The inspiration behind John Lennon's "Lucy in the Sky" died. Lucy Vodden's death was announced yesterday. Her obituary touched me on a few levels.
The first thing that I noticed from the obituary1 is her age. She was my age. The obituaries that I found don't state her date of birth, so I wonder about that.
I had never concerned myself with the inspiration behind the song before. I learned from the obituary that the song was inspired by a picture that four year old Julian drew, which he referred to as "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." My daughter also drew a "in the Sky with Diamonds" picture when she was about four years old.
Speaking of "four years old," I was four years old when "Lucy in the Sky" was recorded. So I'm the same age as Lucy (and Julian).
The obituary states that Lucy died of Lupus. This is so refreshing to hear. I'm not kidding. Typically chronic illnesses such as Lupus are not listed as the cause of death. Rather, it's the failure of a compromised vital organ that gets reported. For example, nobody said that my father died of ALS; his official cause of death was asphyxiation,2 as if he suddenly got a plastic bag caught on his head and had not slowly wasted away without even enjoying his retirement. Mentioning that Lucy suffered with Lupus is like awarding her with a badge of honor. We should recognize her suffering and give validation to the millions of others3 who have the condition, as well.
1The obituary that I read this morning.
2Listen you butt-head doctors, he wouldn't have stopped breathing if he didn't have ALS.
3It is estimated that the number of people in the USA who have Lupus is 1.5 to 2 million.
2023-12-22 Update link to obituary in footnote 1.
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
MyAfterlife
Could MySpace become MyAfterlife, an online postmortem site?
As MySpace members die, the ranks of non-living members grow. And if MySpace's popularity wanes (as all Internet fads do), eventually it will have more dead users than living.
A somewhat-related (and less facetious) topic aired on NPR recently1. It discussed ownership of accounts of people who die.
What should happen to your blog after you die? Would you want it to remain? Would you want someone to moderate comments, or perhaps disable commenting?
What about e-mail accounts? Should your next of kin have access to your e-mail? Would you want someone to set up a sort of automated "on vacation" message that says that you've taken a trip to the Promised Land, or that you'll be out-of-the-office from now until Eternity?
Would you want someone to enter all your favorite online social sites, chatrooms, message boards, etc., to post a message with a link to your online obituary?
What are your online plans for the Afterlife?
1 "Death Often Brings Disputes Over Online Lives," by Yuki Noguchi, May 11, 2009, All Things Considered
As MySpace members die, the ranks of non-living members grow. And if MySpace's popularity wanes (as all Internet fads do), eventually it will have more dead users than living.
A somewhat-related (and less facetious) topic aired on NPR recently1. It discussed ownership of accounts of people who die.
What should happen to your blog after you die? Would you want it to remain? Would you want someone to moderate comments, or perhaps disable commenting?
What about e-mail accounts? Should your next of kin have access to your e-mail? Would you want someone to set up a sort of automated "on vacation" message that says that you've taken a trip to the Promised Land, or that you'll be out-of-the-office from now until Eternity?
Would you want someone to enter all your favorite online social sites, chatrooms, message boards, etc., to post a message with a link to your online obituary?
What are your online plans for the Afterlife?
1 "Death Often Brings Disputes Over Online Lives," by Yuki Noguchi, May 11, 2009, All Things Considered
Saturday, April 11, 2009
A Huge Gaping Hole Where The House Was
Every time I return home from vacation I get worried as I make the last turn onto our road. I imagine that our home was destroyed, and that nothing is left but a huge gaping hole and smoking ruins.
This time the hole was real.
Our pet sitter called on Thursday night to tell us that our youngest pet cat was not moving and his breathing was very shallow. Then the emergency vet called to tell us that he died.
Our daughter was devastated. Our other cat is too nervous around her and avoids her. But Inky would sleep with her.
He was the quintessential lap cat. He was not shy around strangers, and he became tolerant of the dog quickly.
We had him only one month, but we loved him dearly. We thought about our pets during our entire vacation. I couldn't wait to get home to pick up Inky and feel him melt into my arms and purr contentedly.
He was a bit small, but he left a huge gaping hole in our hearts.
This time the hole was real.
Our pet sitter called on Thursday night to tell us that our youngest pet cat was not moving and his breathing was very shallow. Then the emergency vet called to tell us that he died.
Our daughter was devastated. Our other cat is too nervous around her and avoids her. But Inky would sleep with her.
He was the quintessential lap cat. He was not shy around strangers, and he became tolerant of the dog quickly.
