On the first anniversary of my mother’s death, I was traveling on a small ship in Greece, motoring the last leg from Crete to Hydra. I’d booked the trip because I needed to keep moving and exploring to hold the aching sadness of the past year at bay. A year of remembering my mother’s long and vigorous life—and at the same time, fighting off memories of her last days and excruciating death. People should not have to be in charge of dosing their mother with morphine until her body finally gives out.  

But I’m not a wallower. I tend to get busy when the going gets rough and feelings get tough. Staying home, stuck in my routines, my ongoing “organ recitals” with friends, and worries about daily responsibilities, felt stifling. I set out on this trip hoping for distraction, but I also sought time to reflect and remember her, preferably in the close vicinity of others, who are not family, and around whom I would be less likely to crumple into tears.  

My mother and grandmother took me on my first international trip when I was 23. In our rental car, reminding whoever was driving to stay on the left side of the road, we explored England and Scotland for a couple of weeks, even meeting the British pen pal I’d been writing to since the seventh grade. One day, climbing up the steeple of a church, my mother and I peered down at the park below where my grandmother sat on a bench waiting for us. I shouted down, “Hello Grandma!” and we laughed when a half-dozen gray heads lifted at the call. One morning, when Grandma slipped a breakfast roll from the bed and breakfast into her pocketbook “for later” and explained that all the folks on the AARP trips did this, we followed her lead. We came to call it “AARPing” food to snack on while sightseeing.  

My grandmother died at 94, just before my first child was born. A career and raising kids took over my life and traveling was planned around hubs like Disneyland, Legoland and the San Diego Zoo. Finally, after I retired, I treated myself to a river cruise in Europe and the travel bug sprung from its cocoon. When my mother was still alive but no longer traveling, I visited London again, this time on my own. When I reached the park across from Big Ben, I pulled out a snapshot of her and my grandmother and found the same spot from which I’d taken it all those years before. I lined up the tower of Big Ben with the old snapshot and photographed both, superimposing an image that would help keep the two most important women in my life close to me.  

A few months after my mother’s death, I was changing planes in London and there in Heathrow I was stung by the permanence of their absence. In the hustle and din of the airport though, it was a quiet thought, a tiny stab of sorrow. I acknowledged it and trusted that those stabs would continue to soften over time. Before I left the lounge for my connecting flight, I AARPed a scone and jam, a banana and a granola bar for the next leg of my journey. Thanks, Grandma. 

I booked the Greece trip as part of a need to surround myself with people on the first holidays without my mother. I’d hiked with friends on her birthday and spent the fall and winter holidays with my sons. So that I wouldn’t languish at home on the first anniversary of her death, I hoped that being with a group of travel companions would keep me preoccupied and entertained, bump my mind over to another, lighter track.  

And it did. My new travel mates, most of them older than me, shook me out of my mid-60s slump and my gloomy self-talk about the pains and indignities of my own aging. They unfolded their walking sticks, slipped on knee braces, and in one case fell off the gangway into the Mykonos harbor, but they all kept going. Pushing ahead, just the way my grandmother and mother did until the end of their lives.  

It had been a year of firsts. First time driving by my mother’s house without her in it. A sushi order without her favorites. My birthday celebration without the woman who birthed me. And it had been a year of lasts. The last time we would see her furniture before it was carted away. The last time we would pick blueberries in her yard before the house sold. The last time I would use the house key to unlock her door to say goodbye to her space, the place we gathered as a family, the place where she died in front of a picture window out of which she could no longer see. 

I’d mentioned the first anniversary to two women early in the trip, and both checked in with me on the day. I choked up briefly when I replied, but I was able to tell the truth. “It’s getting better.” Then, our talk turned to the calmer weather expected on Hydra and I felt solace. Unless we go first, we all lose our mothers. Only the gods have eternal life.  

Katherine Briccetti is a Pushcart-nominated essayist and author of the memoir, Blood Strangers, a LAMBDA Literary Award Finalist. Her writing has appeared in Dos Passos Review, Short ´Edition, Sojourn: A Journal of the Arts, Under the Sun, upstreet, The Writer, Bark, Los Angeles Times and several national anthologies. She earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Stonecoast in 2007. She is at work on a novel about race and relationships, which takes place in the middle of America in 1968. www.katherine.briccetti.com 

Leaving a Legacy of a Safer Society

Ever Heard About Generation Jones?

The post Traveling Past Grief appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Most of us can create a litany of reasons why we aren’t always happy about aging—achy joints, sagging faces and bodies, suffering incontinence and insomnia, and just feeling weary of the world sometimes. Though never the homecoming queen, I have garnered my share of backward glances over the years. So, it was shattering to realize that aging could also mean I would become invisible. 

But as time passes I have begun to consider invisibility an asset and even, I dare say, a super power. Imagine, we have been gifted an invisibility cloak that allows us to move about in the world any way we please. It frees us up to wear what we want, say what we want, and be who we want because no one is really paying attention. In her book, Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert writes about a wise, older woman telling her: “We all spend our twenties and thirties trying so hard to be perfect, because we’re so worried about what people will think of us. Then we get into our forties and fifties, and we finally start to be free, because we decide that we don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of us. But you won’t be completely free until you reach your sixties and seventies, when you finally realize this liberating truth—nobody was ever thinking about you, anyhow.” 

