Guest Blogger: Kim Adams, Certified End of Life and Grief Coach
Grief is the natural, common response to a loss. And loss is a human experience. Therefore, we each experience loss in one form or another. We tend to most often think of grief after the death of a loved one. However, grief occurs along the journey — along the journey of life (divorce, loss of friendships, job loss, etc.) and along the caregiver journey. We can experience the anticipation of loss — grief that our loved one is no longer the person they once were with diminished physical abilities and/or diminished mental capabilities especially with dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. And in addition, the loss of our own identity, including the the loss we feel as our role of caregiver will ultimately change. Continue reading →
The Death Chicks? Are you kidding me? How outrageous and fun, melding the disparate concepts, “Death” and “Chicks” into a weekly show on Google Hangouts On Air (HOA).
Thanks to the internet, two professionals working in the death industry, Patty Burgess/Philadelphia connected with Myste Lyn/ Canada. Getting acquainted through Skype, they discovered they were “on the same wave length,” and shared a similar sense of humor. Their conversations were always punctuated with laughter, a key element to releasing endorphins in the brains. As they explored the spectrum of end of life issues to discuss in a weekly show, they knew laughter was a key component, because it puts people at ease, and lessens their fears. Patty said: “Our individual hospice training and personal coaching perspectives created our basic philosophy: you can’t enjoy life to the fullest unless you stop being afraid of dying.” Continue reading →
Last summer I hired a woman-owned firm* to cut our grass. A chance conversation about my work on end of life issues opened a flood gate of gratitude to her mother. Astounded, my reaction was “Wow! Your mom sounds like The Poster Child for planning ahead. Please write this story for my website!” Continue reading →
In 1966, I was working in Washington, D.C. when I got the news that my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer, age fifty-seven. I called his doctor in Ohio. He emphatically said: “He’s got about five years IF he follows directions.”
Not once during those five long years did we ever ask:
Had the doctor counseled him?
What was he worried about?
How could we help him?
How did he feel about dying?
Was there anything he wanted to say to us before he died?