We had him only one month, but we loved him dearly. We thought about our pets during our entire vacation. I couldn't wait to get home to pick up Inky and feel him melt into my arms and purr contentedly.
He was a bit small, but he left a huge gaping hole in our hearts.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Shrinking Greeting Card List
At the moment I'm sending out greeting cards to family and friends as we do every year. I keep a simple address list in MS Word, which hearkens back to the days I used to print address labels. Although I no longer print address labels, I keep the list up-to-date by making notes of address changes (Jayne's in Georgia now) and, more sadly, deaths. I can't think of a worse greeting card gaff than sending a card to my uncle that's also addressed to his deceased wife. So I make sure I have "Aunt Ellie died in '98" right below the address.
I actually did that for my mom's address, even though there's no chance I'd ever be so forgetful as to send one to her.
The list is shrinking. Or it would be if we weren't adding new addresses to it: The Girl Scout troop leader. The piano teacher. The new church choir director.
Adding new family members is a bit harder but not impossible. With 9 aunts & uncles on my father's side alone, there are always more cousins to reach out to. One day the last aunt or uncle will be gone, and only cousins will be left.
How do you keep your list from shrinking?
I actually did that for my mom's address, even though there's no chance I'd ever be so forgetful as to send one to her.
The list is shrinking. Or it would be if we weren't adding new addresses to it: The Girl Scout troop leader. The piano teacher. The new church choir director.
Adding new family members is a bit harder but not impossible. With 9 aunts & uncles on my father's side alone, there are always more cousins to reach out to. One day the last aunt or uncle will be gone, and only cousins will be left.
How do you keep your list from shrinking?
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Life in Heaven
Christians celebrated All Saints Day today. We remember the dead, especially those who departed in the past 12 months (since the previous All Saints Day).
Our Pastor based his sermon on the civil war poem, "The Faded Coat of Blue," by J. H. McNaughton. The chorus is:
When I find my mother and father, how will they appear? What age will they seem like? I last saw them weakened and broken by disease. They won't be like that in Heaven, right? Are they still going to argue?
Then I started to wonder about pain. Do we really know what sensations we'll experience in Heaven? Will my wife's pain really leave her when she dies? I realize that sounds silly. Most people believe that pain is of the body, which the soul leaves to enter Heaven. But when you live with chronic pain, it takes over your life. How can anyone be sure it won't take over your death, too.
Our Pastor based his sermon on the civil war poem, "The Faded Coat of Blue," by J. H. McNaughton. The chorus is:
No more the bugle calls the weary one.It made me wonder again about Heaven, something I haven't done in a very long time. What if I get to Heaven and someone whom I never liked finds me? Will I still dislike that person? Or what if I find someone who doesn't like me?
Rest, noble spirit, in thy grave unknown.
I'll find you and know you among the good and true
When a robe of white is given for the faded coat of blue.
When I find my mother and father, how will they appear? What age will they seem like? I last saw them weakened and broken by disease. They won't be like that in Heaven, right? Are they still going to argue?
Then I started to wonder about pain. Do we really know what sensations we'll experience in Heaven? Will my wife's pain really leave her when she dies? I realize that sounds silly. Most people believe that pain is of the body, which the soul leaves to enter Heaven. But when you live with chronic pain, it takes over your life. How can anyone be sure it won't take over your death, too.
Personal Growth (Part 1)
Friday is the day Cardiogirl delves into her Book of Questions and writes a thought-provoking post, one that encourages her readers to respond.
Last week's question was about personal growth. In what three year period did you grow most?
I chose not to answer. I explained that "Square Pegs are constantly in a state of re-evaluation and growth due to the insecurity of not fitting in." Besides, her comment box is too small, and I didn't want to take two hours of my work day to answer. It might've taken me most of that time just to decide which burst of personal growth was my greatest.
But now it's Saturday night, our daughter's in bed (and so's the wife) and I'm primed for a wild night of introspection! Yet, I don't plan to describe my greatest period of personal growth. I want to list them all and let you decide!
Our first candidate arose from a traumatic event. In a previous post, the first "Why Meditate" post, I describe the car crash and how it caused me to question consciousness and start meditating. I also started doing yoga and karate, and I stopped eating meat.