Held in the right perspective, this invisibility thing can be very empowering. In the end, the best we can do is practice acceptance. I said this to my dermatologist recently who wistfully asked, “Can you evangelize that?” Easier said than done. Acceptance is the counterpart of grace and as a lover of that particular word, that’s what I’m striving for. I have realized that most people will experience feeling invisible at some point. While we can’t control how or if others see us, we can take the initiative to see and acknowledge others. We just might make their day! 

After losing her husband in 2021, Marilee Clarke began writing her book on navigating grief. Excerpts from the book (still in progress) often appear in this magazine. Her passions include mixed media creations and traveling the world every chance she gets. She currently splits her time between Issaquah and the California desert, enjoying the best of two very different and beautiful locales.  

Let Me Count the Ways I Love You

Still Laughing

The post Let’s See Each Other appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

Four years after the death of my husband and travel partner, I’ve embraced traveling on my own. 

By next summer I will have traveled to more than 100 countries. Many of these trips were with my late husband, but for the last four years I have traveled solo and learned many lessons along the way. He and I saw travel as much more than ticking off boxes on a bucket list and more about developing a world perspective. We can learn so much from other countries and the world is often smaller than it seems. 

My husband used to devour historical fiction books about the destination to which we were headed. I, on the other hand, have found I enjoy reading similar works once I have returned home and can mentally see the places I’ve been. After a recent trip to South Africa, James Michener’s saga The Covenant was a wonderful read, albeit incredibly long! 

I like to get off the beaten track and enjoy wandering through a new city stopping at a local cafe (preferably sitting outside) to watch that particular world go by. This allows me an opportunity to engage with the locals, which can be far more enlightening than a headphone bus tour. If you prefer group tours, ask lots of questions of the guide. It is amazing how much you can learn about local customs and mores. On a recent trip to Oman, our guide gave us an in-depth look at the wedding engagement process in his country. This included a tutorial on the dowry process, which sadly meant he had to wait several years before he had enough money to propose marriage. 

I have learned the importance of respecting the religious and cultural traditions of the country you are visiting, especially in places of worship. Once home, I take some time to write down all I have gleaned from my trip—focusing on things that were different, things that were the same, and what made the greatest impression on me. 

It’s taken time, but I have learned to enjoy traveling alone. I often join tour groups and am always pleasantly surprised at how many other single travelers there are. I have met some wonderful new travel companions and now am coordinating future adventures with several of them.  

Taking solitary weekend road trips to beautiful historic inns or weeklong art workshops in the U.S. and abroad is one of my favorite pastimes. I have come to appreciate how freeing and empowering this can be. As much as I miss my favorite travel companion, sometimes it is nice to go wherever I want, whenever I want. Even eating alone—the biggest solo traveler hurdle—can become a pleasure. My trick, when possible, is to choose a seat that looks out on something.  Just try it once and it won’t ever seem as daunting. 

There is life after the death of a loved one. It takes time, but when you are ready the key is to activate your curiosity, embrace new things, and open your mind! 

After losing her husband in 2021, Marilee Clarke began writing her book on navigating grief. Excerpts from the book (still in progress) often appear in this magazine. Her passions include mixed media creations and traveling the world every chance she gets. She currently splits her time between Issaquah and the California desert enjoying the best of two very different and beautiful locales.

Rolling with the Changes

Travel Solo? Why Not?

Five Ways to Enjoy Eating Solo at Home

The post Navigating Grief – Traveling Solo appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

BY ELIZABETH SHIER

My dad died on May 16, 2024. He had emphysema and the (undiagnosed) beginnings of dementia, but neither was the direct cause of his death. Due to the agency granted him through the Death with Dignity laws in Washington state, he was able to orchestrate his own death and last day of his life as a victory lap—a celebration of life filled with gratitude and dignity. It was one of the best weeks of his life. I couldn’t have imagined it, but his last week was one of my favorite weeks, too.

Eleven months before, my dad, John Shier, decided to move from his longtime home in Green Bay, Wis., to the Seattle assisted living community where I work as a director. He was on hospice and wanted to be closer to me, his only child, and to my mom’s family in the Pacific Northwest. He’d lost my mom in 2022 after her long battle with a rotten neurological disease, and his emphysema had robbed him of the ability to do many of the things that gave his life meaning and purpose. In light of these losses, and facing further decline, he felt that the full circle of his life was complete. Always an avid reader, educator, and activist, he was hell-bent on being back in the driver’s seat of his own life and that meant pursuing Death with Dignity.

