My dad may be one of the last people on earth to religiously carry around his iPod Classic, a 2007 model of the legendary music player that most people shed to the landfills long ago.
I’ve been fortunate to experience a palliative world because my mom’s partner did not over protect my mom. They traveled the world, went grocery shopping and more until the last couple years of Alzheimer’s drew her into that strange husk. Even then it was possible to see my mom in her essence and treat her with dignity. It was all, of course, a long dance with grief. I was grateful to find that singing, music, dance, art and laughter were the best medicine for her and everybody around her! Thank you and bowing to your heart of love for your dad and all of us.
Oh my. What a lovely, lovely piece. It pierced me right to the heart this morning, with all its gentle sweetness. You gave me the precise words to an ache that I have been feeling, more or less, for what feels like such a long time: "...a deep yearning for the world—writ large—to be more palliative."
What a magnificent piece of writing, Courtney, backed by a magnificent way of living and supporting other people’s lives. Once again you have reached into “the simplicity on the other side of complexity” in ways that provide guidance for folks like me. I’m holding you and your Mom and Dad in the Light...
Beautiful way to share what might be so painful and present for you right now. My grandfather's dementia took him back to his Air Force days, and those conversations were full of delight because *he* was so full of delight. How lovely your community so generously stepped right into that flow for your dad. Such love, all around.
I’m lying in bed reading this, putting off the moment where I start my day. My daughter came in to bring me my morning hug. “Are you crying?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”. “I’m reading sad stuff on the internet. It's about an old man who needs taking care of.”
She gave me my hug and put my dog on my face to lick away my tears and before I knew it my wife was bounding up the stairs, three at a time. “Did you text her?”. She nodded.
We are in a four-way hug now.
“Why is he crying?”
“He’s reading sad stuff on the internet. It’s an about an old man who needs taking care of.”
“You are not old. And you are still taking care of us.”
“And he is allowed a beer.”
“Maybe you can have a beer on Saturday. Maybe a half.”
Thank you, Courtney, for your beautiful story. I hope you make many more beautiful stories with your dad.
Oh Courtney, I think this is one of the most beautiful essays I’ve read in a long long time. I’m holding you and your father, your family and your father’s iPod in the light. Thank you so much for sharing so openly and so compassionately. May the world do what we hope for all the people we love… Kindness, nonjudgment, and gentleness, in what so often feels like an ungentle world.
Yes to a kinder more palliative world. In one of your pieces a while back you wrote about a lifelong question that one carries with them, what came to me then and stays with me is, why can't everybody just be nice? It must have formulated when I was young because in my mind it usually sounds like a child saying, how can people be so mean? Love and kindness and gentleness of spirit to you and dad and mom and your whole big family.
We are all knocking over beers every day in so many ways. The world would be a much better place for everyone if we were afforded the kindness and care that your friend Neela showed your sweet dad.
Dying, death, disease and aging are taboo subjects in the West but in some parts of the world they are normalized and a part of every day living. We have so much to learn. Xo
What eloquent comments your story elicited! This is a profound testament to the power of your writing. I like the point especially about simplicity/complexity that Parker notes. DD
Wow, did this ever strike home. My 94.5 yr.-old dad (who lives with us in a remote location) was suddenly transferred twice (by ambulance and helicopter) to the hospital (located a 2-hr. drive from our house) in the last two weeks. Each time he spent 4 days there, lying in bed in the ER until admitted to a private hospital room, while I served as his daily advocate as I checked in/out of different hotels daily. After reading your timely post, I shared it with this: “‘Palliative’ is a word, a form of care-giving, and a way of being, that has been on my mind for the last two weeks. It first resurfaced when a visiting nurse explained to my dad and I in his bedroom a week ago that her group’s care-giving includes post-hospitalization home care that can transition into palliative care. Later, I asked an LCSW friend in her office, “Please remind me what the difference is between palliative care and hospice care.” Instantly, I understood palliative care to be the preferred path I wanted for my dad. My mom spent a year in hospice care, and as much of a godsend as it was managing her pain given her terminal diagnosis, compassionate care toward THE defined end is its goal. With palliative care it seems to me that compassionate care, during each moment of the journey toward some undefined end, is the goal.”
As usual Courtney, you’ve written about something going on your life, or on your mind, at the same time it’s happening, or going on, in mine. Thank you for sharing, and for sharing what matters most. Best to you and your wonderful dad. - Debra
So grateful for how you illuminate ways we might move in the world to make it more beautiful, kind, and gentle. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
I’ve been fortunate to experience a palliative world because my mom’s partner did not over protect my mom. They traveled the world, went grocery shopping and more until the last couple years of Alzheimer’s drew her into that strange husk. Even then it was possible to see my mom in her essence and treat her with dignity. It was all, of course, a long dance with grief. I was grateful to find that singing, music, dance, art and laughter were the best medicine for her and everybody around her! Thank you and bowing to your heart of love for your dad and all of us.
