Hospice Gratitude by Barbara Quinn

I am most grateful for hospice workers. These selfless souls don’t get enough credit and they certainly are underpaid for the work that they do. A couple of years ago I was lucky to have my father spend his last days at Calvary Hospital in the Bronx, NY. Calvary is a hospital that only takes terminal cancer patients who have less than six months to live. The workers there are dedicated, caring, and make the end of days as comfortable as possible for those who are in residence. It’s an amazingly upbeat place with activities, music, and even a bar cart that circulates in the evening to the patients rooms so that anyone, patient or visitor, who wants to can indulge can. And there’s a similar snack cart filled with goodies of all sorts. This is not your usual hospital experience or food.

My father, in his last days, developed bile duct cancer, one of the stranger diseases that the human body is capable of falling prey to, and that’s how we wound up at Calvary. There is no easy way out of this world, but at least in a place like Calvary you have a team helping you. And we needed that team. One of the nurses was most kind in explaining exactly what to expect to me. Death is not the most cooperative of visitors. I am still grateful for her taking the time to walk me through what might occur, and grateful that she honored my father’s wishes to not be connected to tubes or wires. He was alert and cracking jokes till almost the end. What a comfort it was that he was able to be pain free and be with his family at the end. When he was no longer able to speak, he still squeezed my hand. Always a wise man, his ending was in his control, and was his final gift to his family.

Recently, my mother-in-law passed away. She suffered for many years with Alzheimer’s. Again, it was a hospice worker who kept me company and offered advice while I sat with her on her last day. That presence helped me greatly. These people simply do not get enough credit. So I send out a big warm thank you to all who work in the dying fields. Your work is important, difficult, under-appreciated, and oh so necessary. Thank you for being there!

Journey by Angie Ledbetter

I've thought a lot about the end of our physical existence lately. Although it is agonizing to watch a dear loved one at the end of their time, even in the last days (or weeks or months) of decline, I find things to be thankful for.

There's nothing nice about brain cancer, or any terminal illness. There is, however, a beauty in the end days if we look closely enough for them.

Being a caregiver gives me a chance to return to my mother some of the same things she gave me in my earliest years: unconditional love, pampering, tender bodily care, hugs, favorite foods, and the comfort of being near.

I also realize the blessings of Mom's own personal battle with the deadly tumor -- she is not suffering physical pain, her long term memories and personality remain, she still has her joyous sense of humor and laughter, and her family and friends have gathered closely to be with her often. Those who love her have been able to spend precious time with her. I know of others who have not been so fortunate. A friend's brother who has this same glioblastoma tumor, located in a different lobe of the brain, are dealing with very negative personality changes. How hard that must be on his family. We all know nightmare stories of pain and suffering. Every day, I am grateful that this is not my mother's journey, and am reminded that in death, there is beauty; there are things in which to be thankful.

I thank all of you who are praying for Mother and for our family. It means a lot. It means the most. *smile*

Do You Remember? By Angie Ledbetter

I've been thinking a lot about memories and the ability to remember. Attending several important functions for my kids (an honors fraternity induction, a spring band concert, a confirmation ceremony at church, etc.), the digital and regular cameras have been in use frequently. I LOVE photographs. They are a means of hanging onto and capturing special moments. I have a new screen saver on my monitor -- my middle son (in tux!) wearing the Bishop's purple beanie at his confirmation. No matter what happens, I have that little encapsulated moment to relive again and again. I am truly grateful for that.

Our last high school reunion was such a success, we've decided to meet every summer in addition to the 10-year gatherings. Again, tons of photos accompany these events, plus we enjoy strolling down the memory lane of our Glory Years when we're together.

Being of a certain age -- that age where "Sometimers" makes memories and remembrances fuzzy -- I'm making a conscious effort to engrave important moments and times on my mind. When my life slows down, I'll want them available even more when, hopefully, I'll revisit the fun, exciting, sobering, spontaneous, hilarious strange times of Today.