My dad was uniquely qualified to pursue a groundbreaking and unconventional death. Those who knew and loved him would say that this was the perfect death for him. He had a PhD in philosophy of religion from the University of Wisconsin, Madison. From teaching, he went into advocacy work for seniors. Losing his best friend to cancer at 40 motivated him to spend almost 20 years as a hospice volunteer. Then rather than retire, at 60 he went back to school to become a hospice nurse and later wrote the book, Choose Today, Live Tomorrow—Notes from That Guy Nurse. He was keenly aware of the ways our health care system fails people at end of life. He preached loudly that our system prolongs life at the expense of well-being, therefore, he was committed to honoring his hospice patients and to preserving their quality of life as much as possible until the end. As an avowed atheist, he was not a typical church member, yet he remained active and engaged all his life, bringing philosophy to hard Christian conversations. It is difficult to imagine anyone with a richer or informed perspective on end-of-life issues.

My dad inspired me in many ways. I chose a career that places me at the center of aging and in close proximity to death. I deeply appreciate my elders and my days are filled with laughter, great conversation, and purpose. Aging and death are part of living. Most people who live in the community where I work are nearing the end of their lives, which creates a heightened appreciation of the time we have together.

I have lost friends, role models, amazing family members, and my own mom. Yet, in all the passings I have known, none could be described as joyful leave-takings. Death often arrives after a long, slow, and painful decline. And all the while we guiltily wonder, “How long will this go on?”

Over an 18-month period my conversations with dad were peppered with talk of his death, discussions about his life feeling complete, and his frustration over just waiting to die. He viewed Death with Dignity as a path toward ending the feeling of being in limbo.

My love for my dad is intense and complex, and respecting his decision did not come easily in the beginning. I would have loved for him to find enough joy in our Sunday outings to want to stay around for a few more years. I wanted more of chasing Thomas Dambo’s trolls, more ferry rides, and more gelato. In early April, his signature impatience kicked in and I got serious about finding him a doctor willing to prescribe the necessary medication. Dr. Darrell Owens at the University of Washington Medical Center turned out to be the right man for the job. He spent a full hour talking with my dad to assess his candidacy and prognosis. It took another week and some help from the good volunteers at End of Life Washington to find a second doctor we needed by law to agree. A week later I walked out of the pharmacy with his prescription labeled “WARNING: Contents fatal if ingested.” It felt surreal. I’m not sure how to express it, but it felt like a big win for my dad. And a win for me, too, the daughter making this dream a reality.

I have been learning more about ambiguous loss and grief since dad’s death. Ambiguous loss is a term coined by Dr. Pauline Boss in the 1970s. She used it to describe grief that has no definitive boundary or closure. My dad experienced ambiguous loss over the decline of his health and well-being and the uncertainty of when his life would end. I experienced ambiguous loss as I watched him go through that process.

My dad was a powerful and impassioned activist, opinionated, and constantly in motion my entire life. As soon as he chose a date for the end of his life, he reclaimed his identity and was back to the man I’d always known and loved. His thinking grew clearer by the day and I watched him have thoughtful conversations and make plans for a living eulogy party, complete with vodka martinis. Crazy, but true, this process gave me back the Dr. John Shier I knew and loved.

As a gifted keynote speaker, during his last week we recorded an interview for StoryCorps, which is now available and cataloged at the U.S. Library of Congress. We treated ourselves to a Seattle opera, threw a beautiful backyard birthday party, had a fantastic dinner with family at Ray’s Boathouse, and fulfilled his dream of riding in a Tesla. The grand finale was a living eulogy party. His oldest and dearest friends and family from across the country Zoomed in and his neighbors and caregivers gathered, while dad and I regaled everyone with stories from his lifetime of activism and adventure. The day before he died, his best friends roasted him and he was riddled with laughter. As we hugged goodbye that night he said, “I never knew it could be like this.”

On the day of his death, he played cribbage with his favorite bath aid, our chef made him a fantastic lunch and someone from our culinary team baked him a cake on her day off and brought it to him. Another team member wrote him a song and performed it. One by one his care team sought him out for hugs, conversation, prayers, and well wishes. The experience of saying goodbye to someone who is present and able to truly be with us at the end is unique. We say too many goodbyes and most are nothing like this. I was moved beyond words to see the grace, beauty, love, and humor so many brought to my dad’s last days.

As the afternoon waned, we gathered our favorite people in my dad’s apartment, and he toasted all of us with gratitude for a wonderful life and for everyone he loved and who had loved him so well. He gifted his ring to my husband. There was ceremony and joy. He swallowed his medication with his favorite cocktail. He was laughing right up until the moment he closed his eyes and took his last breath.

Death with Dignity is Not a Right Everywhere

Because Death with Dignity is a legal option in Washington state, my dad was able to be fully present for every remarkable moment that we got to enjoy together that last week. He charged me to share his story because we both believe it fundamentally changes the narrative about end-of-life. He would love knowing that you are reading this right now. He would be over the moon to think that he inspired a conversation on end-of-life options at your dinner table. He would be elated to think his death might provide inspiration to others to embrace their own best last weeks and to advocate for Death with Dignity where it is not currently available.

Eight states have enacted Death with Dignity legislation: California, Oregon, Washington, Montana, Colorado, New Mexico, Maine, and Vermont.

Six states have Death with Dignity legislation pending: Michigan, New York, North Carolina, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts.

