I can live with diabetes. I can fix the cholesterol and triglycerides even though I’m afraid the fish oil pills Miriam is making me take could make me smell like a halibut.

The theme of this blog is: LAUGH. Laughter makes me feel like I’m in control. Laughing makes me feel like I’ll get through this. And if I make a joke about it, I feel that Miriam, my mom, and all the people who love me won’t be so stressed out. I don’t need their drama, I have plenty of my own.

Much love, take care of yourself and go get a physical, Jackie.

Jackie's Final Wishes

miriamapace — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 22:17:10 +0000

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged and I’ve been thinking a lot of deep thoughts and this is one I thought I’d share with you.

Have you ever seen those late night commercials on TV for funeral arrangements or life insurance aimed at people over fifty? Now that I’m hurtling quickly toward the big five-Oh, I’ve been thinking about my final wishes. I was talking to my friend Seressia Glass (whose new book Shadow Blade is coming out January 29–a must read) and I asked her to do me a big favor. ” In case anything happens, I want you to make sure I’m cremated.”

There was this huge pause and Seressia said, “Are you sick, Jackie?”

I said, “No, I’m fine other than needing my teeth cleaned.”

Dying with plaque on your teeth is like being hit by a car wearing dirty underwear because you forgot your childhood lessons about always wearing clean panties. (Miriam: Jackie keeps clean panties in the glove compartment of her car–I checked. I’m a mom, too.)

After Seressia stopped panting and caught her breath, I said, “I want you to take my ashes and hunt down Gerard Butler, strip him naked and spread my ashes all over his naked body and scream, ‘This is Sparta!’”

Yes, Seressia had that pregnant pause, too. And Miriam is still trying to scrub that image from her brain. Not the one with Gerard Butler, but of Seressia spreading my ashes all over him. And finally, Seressia started to laugh and said, “Okay!”

And I said, “You have to get me in his skin all good and deep because I don’t want to be a one shower wonder. This is the place where I’m spending eternity.”

That’s all, folks. I think I’m done. If you can’t get what you want in life, get what you want in death.

Jackie

(Miriam: I can’t leave this unanswered. The Moral: For once I’m speechless.)

Crucial Conversations

medicalmom2 — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 02:15:16 +0000

The other day I met a great physician who, ironically, is also a pastor. Maybe it’s not so ironic considering they are both professions that you help people feel better – emotionally, physically and spiritually.

Dr. Jeff Gordon is a hospitalist at Grant Medical Center in Columbus, Ohio. Grant is an urban Level I trauma center and surgical hospital and treats thousands of patients annually – from the affluent to the homeless. Each person, however, has one thing is common. They all want to get better and go home. Sometimes, however, they can’t leave. Modern medicine hasn’t worked or their bodies have been ravaged by an illness or disease, resulting in their condition worsening.

Dr. Gordon and I met by chance, though we both have connections to the same hospital. Recently he wrote a wonderful book that emphasizes the importance of talking to your family about end-of-life decisions. You’re probably thinking that’s the last thing you want to talk about with your family members when life is good. But you never know when your health can change – it can be overnight, or when you’re well into your senior years.

Having spent years taking care of patients and their families, Dr. Gordon has seen firsthand the difficulties families face when their loved one is in the hospital and the chances for recovery look less than optimistic. This is especially true for people whose parents are elderly.

The cool thing about Dr. Gordon’s book, A Death Prolonged, is that it’s fiction. It’s really a quick read that addresses the moral and ethical dilemmas that families and medical professionals face with respect to end-of-life care. The story centers around resident Dr. Kate Simon and the challenges that she, her colleagues and families of patients struggle with when they realize that the patient’s quality of life is significantly compromised and they’re faced with tough decisions about next steps. Not being a medical professional, I found it interesting and informative because it’s not full of difficult to understand clinical terminology.

We likely all have heard about living wills, durable power of attorney for healthcare and do not resuscitate orders, but this book explains these in documents detail in a practical and understandable way, even for a lay person.

A couple weeks ago, PBS’s Religion and Ethics NewsWeekly filmed a story at Grant about end-of-life issues. Two patients had end-of-life discussions with Dr. Gordon, and they also interviewed Dr. Phil Hawley, director of the hospital’s ICU.

One of the people being featured in the program is my friend, Jill, a nurse, who is dealing with her second round of breast cancer, and unfortunately, chemotherapy is no longer working. Jill and her wonderful partner, Joan, were filmed as part of this program that we hope will show the importance of a strong support system for people facing terminal illnesses. Jill is currently receiving hospice care and is open to talking to her friends about her wishes.

In Columbus, the program will air on Sunday, October 11th at 11:00am on WOSU-TV, Channel 34. The piece can also be seen online at www.pbs.org/religion when it is posted on Friday, Octobero 9 at around 6 p.m. The site has a channel finder feature. Here’s a preview.

