Rebekah Jane Lee

I was raised in a small, rural town in MN. My early memories include the ice man coming down the street in a one horse wagon, delivering ice to a few families that lived nearby. I can still see the old canvas tarp hiding blocks of ice buried in a pile of sawdust. The man would tie-off the reins to the wagon seat, throw back the tarp grab ice tongs and pull a block out of the sawdust. After brushing off the sawdust (perfection not achieved) he’d re-tong the ice and carry it inside the house. The wagon would sit exactly in the middle of the narrow road, completely blocking egress from either direction, not that there was actually nothing to block. Vehicular traffic was so minimal in those days it was more unusual for a car to pass by than not. Most walked to work, shopped by foot,“raised garden” and canned.

My maternal grandparents were teenagers when the first airplane flew, didn't know what a car was, saw people fly in supersonic passenger planes and watched men land on the moon. They lived closer to the land and knew were the best spring asparagus patches were and couldn't wait for the chokecherries to turn black to make jam and syrup for the winter. Everything was “put up” – canned. By late fall the one quart ball jars lined basement and pantry shelves; wood planks sagging with tomatoes, pears, peaches, strawberry jam, applesauce, beans, peas, asparagus, broccoli; potatoes and squash were in the bins and then there was Thanksgiving. And our telephone number had four digits – 3349. It was a huge day when we had to dial the prefix 736. Oh yeah!

The neighbors talked over the fence or the hedge and actually sat on front porches and conversed with those who walked by; it was unthinkable to “hide” in the back yard. The neighborhood kids all played our hearts out all the time, always outside except when the weather was just too miserable – might catch “our death”. We knew the natural world, the seasons of stuff and made our own games and play times. Imaginations were turned loose and creativity was unchecked; until it spilled over into pranks on the adults – we were lousy at covering up. It was relaxed and unhurried; there was time for people and things. Plenty of time to disparage those not liked; to practice class, bigotry and uncharitable attitudes. The old saying that “…people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones”, well, there wasn't an unbroken window in town. Well, perhaps there was one or two, but I never saw them.

But I’d trade back to those days in a heartbeat – if I could retain the incremental cultural improvements. Such are the thoughts of a dreamer. Oh yes.

The changes are huge and not for the better in every case. I've watched as the touted “labor-saving” devices for the housewife turned us into machine slaves; working harder all the time to have more, have better, get ahead and get the latest. And in our race to get the latest & greatest, we've consumed and insulted the environment to the brink of breakdown. All in spite of being the best educated in the history of our country. The last two sentences, I believe, contain an oxymoron.

It’s interesting to look back, reflect and ponder some of these things. An incomplete picture to be sure; but these are the things that pop up as I write pretty much stream-of-conscious. Changes? Absolutely! And the kids who are pubescent today, are the first generation to know only a digital world. I wonder what they’ll say when they look back. I’d like to hear that.

Steps - Week 10

Steps of many kinds.

But each step a precious gift,

Completing life’s span

Final Transitions - Week 10

This posting may be a bit of a ramble – no one thing really caused me to focus on an idea or issue. This comes to mind: I've been a volunteer at the Whatcom Hospice House since its inaugural in September of 2010. 

I cannot say enough about the compassionate assistance the house provides during our final transitions. I've witnessed end of life in many of its various presentations; both in the transitioning person and in the involved families. Bereavement uncovers so many things, especially in the surrounding families; from unresolved family and personal affairs to celebration by extended families. Sometimes so many, they needed the conference room to eat the meals they self-catered in most days. Table settings were complete with wine glasses and expensive wines. The love and caring of those groups was palpable and can still moisten my eyes in reflection.

Juxtaposed were those families, whose members we needed to schedule the visits, because no one was on speaking terms. And sometimes in those situations, it was a best friend or neighbor who filled in as meaningful family. The gritty bitterness of unresolved family and personal issues hung over those rooms like a dark, moody shroud. One wondered at what point love evaporated like fog, kissed by morning’s light. And there were those whose health care provider’s pronouncement, “…life expectancy is less than six months” swung open the doors of hospice; and no one was there for them, except staff and volunteers. No one faces end of life alone at the house.

In the end, they all receive a little parting ritual; as the remains of the transitioned person leave the house and began the journey to their appointed place – three slow, soft rings from hand-held chimes meet tears and prayers, as staff and family line each side of the entrance lobby. After a moment of silence, the final physical journey begins; the spiritual, already complete.

All the topics covered in our materials this week exhibit themselves at the house; all stages of grief and grieving, stuffed emotions, heroic stoicism, peacemaking, letting go and not at all prepared. The single most important item I wish to leave you is your consideration and preparation for your own end of life events. Prepare your wishes now. Consider your own end, which may be close or far. Who can know?

It is so difficult for young and middle adults to comprehend themselves in a terminal state. The house hosted those from under 10 to over one hundred. The point is we just don’t know; so think about how you want to be cared for, what that will look like and who will make end of life decisions for you. And find the person who loves you enough to insist on them at your end of life. Record those wishes in a well thought out advance directive (I even have music picked to play in my room and flowers, but no lilies puhleeze), power of attorney for healthcare and a POLST. The persons whose affairs were so ordered were allowed the comfortable space for themselves and family to actually share the end of life journey and enter the grief process. Those unprepared – not so much!

And as I leave these postings, I am experiencing a mini-grieving process. Getting to know each of you and listening/sharing your heartfelt thoughts and feelings has been a meaningful journey. And now as we part, I mentally sound those three soft chimes that will send you off on the remaining paths in your the spans of life; wishing you peace in the fulfillment of your dreams, desires and nurturing relationships. It’s been a pleasure to journey a bit with each of you on those paths. Hugs from the heart, Rebekah.