To learn more about end-of-life planning and Death with Dignity laws in your state, go to deathwithdignity.org

With Deepest Gratitude

My eternal gratitude for the incredible care provided by the team at Aegis Madison. In all of my years working with remarkable teams, I was still blown away by the support and love you gave my family. And to Dr. Darrell Owens for the time you gave my dad. Your willingness to write his script changed everything. The entire team at Continuum Hospice was stellar: You listened, you counselled, you leaned in, and you held our hands. Our thanks as well to Aegis Queen Anne at Rogers Park and a shout out to Katterman’s Pharmacy on Sand Point Way—not all pharmacies will fill this special prescription. Most of all, thank you dad. You showed me, once again, what is possible with determination and an open heart and mind.

Elizabeth Shier was born and raised in DePere, Wis., graduated from Macalester College in St. Paul, and has split her career between grant writing in San Diego, heavy-equipment operation in Antarctica, and senior living in Seattle. She is married and parents two cats. Weekends are spent hiking and making art.

Death with Dignity—Your Life. Your Death. Your Choice.

Living Well and Dying With Dignity

Being Mortal—Planning for a Gentle Death

The post The Best Last Week appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

My husband’s health took a serious turn, an ownership change materialized where I worked, and then COVID struck. All were unexpected. Although I was full of energy and not even thinking about retiring at the time, I knew I needed to confront my new reality and rethink what was next.

The first thing I did was give notice to my employer, having observed people who didn’t let go of things when going in the wrong direction. Deciding to retire opened more time to care for my husband, Clark, and reduced my stress.

I have helped more than 3,000 families transition from home to a retirement or assisted living community during my 15 years working in the industry. So, I took the next five months to share my knowledge and experience by writing and publishing my book, What Are We Going to Do About Mom & Dad—A Navigational Guide to Senior Living and Care.

Then when COVID hit, I picked up my brushes and rediscovered the joy of painting. Once, as an animal shelter volunteer, I decided to try my hand at painting pictures of the shelter animals to facilitate adoptions. Although I had never even taken a painting class and they were no Van Goghs, my paintings were a hit! Now homebound, I had time and space to experiment and develop skills. Some 200 paintings later, my family was probably saying, “How are we going to get her to stop!” Friends would say, “I’ve known you for 40 years and didn’t know you could paint.” I replied, “I didn’t either!”

One never knows what’s next. Unfortunately, Clark’s condition worsened. Two days after his joyful 80th surprise birthday party, he had minor surgery to get the battery changed on his defibrillator. All went fine but the surgeon suggested he consult his cardiologist, as he had a sizeable amount of fluid around his heart. One thing led to another, necessitating back-to-back hospital stays over the next five weeks. My husband finally said, “I want to go home!” So, we brought him home on hospice. Surrounded by his family and friends, Clark couldn’t stop smiling for the next six days. And it was the first time in 40 years the doctors said he could eat or drink anything he wanted! We honored his food fantasies even though he only had a bite of this or that. His last meal was a bite of BBQ ribs.

When you are blessed with great love in your life, the price is great grief. Knowing we all must go through it, somehow comforted me. My art gave me some solace during the first six months of grieving, which were brutal. During that time, I sold our home and moved into a condo.  The next year and a half were filled with life anew. Friends stepped up and my family did what they could. I pushed forward, traveling some, dating some, and have since returned to work. I found I had way too much energy to retire. Emotionally, physically, and spiritually working again has served me.

I have had to rediscover who I am as a woman and not just as a caregiver. It was an honor to be there for my husband in that way. And after having been married for 43 years, I felt like a freshman in high school when I started dating. I’m not ready for a big relationship right now, but learned that it is probably something I will want in the long run.

I’d stopped painting for about a year. Back to painting again I am now so grateful to have art as my friend for life. I mostly do commission work but have also pushed out into the world with art shows, a pop-up store for a week, and a fancy website. This pursuit has given me new confidence and a fresh start in my Third Act. And a way to cope with the loss of my husband over the last two years.

As I share my story about art, people say to me, “I can’t paint!” and I respond, “Are you sure?”

Jane Meyers-Bowen completed her BS in nursing at Montana State University and her master’s degree in Psychosocial Nursing at the University of Washington. Her career has had many acts—clinical nursing instructor, founder of a career guidance company, corporate trainer, and 15 years in the senior living and care industry. See more of her art at spiritedexpression.com

Unleash Your Inner Artist

My Third Act—Art for a Good Cause

Jane Howard: Creativity and resilience

The post My Third Act – Grieving Artfully appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

BY MARILEE CLARKE

Most of us are familiar with the construct of the stages of grief. This idea was first brought to the world’s attention by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross in 1969, who outlined the five stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance that are part of the grieving process. In the years since her groundbreaking research, experts have concluded that not every person will experience each of these phases and not necessarily in any prescribed order. I’m going out on a limb, however, to say that I suspect anger will always be one of the stages a person goes through after a significant loss.