Candidate number two involves adversity. After my father was diagnosed with ALS, I started to go to school part time to get a degree in engineering. He died about a year and a half after I started school. But I continued to work full time and go to school part time, which was made easier because I was still living with my mother. Then, two years later I quit work to go to school full time, although I worked full time at temp jobs during the summers. In a previous post called The Way of the Peaceful Warrior I wrote about the period leading up to graduation. Therapy helped me through that time. And with a B.S. degree, I started my new life by moving into my own apartment. To me that felt like stepping off a cliff and trusting that I would stay afloat.
Candidate number three involves the birth of a child, our daughter. I wrote a little bit about this in a previous post called, "How to Change the World." Before our daughter was born, my wife and I were both working. I was brought up a frugal saver, so I only spent money on things I needed, but only when I thought the store was losing money on it. I was working and saving for my retirement. Although we were paying off a mortgage, I still felt that if I got tired of my career I could cop out and slack off with a less demanding job. That all changed very quickly when our daughter was born. Suddenly I had a life insurance policy and someone to provide for.
The last candidate, number four, will be the subject of another post. It's a delicate subject, even for this anonymous blog.
Last week's question was about personal growth. In what three year period did you grow most?
I chose not to answer. I explained that "Square Pegs are constantly in a state of re-evaluation and growth due to the insecurity of not fitting in." Besides, her comment box is too small, and I didn't want to take two hours of my work day to answer. It might've taken me most of that time just to decide which burst of personal growth was my greatest.
But now it's Saturday night, our daughter's in bed (and so's the wife) and I'm primed for a wild night of introspection! Yet, I don't plan to describe my greatest period of personal growth. I want to list them all and let you decide!
Our first candidate arose from a traumatic event. In a previous post, the first "Why Meditate" post, I describe the car crash and how it caused me to question consciousness and start meditating. I also started doing yoga and karate, and I stopped eating meat.
Candidate number two involves adversity. After my father was diagnosed with ALS, I started to go to school part time to get a degree in engineering. He died about a year and a half after I started school. But I continued to work full time and go to school part time, which was made easier because I was still living with my mother. Then, two years later I quit work to go to school full time, although I worked full time at temp jobs during the summers. In a previous post called The Way of the Peaceful Warrior I wrote about the period leading up to graduation. Therapy helped me through that time. And with a B.S. degree, I started my new life by moving into my own apartment. To me that felt like stepping off a cliff and trusting that I would stay afloat.
Candidate number three involves the birth of a child, our daughter. I wrote a little bit about this in a previous post called, "How to Change the World." Before our daughter was born, my wife and I were both working. I was brought up a frugal saver, so I only spent money on things I needed, but only when I thought the store was losing money on it. I was working and saving for my retirement. Although we were paying off a mortgage, I still felt that if I got tired of my career I could cop out and slack off with a less demanding job. That all changed very quickly when our daughter was born. Suddenly I had a life insurance policy and someone to provide for.
The last candidate, number four, will be the subject of another post. It's a delicate subject, even for this anonymous blog.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Mom's Legacy
When I returned to work, I wondered how I should've spent my bereavement time. By then it was too late, and I felt as though I'd wasted it. I imagined turning back the clock to do it over again. I'd talk with our Pastor. Or look for a copy of Grieving For Dummies. But what's done is done. Sadly, I have no recollection of the three days that I took off from work.
All I really remember about my mother's recent death is the very low-key memorial gathering that my brother hosted. My brother-in-law arranged the catering for it. It was held conveniently on a Saturday, so I didn't even need to take time off from work. No one officiated with a prayer or eulogy. My mother didn't want any fuss, not even an obituary. She got her wish.
This was in stark contrast to my father's passing twenty years earlier. There was a wake and an immensely moving funeral mass, attended by nearly everyone who ever met him. Even my closest coworkers were there. I remember shopping for a casket and grave marker. I tossed rose petals into the grave just before shovelfuls of dirt rained down on the casket.
There was one other vivid memory I have about mom's last days. It was when I visited her in the hospital. She was re-admitted to the hospital because her cancer came back. I hadn't seen her in nearly a year. I'm glad I stopped at the ward desk to ask a hospital attendant to take me in to see her. I did not recognize the old, thin body that was in the bed. I was sure I was in the wrong room. But when her familiar green eyes opened and she spoke, I realized it was her.
She was thin because cancer had spread into her abdominal area. She felt nauseous all the time and couldn't keep food down. She was tired and seemed confused. When I left, I knew it was our last visit together. I walked back to my car overwhelmed with grief.
My brother and sister are cleaning out the house now. I went back a few weeks ago to help.