Oh my. What a lovely, lovely piece. It pierced me right to the heart this morning, with all its gentle sweetness. You gave me the precise words to an ache that I have been feeling, more or less, for what feels like such a long time: "...a deep yearning for the world—writ large—to be more palliative."
What a magnificent piece of writing, Courtney, backed by a magnificent way of living and supporting other people’s lives. Once again you have reached into “the simplicity on the other side of complexity” in ways that provide guidance for folks like me. I’m holding you and your Mom and Dad in the Light...
Beautiful way to share what might be so painful and present for you right now. My grandfather's dementia took him back to his Air Force days, and those conversations were full of delight because *he* was so full of delight. How lovely your community so generously stepped right into that flow for your dad. Such love, all around.
Beautiful as always. Thanks for helping remind us of the small and big ways to be better humans. Love that narwhal!
I’m lying in bed reading this, putting off the moment where I start my day. My daughter came in to bring me my morning hug. “Are you crying?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”. “I’m reading sad stuff on the internet. It's about an old man who needs taking care of.”
She gave me my hug and put my dog on my face to lick away my tears and before I knew it my wife was bounding up the stairs, three at a time. “Did you text her?”. She nodded.
We are in a four-way hug now.
“Why is he crying?”
“He’s reading sad stuff on the internet. It’s an about an old man who needs taking care of.”
“You are not old. And you are still taking care of us.”
“And he is allowed a beer.”
“Maybe you can have a beer on Saturday. Maybe a half.”
Thank you, Courtney, for your beautiful story. I hope you make many more beautiful stories with your dad.
This is the best--like the review I always wanted but never imagined could be quite like this. Thank you.
Oh Courtney, I think this is one of the most beautiful essays I’ve read in a long long time. I’m holding you and your father, your family and your father’s iPod in the light. Thank you so much for sharing so openly and so compassionately. May the world do what we hope for all the people we love… Kindness, nonjudgment, and gentleness, in what so often feels like an ungentle world.
I played your music for him just yesterday, Carrie! He loved it. Sending big love your way.
Yes to a kinder more palliative world. In one of your pieces a while back you wrote about a lifelong question that one carries with them, what came to me then and stays with me is, why can't everybody just be nice? It must have formulated when I was young because in my mind it usually sounds like a child saying, how can people be so mean? Love and kindness and gentleness of spirit to you and dad and mom and your whole big family.
I believe deeply that “the tiniest person shifts” ripple out. This was beautiful.
We are all knocking over beers every day in so many ways. The world would be a much better place for everyone if we were afforded the kindness and care that your friend Neela showed your sweet dad.
Dying, death, disease and aging are taboo subjects in the West but in some parts of the world they are normalized and a part of every day living. We have so much to learn. Xo
"We are all knocking over beers every day in so many ways." It's the new spilled milk! Love you, Nadia.
What eloquent comments your story elicited! This is a profound testament to the power of your writing. I like the point especially about simplicity/complexity that Parker notes. DD
Wow, did this ever strike home. My 94.5 yr.-old dad (who lives with us in a remote location) was suddenly transferred twice (by ambulance and helicopter) to the hospital (located a 2-hr. drive from our house) in the last two weeks. Each time he spent 4 days there, lying in bed in the ER until admitted to a private hospital room, while I served as his daily advocate as I checked in/out of different hotels daily. After reading your timely post, I shared it with this: “‘Palliative’ is a word, a form of care-giving, and a way of being, that has been on my mind for the last two weeks. It first resurfaced when a visiting nurse explained to my dad and I in his bedroom a week ago that her group’s care-giving includes post-hospitalization home care that can transition into palliative care. Later, I asked an LCSW friend in her office, “Please remind me what the difference is between palliative care and hospice care.” Instantly, I understood palliative care to be the preferred path I wanted for my dad. My mom spent a year in hospice care, and as much of a godsend as it was managing her pain given her terminal diagnosis, compassionate care toward THE defined end is its goal. With palliative care it seems to me that compassionate care, during each moment of the journey toward some undefined end, is the goal.”
As usual Courtney, you’ve written about something going on your life, or on your mind, at the same time it’s happening, or going on, in mine. Thank you for sharing, and for sharing what matters most. Best to you and your wonderful dad. - Debra
Sending you huge love, Debra. This sounds like so much to be navigating. Your papa is so lucky to have you, and you he for such a long time! Wow.
Thank you! ❤️
I love this piece! And yes to the world you’re longing for. I’m glad your dad had it, if only for that night.
Oh, so beautiful. You put so much thought and kindness into the world, and I hope some of it comes back around to your beloved people.
So grateful for how you illuminate ways we might move in the world to make it more beautiful, kind, and gentle. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
Dementia sucks. I'm happy your dad has his iPod. Music is wonderfully therapeutic.
Thanks for telling like it is. It does SUCK. And can be beautiful. All the things.