When we lose a loved one, there is inevitable anger: Anger at God, at the universe, at the doctor who gave us too much hope, or at ourselves for missing something or saying/not saying the right thing. These are all expected within the anger phase.

But I’d like to delve into misplaced anger in the grieving process. After exhausting the obvious targets, I found myself getting cross at senseless, inane things at a disproportionate level. I am not by nature an angry person, so this blindsided me. Little things completely unrelated to my husband’s death could work me into an irritable froth. A good psychologist would probably say it is easier and healthier than beating yourself up in a period of deep sorrow. In the end, I concluded that this was what was happening.

Looking back, I now know there is nothing I could have done—or even the doctors could have done—that would have changed the course of my partner’s illness. But that anger at the universe had to go somewhere and I wished I could apologize to every innocent bystander on the street, in a store, or on a dreaded customer service line that had to put up with me when that rage was loosened.

Eventually, like all things, the anger phase subsided, and I crossed into acceptance. I’d like to offer hope that your anger will wane and give you a free pass to allow the release of this vexation for a few months or however much time you need. I gave myself a free pass for about a year. It meant that I could be irritable, cancel social engagements, or crawl into bed when the sadness overwhelmed me. I think it is a grace that a grieving person deserves; a time when we will be forgiven for almost everything. If you are grieving, I recommend you set a deadline on your free pass. It is easy to get used to people offering to help at every turn and being allowed to let a lot of things go, but be careful not to settle there.

Finally, the corollary is that if you find yourself on the receiving end of someone’s outrage, remind yourself that this probably isn’t about you, but rather about a person who may have recently experienced some significant loss and is suffering from misplaced anger.

After losing her husband in 2021, Marilee Clarke began writing her book on navigating grief. Excerpts from the book (still in progress) often appear in this magazine. Her passions include mixed media creations and traveling the world every chance she gets. She currently splits her time between Issaquah and the California desert, enjoying the best of two very different and beautiful locales.https://3rdactmagazine.com/speed-bumps/lifestyle/humor/

Living Past Grief

Speed Bumps

Do You Have Compounded Grief?

The post Navigating Grief – Misplaced Anger appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

BY FRED NYSTROM

Most of us reading this magazine have likely passed the conventional age of retirement and are feeling positive about our future years. There’s a lot to feel positive about. Some of our current commonalities may include:

• We’re retired or have switched to less-demanding work.

• We are healthy, active, and socially engaged.

• We are married or in a stable relationship, and the kids are (hopefully) out of the house.

• Ninety percent of us want to age in place in our own home for as long as possible.

The flipside is that things can change rapidly during this life stage. We may suddenly find ourselves single or in a caregiving role. Or we may become injured, or chronically or terminally ill. Because of this we need to be aware of our options so we can be prepared. That’s why understanding care options is crucial as we age.

A physician speaking from his wheelchair at a recent Rotary meeting I attended kept referring to the audience as “TABs.” When asked what he meant he explained that “TAB” stands for Temporarily Able Bodied, and that none of us know when we or a loved one will have an EVENT. An event is something that will profoundly change us from who we are today, to who we will be after such an event.

The event could be a bad fall, significant surgery, car accident, heart attack, cancer diagnosis, or the onset of dementia. Don’t think it will happen to you? Statistics show that two-thirds of us will become physically or cognitively impaired before death.

That’s why it is imperative each of us know the structure of the care industry and how to receive the services we may need following our own event.

It may come as a surprise to learn that hospitals focus on performing operations and only serving those with acute care needs. As soon as medically feasible, patients who require prolonged recovery time or convalescence are transferred to a skilled nursing facility. This is where people recover while receiving 24-hour monitoring and skilled care from nurses and doctors. If physical or occupational therapy is needed to aid recovery it can be provided as well.

The average cost for a stay in a skilled nursing facility in the Seattle Metro area is $13,000 to $16,000 a month. Fortunately, most of the costs are covered by insurance.

As patients get close to being discharged from a skilled nursing facility, doctors and others on the care team confer to make a very impactful decision: Can this patient be released to return to their own home? And if they are released to their home, does their condition require some level of in-home care? Or is returning home no longer an option? In that case the patient or family must find long-term assisted living or memory care designed to handle their ongoing physical, emotional, and/or cognitive needs.

This discharge “gateway” is designed to make sure patients receive the level of care the medical staff believes is critical to their safety and well-being after leaving the skilled nursing facility. Unfortunately, in-home and long-term care are generally not covered by Medicare insurance. Without advance planning, not only will this change be physically and emotionally difficult, but it could also be financially devastating.

Therefore, it’s imperative to consider your preferences and options before a lifechanging event happens. In our new column, “Planning for Change,” we will step you through the options currently available—expanding your knowledge and understanding of choices with each issue. But don’t wait for us, start investigating these options for yourself today so you are ready if an unexpected event happens to you.

Fred Nystrom’s media and publishing experience include starting a tabloid on outdoor recreation and growing it to a national circulation, a decade with Sunset magazine, publishing the Special Places travel guides, plus local magazines and contributing editor for a local newspaper. He is now focused on the issues and challenges of aging.