We learned one aspect of her personality was that she was a professional complainer. We learned this because of scrupulous records that she kept of phone conversations, letters and refund check stubs (many for small amounts like $0.99) with companies whose products were defective in some way. So there were stacks and envelopes filled with carefully kept notes. It was important that we not discard whole stacks without first going through them. Mom kept money in the oddest of places.
She also collected anything that folks might want to use for crafts: yarn, egg cartons, frozen dinner platters, whipped topping tubs, glass jars, pipe cleaners, ice pop sticks, etc. Again, each of these objects needed to inspected. One stack of egg cartons had some jewelery in one of the middle cartons. My siblings must've already tossed the toilet paper rolls, or we have not found the stash yet.
Growing up, we had no inking that it was unusual for a person to keep such collections. In fact, it was really convenient for when we'd have a project that required dozens of buttons or bottle caps. There was not a thing she couldn't produce if you asked her. "Hey mom, where's that old blue and white striped shirt I used to wear about eight years ago." It wasn't a question of whether she still had it, but where she'd put it.
But with the three of us out of the house, mom's hoards grew. So even though my brother and sister did a great deal of clearing of things, the house looked even more cluttered than when I last visited. At one point, she stopped having people over.
All I can do is wonder. Was her life so empty that she had to fill her free time and space with acquisitions? What could she have done for a local school, library or senior center with all that time and energy? How would our lives been different if she had treatment for OCD and hoarding?
At first glance, mom's legacy would seem to be a house filled with hoards. But I see now that her legacy is my own tendency to hoard, which, admittedly is not a good thing. But with that comes the motivation to eliminate my own hoards and fill my free time and empty spaces with love.
All I really remember about my mother's recent death is the very low-key memorial gathering that my brother hosted. My brother-in-law arranged the catering for it. It was held conveniently on a Saturday, so I didn't even need to take time off from work. No one officiated with a prayer or eulogy. My mother didn't want any fuss, not even an obituary. She got her wish.
This was in stark contrast to my father's passing twenty years earlier. There was a wake and an immensely moving funeral mass, attended by nearly everyone who ever met him. Even my closest coworkers were there. I remember shopping for a casket and grave marker. I tossed rose petals into the grave just before shovelfuls of dirt rained down on the casket.
There was one other vivid memory I have about mom's last days. It was when I visited her in the hospital. She was re-admitted to the hospital because her cancer came back. I hadn't seen her in nearly a year. I'm glad I stopped at the ward desk to ask a hospital attendant to take me in to see her. I did not recognize the old, thin body that was in the bed. I was sure I was in the wrong room. But when her familiar green eyes opened and she spoke, I realized it was her.
She was thin because cancer had spread into her abdominal area. She felt nauseous all the time and couldn't keep food down. She was tired and seemed confused. When I left, I knew it was our last visit together. I walked back to my car overwhelmed with grief.
My brother and sister are cleaning out the house now. I went back a few weeks ago to help.
We learned one aspect of her personality was that she was a professional complainer. We learned this because of scrupulous records that she kept of phone conversations, letters and refund check stubs (many for small amounts like $0.99) with companies whose products were defective in some way. So there were stacks and envelopes filled with carefully kept notes. It was important that we not discard whole stacks without first going through them. Mom kept money in the oddest of places.
She also collected anything that folks might want to use for crafts: yarn, egg cartons, frozen dinner platters, whipped topping tubs, glass jars, pipe cleaners, ice pop sticks, etc. Again, each of these objects needed to inspected. One stack of egg cartons had some jewelery in one of the middle cartons. My siblings must've already tossed the toilet paper rolls, or we have not found the stash yet.
Growing up, we had no inking that it was unusual for a person to keep such collections. In fact, it was really convenient for when we'd have a project that required dozens of buttons or bottle caps. There was not a thing she couldn't produce if you asked her. "Hey mom, where's that old blue and white striped shirt I used to wear about eight years ago." It wasn't a question of whether she still had it, but where she'd put it.
But with the three of us out of the house, mom's hoards grew. So even though my brother and sister did a great deal of clearing of things, the house looked even more cluttered than when I last visited. At one point, she stopped having people over.
All I can do is wonder. Was her life so empty that she had to fill her free time and space with acquisitions? What could she have done for a local school, library or senior center with all that time and energy? How would our lives been different if she had treatment for OCD and hoarding?
At first glance, mom's legacy would seem to be a house filled with hoards. But I see now that her legacy is my own tendency to hoard, which, admittedly is not a good thing. But with that comes the motivation to eliminate my own hoards and fill my free time and empty spaces with love.
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