It’s been interesting to talk to Dr. Gordon, then hear firsthand from friends and co-workers who are dealing with these issues with elderly family members. It makes you realize just how important it is to have these conversations with your parents and other family members when they are healthy – without the incredible stress and pressure that comes from having to make a decision when you’re not prepared for it. It’s really not a morbid discussion, but rather one that enables you to respect the wishes of that person and show your care and concern for them up to their last moments on earth.

The Fork

Ross — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 17:56:23 +0000

A brave young woman had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given three months to live. As she was getting her things in order, she contacted her Pastor and asked him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. “Oh, there’s one more thing,” she said excitedly. “What’s that?” came the Pastor’s reply. “This is very important,” the young woman continued. “I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.”

The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?” the woman asked. “Well, to be honest, I AM a bit puzzled,” said the Pastor. The young woman explained. “My grandmother once told me this story, and since that time I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement.

In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming . . . like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!’ So, I want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder, “What’s with the fork?” Then I want you to tell them: “Keep your fork. the best is yet to come.”

The Pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But, he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman’s casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, “What’s with the fork?” And over and over he smiled. During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.

The next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come.

www.bibledonate.org

A Diet Dr. Pepper and a Smile

Morocco — Sat, 04 Apr 2009 01:59:01 +0000

Monday afternoon I received some very sad news. My mom and stepdad’s dear friend, Terry, died. I immediatedly started crying as I listened to his SIL’s voicemail. I called to tell George and he was clearly devastated. Terry was his “buddy.”

Terry and my mother attended the same dialysis clinic for years. My mother loved him, and he likewise. Everytime we talked she would tell me the lastest stories about him. Terry was also the stepfather to a boy I had a major crush on in high school, so that scored more points for him!

When my mother died Terry was at the service sharing his memories of her. That meant a lot to me. He reached out to us in our time of need. A few months ago, we all went out to dinner and had a great time. He was such a charming, eccentric person, and the perfect gentleman.

After I calmed down a few hours later, I called his SIL to get information about the arrangements. I thought I was okay but I starting crying again. She replied Now you know Terry wanted everyone happy. He didn’t want anyone crying. He left specific instructions to be cremented. Half of his ashes will go in a Diet Dr. Pepper bottle (his favorite beverage) and spread over one of the Canadian mountain ranges. The rest will go to his family. He didn’t want a funeral, but he wanted a party to celebrate his life. LOL, I should have known! Everytime I see a Diet Dr. Pepper, I’ll think of him!

I was telling my friend Kara about his request when she mused that since we both loved tea, maybe we should get cremated and have our ashes placed in teabags!

Of course, George and I will be there on Saturday to help celebrate his life over Diet Dr. Peppers and lots of smiles.

My final wishes

polkaostrich — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 17:29:21 +0000

I like to make sure everyone I care about and that I think might be around for my final days knows my final wishes. Here they are, for all the internet to see–make sure they’re followed to a T.

#1. By no means should anyone go into debt over a funeral for me. Don’t pay those funeral parlors any cash, no matter how many velvet chairs they have to sit on. That death industry is quite a racket. Don’t pay for an expensive ugly casket, and DON’T get me emb*lmed. It’s really bad for the environment.

#2. Just throw me in the river or something. Ideally I would be buried at my cabin, but I’m pretty sure there are some laws about body transport or burial or something, so in that case either make me a coffin, or cremate me and put me in a pinata. Ok? The North House Folk School in Grand Marias has a class about building your own coffin. But I’m not going to prepare that far ahead, because then I have to drag it everywhere I go for literally the rest of my life. They’ve got the coolest classes.

#3: I want a tombstone that looks something like this:

I want it in a sort of public place so that when people walk past it it creeps them out. But I don’t want to be buried under it. The reason I’m afraid of being buried is because of zombies. Seriously. What if my body comes back to life? Like in Pet Cemetery? I’d rather avoid that issue. It would be nice if an old picture of me could be attached to the tombstone in a little locket. They have a lot of those in Hibbing, and my grandparents used to bring me to the cemetery all the time to visit the dead people and those photos really used to get to me.

#4. Finally. Throw a wild party for the funeral ok? NO PRIESTS allowed! Make it a potluck to cut down on cost, and maybe if I know in advance when I’m going to die, I’ll put aside some cash to buy a whiskey fountain. Maybe there could be a dance party and some drugs and cute outfits and sparkles thrown into the air. Ok? Ok. Thanks! Maybe there could be one of those picture boards of me making funny faces and then you could all read my diaries. And will a kind Bette Midler out there take care of whatever living creature I have as my ward a la Beaches? Thanks, you’re warming my heart!

If these aren’t followed, I’m going to haunt you! I will be sooo annoying!