Keys to Successfully Navigating Your Future

The post Planning for Change—When Life Happens appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

I have a death wish: That we may all leave this world knowing how much we mattered, that everyone hears their own eulogy and can savor how it feels to be radically seen. And that, as a result, we can all live into the legacies that others see possible in us before it’s too late.

After all, why should eulogies only be for dead people?

Why are the truest feelings said about loved ones when they can’t hear, savor, or bask in them? And how might we honor all those around us who are very much alive?

My term for these “living eulogies” is Gracenotes®. Like musical gracenotes, they’re an embellishment to pieces of our lives that makes life even better. Gracenotes® are actions we take to say, “I see you. Here’s why and how you matter …”

The importance of mattering isn’t just some feel-good idea, either. Let’s look at a few examples from science that reinforce the power and importance of mattering. I like to call this data “the math of mattering.”

The U.S. Surgeon General in 2022 named Mattering at Work as the Fourth Essential in his Framework for Workplace Mental Health & Well-Being, noting: “People want to know that they matter to those around them and that their work matters. Knowing you matter has been shown to lower stress, while feeling like you do not can raise the risk for depression. This essential rests on the human needs of dignity and meaning.”

Another proof point for mattering? Famed Harvard psychologist Ellen Langer and her team gave plants to two distinct groups of senior-living residents. Researchers told the first group that they were directly responsible for keeping the plant alive. They told the second group that the staff would take care of each of their plants. After 18 months, twice as many patients who were told they were responsible for keeping the plants alive were still alive themselves. They knew they had a valuable role to play. Turns out, mattering matters to plants and to people—and can even extend our lives.

And then there’s what psychologist Gordon Flett calls “anti-mattering.”

In his book, The Psychology of Mattering: Understanding the Human Need to be Significant, Flett shares the eye-popping story of a man in prison who tried escaping just to see if anyone would notice. He felt that invisible. (Then what happened? He was seen. And recaptured.)

So, it’s a deep, human need to know we matter and are making meaningful, visible contributions. Yet, too many of us die not knowing how much we’ve made a difference.

How many times have you heard a beautiful eulogy at a funeral and wondered, ‘Did this person, this person who’s no longer here with us, know how others felt about them while still alive?’

That’s why Gracenotes® are so powerful. They help you, family, friends, and community members intentionally navigate life and loss differently. Make meaning from disillusionment. Amplify the voice of elders. Boost gratitude and belonging, which are proven to boost resiliency. Navigate grief, change, and loss with more ease. And get our emotional assets in order, alongside our financial assets.

Imagine, for example, a Gracenote® that reads, “You display continual integrity—I see how you consistently stick to your ethical principles and are reliably trustworthy, time and time again.”

How might this observation inspire the recipient to live more deeply into their integrity?

Or “Whenever you walk into a room, there’s so much more positivity and possibility.”

How might this simple comment affect how someone shows up in a room?

Indeed, Gracenotes® reflect our true, authentic selves back to us. They show us what we cannot see. It’s a bit like the title of the blockbuster book, We’re All the Light We Cannot See.

When we know how we are seen—when we know how we matter—we can do more of those things.

It’s that simple—and that profound.

So, what do you think keeps us from “gracing” one another? In polling hundreds of adults across generations, I have learned that the primary reason people cite is a fear of feeling awkward.

It may be quite human to think that the recipient will feel it’s weird that you’re reaching out with a note after a long time. But Dr. Peggy Liu from the University of Pittsburgh ran a 2022 experiment to explore this. Study participants sent a short note to someone in their social circle with whom they hadn’t interacted in a while. Then researchers asked recipients about how they felt to receive such a note. Turns out, they’re generally not thinking, ‘Well, this is awkward.’ Instead, they’re thinking, ‘Someone took time to reach out. They thought about me. What a lovely surprise.’

Another reason people may not write a eulogy for the living is that some say they’re not sure what to say.

As an antidote, I offer this simple roadmap. Think about one or two key words that embody your “Grace-ee.” Be you. Remember, you’re not trying to get a job at Hallmark. Know that you can’t “write wrong.”

And try one of these prompts if you still feel stuck: I always laugh when …You are the only person I know who …  You’re the best at … I turn to you when I need mentoring around …

Sometimes, though, the most compelling and important gracenote for any one of us to write may be the one we pen to ourselves. Where might we give ourselves some grace? Or what author Elizabeth Gilbert calls, “a cloak of mercy”?

Now, if writing’s not your thing, try a drawing, a video, a word cloud, or a photo collage. Can you write or even text a grace sentence? The medium doesn’t matter—what matters is the doing. A participant in one of my workshops said, ‘Most procrastination involves viewing a task as monumental. … But in the case of writing a gracenote, the impact is monumental—not the task.”

So that’s my death wish: That you see how your gracenote—no matter what form it takes—can be an oasis in a desert of people who are dying to know how they matter in this world. Before they pass out of it.