Treasure your important moments NOW, but also lock them away for safekeeping for tomorrow. We're not guaranteed anything in life past this one single moment. I see this with my precious mother who is fighting brain cancer. Her short-term memory continually erases itself like a computer program gone mad. I'm thankful she retains older memories and knows who we are. I cannot imagine the loss of those, as so much of our basic personality and essence is tied up in our brains' memory banks.

Today, live fully, live wildly, live joyously. Take photographs with your mind and camera of these times and things and people you love. Someday, your remembering may be more important than ever.

The Unthinkable by Angie Ledbetter

Your doctor has given you the worst possible news: you have a fatal disease and a dire prognosis for life expectancy. Your fears are overwhelming. Already, you feel sick and “less than” your former self. How will you spend your remaining time?

Someone dear to me is facing these same questions, and I’ve already lost a few loved ones to cancer. So I ask myself from time to time, How would you handle it? What would you do with the rest of your life?

It’s not a subject anyone wants to think about, but what if you were forced to? I wonder if I would be strong and live with courage and hope? Or would I give up and mourn the loss of extra days? I can’t say for sure, but I hope I’d take the higher path, the harder road.

The thought of an untimely death makes me value each day on this earth even more. I try to fully live out each moment...no matter if it is from inside a concession stand doing school team volunteering, or visiting with someone I love. I try every day to let those whom I love know it. I force myself not to grouse over inconveniences or negative events. I want to see the goodness every day has to offer, and mark it by my noticing. I am grateful for early morning alarms ringing, and I am thankful each night when I put my head on a soft feather pillow.

A friend sent me a true story which helped cement my gratitude for life. I hope you enjoy it too, then pass it on to those you care about. Randy Pausch has pancreatic cancer and only a few months to live. He is a popular professor at Carnegie Mellon University. His message is taken from his “final lecture” to beloved students. Pausch has three young children and an unbelievably heroic attitude. His appearance on Oprah has been downloaded over a million times, so just maybe his words are being heard: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8577255250907450469

The Human Embodiment of Gratitude by Barbara Quinn

Growing up, my father used to tell me, “We’re all going the same place so you might as well enjoy the ride.” A little over a year ago he passed away at the age of 86 from a rare type of bile duct cancer. He did enjoy the ride.

My father worked hard, but always came to important functions. We took family vacations, ate dinner together every night, and he spent time with me, talking and being genuinely interested in my activities. He had boundless curiosity, and a ready smile. In college he was an usher at the Metropolitan Opera . He also was a Yankees fan. Now, I love opera and the Yanks, and I strive to enjoy the ride.

Till his last day, he joked around and kidded with us. His spirit was an inspiration, not just to me and my family, but to all who came in contact with him.

I was with him when he passed away. Death is not an easy thing to witness, and certainly is even more difficult to go through. But my Dad, the WW2 vet, soldiered on with incredible courage while I trembled by his side. I was alone with him when the priest came to give him the last sacrament. My Dad was religious, and I knew this would be a comfort, but he hadn’t said a word or opened his eyes for hours, and I wasn’t sure how aware he was. The priest gave him the sacrament and then to my surprise my father spoke.

He said, “Thank you.”

The priest’s eyes met mine. He asked, “Did you hear that?” I did. Oh, I did.

I tried to pull my hand away from my Dad’s for a second to wipe my eyes, but he squeezed it, signaling that I should not let go. I held on tightly. The rest of my family arrived and though my Dad didn’t speak again, we spoke to him, telling him how much we loved him, and that it was ok for him to leave. A few painful hours later, Dad drew his last breath.

I’m grateful to my Dad for so much. While he was alive he showed me the way, showed me how to live. And in death, he also showed the way, leading by example. It’s something to strive for, this being able to utter the words, “Thank you,” as your last. Can there be a finer example of gratitude?