My Final Wishes

badassalaskangirls — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 05:42:32 +0000

If I die a rich woman tomorrow, bury my body in Barrow, Alaska;

and if I die a poor woman, burn my body and spread the ashes over the

mudflats at Bird Point, Alaska. Set my Soul free on the high tide when

the moon is full or new, perferably. These are my Final Wishes. C. Burns

A Pirate looks at Death...

jeshuey — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 19:37:00 +0000

Although in good health and looking forward to several more decades of driving people nuts, I recently set down my “final wishes” so Pat and the kids would know how I felt about checking out. It occurred to me that what I wrote might give folks who have never met me a clearer understanding of who I am and how I think, so I am publishing it here.

The Final Wishes and Ruminations of John E. Shuey

And there’s that one particular harbor,

Sheltered from the wind,

Where the children play on the shore each day,

And all are safe within.

A most mysterious calling harbor,

So far but yet so near.

I can see the day when my hair’s full gray,

And I finally disappear

Jimmy Buffett & Bobby Holcomb…One Particular Harbor

Cremate my remains. All of them. If it’s cheap enough, shoot’em into space. If not, scatter them somewhere there’s lots of trees, critters, and sunshine.
I doubt there will be much fuss…I never bothered to accumulate a lot of close friends. Then again, I don’t much care for fusses, so what the hell?
I do not want any ministers, priests, rabbis, imams, or any other kind of superstition-peddling con-men at any last ceremony or whatever. Also no prayers, invocations, or other incantations to some invisible sky fairy. No shit, I mean it!
As for music, I’m partial to Mozart, Buffett, the Beatles, and the Beach Boys…in no particular order. But it has to be light and fun. I’m not really all that upset about this and there’s no use ruining anyone else’s day either. If you can’t at least tap your toes to it, don’t fucking play it. And finally
I want the following to be read to anyone who shows up at my goodbye party by the eldest of my children willing to read it. If all three (I think) pass, hire some sexy young lady to read it. They can be had cheap enough. It’s a combination of thoughts from Richard Dawkins, Penn Gillette, Mark Twain and me. Four of the brightest fellows I know.

So I’ve finally done it: gone and died. Big deal. I’m not the first, and all of us will, you know.

But don’t you see…that makes us the lucky ones!

To die, you must first be born. All the potential people who might have lived, but who have in fact never seen the light of day, are more numerous than all the grains of sand in the Sahara. We know this because the set of all possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people who have somehow managed to stir to life. We are therefore incredibly lucky, because it is we who have beat those stupefying odds. It is you and I who are here.

How wonderful it’s been. To be sure it hasn’t been without troubles or heartaches or disappointments, but hey… with no truly intelligent designer to arrange things for us, what else should we expect?

Look…I have gotten to eat carrot cake and drink the finest Bordeaux. I have stood within the Coliseum in Rome and Notre Dame in Paris. I’ve climbed to the top of the Pyramid of the Sun in Mexico City, and watched from a scant few yards away as a grizzly bear plodded through a thicket in the Denali Wilderness Area. I’ve laughed at George Carlin, sung along with Jimmy Buffett, and marveled at the intelligence and elegant prose of Richard Dawkins, not to mention the wit and wisdom of Bill Bryson. I’ve held three newborn babies in my arms, and watched awestruck as medical science gave one of them back to me which fate and poor design had conspired to take away. I’ve basked in the love of some very wonderful people, and a few marvelous canines. There isn’t much else to have wanted.

Folks…listen up because this is really important: We are made of stardust! Each and every one of us is composed entirely of atoms expelled by distant stars tens of millions or even billions of years ago. That, it seems to me, is far more inspiring and marvelous than believing we were squished together from a handful of mud by some jealous, megalomaniacal sky fairy.

Likewise, we are connected to — actually relatives of — every creature and plant alive now or that has ever lived on earth. That connection too is so much more incredibly exciting and satisfying than any bronze-age creation myth could ever hope to be.

And do you know the most wonderful thing of all? That being made of stardust and connection to all life now and ever thing? Well, we are the only creatures on earth with the ability to comprehend that. And that, in and of its self, makes us as special as we should ever need to feel.

Mark Twain once pointed out that he had no fear of death because he had been dead for billions of years before he was born, and it hadn’t really been a bother at all. That is pretty much my take on the thing as well.

Please don’t misunderstand. If I could have avoided leaving you I would have. I have loved each and every one of you in my own peculiar way. There have been times when I wished I could have been a bit better at it, but at least know I tried.

So, enjoy the food, the company, and especially the wine. Celebrate please, my, and your, tremendous luck. All my best to each of you.

John

Yes I am a pirate,
Two hundred years too late.
Cannons don’t thunder, there’s nothing to plunder,
I’m an over-forty victim of fate.
Arriving too late…
Arriving too late.

Jimmy Buffett…A Pirate Turns Forty