Andrea Driessen’s funny and poignant TED Talk about Gracenotes® (tinyurl.com/grace-notes) has been viewed almost 2 million times. A hospice volunteer with Providence in Seattle, she speaks and writes about topics relevant to older adults. She also delivers pro-bono interactive Gracenotes® workshops to qualified nonprofits via funding from The Unlikely Foundation.

How to Eulogize Your Loved One

Immortal Me

Allowing a Natural Death at Life’s End

The post Mattering Matters—Gracenotes® and The Power of Living Eulogies appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

It’s scary—and I’d put it off as long as I could—but it was time. My daughter needed help with my first grandchild, my knees were never again going to calmly negotiate my three-story home of 35 years, and my son was begging me to come live in his mother-in-law suite—all a thousand miles away from the community I’ve lived in and loved for nearly 50 years. So many, many things to think about and think of when moving. Not the least of which is how will I maintain friendships with my beloved friends? And the follow-on question: How do I make new friends at MY age?

I’ve learned that three basic rules apply when settling into a new home and community:

1. It’s up to me.

2. It takes work.

3. It takes time.

That said, there are smart and effective ways to go about each of these. Having moved 11 times since my first marriage in 1969, and maintaining at least one friendship from each place since the second, I’ve had more opportunities than I would’ve liked to make mistakes and learn loads of lessons. I most recently moved at age 71 to a community where I knew my daughter, her family, and two other people; even using this approach, it took 18 months to develop a satisfying group of friends. After eight years I have a wonderful friendship circle and maintain contact with my important friends from before. I offer the following tips to help you keep the friends you treasure and make new ones in your new location.

Keeping Friends

• Make a list, even a prioritized list, with their contact information. You may already have this information, but moving usually involves a good bit of chaos, and having such a list may prove very handy.

• Have personal business cards made up with your contact information (name, phone number, and email address—no mailing address unless it’s a post office box). Make them colorful and pretty, so they remain visually easy to find for your friends. You will use them in your new location as well.

• Before you move budget time to contact your present friends, ideally one-on-one and in-person. Ask if they’d like to keep in touch and if so, how. It’s probably best not to set a frequency yet, because your schedule won’t be knowable at first. If your memory is like mine, you may want to add their preferences to your prioritized list.

• Some people make an index card for each friend with information such as birthdays, children’s and grandchildren’s names, special events, medical challenges, and more.

• If someone wants to give you a farewell party, hurray!

• Send out an email or group text to your major acquaintances telling them of your move and give them your new contact information. You never know who’s going to be traveling through your new city with delicious news about your old one.

• Once you’re there and a bit settled, budget some time to reconnect. Yes, it will make you homesick, but how on earth will they otherwise know that you’ve “landed” and are ready to resume the connection?

• Subscribe to Zoom Pro on your laptop. If you don’t have a laptop, get one. Resources abound to teach older adults internet fluency, and Zoom is a great way to participate in groups and individual conversations anywhere in the world. If your budget is restricted, there’s a free Zoom option that limits a call to 40 minutes. If you don’t have a laptop, you can use FaceTime on your smartphone. Honestly, Zoom and FaceTime are very easy to use!

• Send Christmas, Hanukkah, Solstice, or New Year’s cards with an upbeat update, and ask for the same. Some people scoop up greeting cards with an unusual “twist,” and send them not just for birthdays, but for occasions like the first Valentine’s Day after a friend has lost a partner.

• Figure out where your friends can stay if they come to visit you. (And the fun part: Where would you take them and what would you show them?)

• Visit them periodically if possible.

Making New Friends

Again, it’s up to you and the same three basic rules apply. And honestly, this takes more work but at our age, we know from determination, yes?

Before you start the interactive phase of your new-friendships campaign ask a few friends and/or family members what they find especially interesting about you. No need to construct a standard introduction, which can sound artificial. This simply reminds you that you are, indeed, an interesting person and valuable for other people to know.

Here are some avenues to start connecting with potential friends:

• Before you leave your previous community, ask your friends for introductions to people they may know in your new one. After all, you already have a friend in common.

• If you are moving near a family member or members, ask them for introductions to people they think have interests in common with you—especially, the parents of their friends.

• Volunteer for any kind of organization that interests you. I have found this the very best way of connecting with potential new friends.

• Check out nearby senior centers and their activities, or sign up for activities in your new community.

• Join a church or other spiritual group. Sometimes they can provide transport.

• Look on the Web for meetups that interest you.

• Join a book club and/or writing group at your local library.

• Join a support group for people who have just moved.

• Join a Death Café.

  (At a Death Cafe people gather to eat cake, drink tea and discuss, well, death.)

• If you’re so inclined, get a part-time job.

• If you have a dog, consider every other dog owner you encounter along the street a potential friend. Ask their name, not just the name of their dog, and follow up if they seem interesting.

• If you live in an apartment community, volunteer for one of their committees.

In all these situations YOU will have to take the initiative in developing friendships. You’ll find that only about 20 percent of the people you meet will interest you as a potential friend. Some of these won’t be interested and you’ll have to pick up your marbles and move to a different playground. So be it. Also, try to avoid ageism. You’ll meet some people much younger and older than yourself who would welcome a friendship and you’ll love it, too.

Even though you have a wonderful Zoom tool on your laptop, it works much better to meet someone in person first, and then move to Zoom if necessary. Exceptions are things like book clubs and meditation groups.

In sum, you can make it happen! Just bring along your intention, determination, persistence, and the knowledge that you are worth knowing, and it will.

Judy Ruckstuhl Wright had an ultra-extroverted mother and lived in one community until she was 25, when moving around with her Swiss inventor husband forced her to figure out how to start making friends on her own. She has been writing and publishing nonfiction for 63 years.

Potential Challenges

You may encounter two strategic challenges that require some cleverness to address:  Transportation and slight cognitive loss.

Transportation:

If you no longer drive, you may want to start by figuring out how you’re going to get around, because that’s going to affect your choices. The good news: As we people of distinguished vintage become more numerous, the transport options keep increasing! More good news: I’ve never penciled it out, but I understand from people who have that it’s cheaper to take an Uber or equivalent to where you need to go than to own and operate a car.

When you’re looking at transportation options, do include things like public buses specifically for seniors, and hiring grandchildren just as you would a Lyft driver. Some cities have the organization GoGo Grandparents, which oversees your transport choices to ensure your safety. The local Area Agency on Aging can probably introduce you to options you may not sniff out on your own.

Mild Cognitive Impairment:

If you’re experiencing slight cognitive loss—thinking slowly and not recalling names and nouns right away—please know that MANY of us are dealing with the same situation. And you can still initiate deep, meaningful friendships as well as fun, lighthearted ones. How many of us need to discuss the latest nanoparticle configuration discoveries anyway?

Read More on Navigating Transitions

Lessons on Downsizing—Lighten Up While You Still Can

A Bibliophile’s Dilemma

My Third Act—Living Tiny

Nirvana in a Small Space

The post Moving? How to Keep Old Friendships and Make New Ones appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.

By MICHAEL C. PATTERSON

On a bright November day in the year 2038, the family gathers to celebrate Bobby Fitzgerald’s 95th birthday. The temperature is in the upper 80s and the air quality is bad, so they gather in Bobby and Jasmine’s climate-controlled living room.

Bobby’s son, Josh (70), and daughter Liz (75), “the kids,” are clearly excited as Bobby opens his gift card from them. As he carefully breaks the seal and pulls out the enclosed card a shimmering, rainbow-colored message emerges. A female voice says, “Congratulations, Bobby! This is your ticket to immortality!”

After a moment of stunned silence, the room explodes with noisy shouts from Bobby’s extended family. “Oh, my God!” “Is that the thing where they create an avatar of you?” “Not an avatar, a freaking hologram. A hologram!” “Holy shit.” “Hologram of whom?” “That is so cool.” “Of Bobby!” I heard about that!” “No way!”

Bobby and his wife Jasmine exchange raised eyebrows. Jasmine gives Bobby a, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that!” expression. Bobby nods in agreement.

“Thank you,” Bobby says. “I think I know what this is, but what exactly does this mean—my ‘ticket to immortality?’”

With a dramatic flourish of his arms, Josh announces, “We signed you up for an afterlife hologram service, IMMORTAL ME. You get to create a hologram of yourself that will live on, you know, after . . . you know. . . You’ll be immortal.” Then more quietly, to his dad: “We will all be able to be with you and talk with you whenever we want.”

“It’s a present as much for us,” explains Liz, “as it is for you. I mean all of us.” She gestures to everyone in the room. “And, we thought you should have the chance to work on it before you die, you know, so you can have some input about what information can be accessed.”

“You mean,” Jasmine asks, “you can create these hologram things after a person dies, without their permission? Is that even legal?”

“No, no! Josh answers. Well, . . . yes. The laws are kind of vague and unenforceable, but . . . it’s possible to create a hologram without permission, you know, after a person has died, but we wouldn’t do that. We want your permission in advance of . . . you know . . . and want you to have some input into the information the program has access, too.”

“Some input?” asks Jasmine. “I’d want full control over the information. And don’t you dare create a hologram of me without my permission or I’ll kill you.”

“No Mom,” both kids reply. “We would never do anything without your express (written) permission.”

Liz adds, “You should write specific instructions into your will or your advance directive. And I really hope you give us permission. It’s your legacy! It’s a way to keep you with us.”

Jasmine frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I would not be me. I might just want you to keep whatever memories are in your head. Positive memories. You can forget the bad stuff. And make sure my hair looks okay.” She looks at Bobby. “What about you?”

“What kind of information are we talking about,” asks Bobby. “What kind of data does it use, or need to create to . . . I guess, to recreate a reasonable facsimile of me? Is that what we are talking about?”

“Your hologram will be great, Dad,” says Josh. “You have so much data to input.”

“The program uses any data that is available, anything you have produced and digitized,” explains Liz. “Anything that has been written or said about you.”

You have written so much stuff,” Josh continues, “through your books, your articles, your newsletter. And you have so much writing that you never even show anyone. Right? Even to mom. It would be a waste if all those deep, profound thoughts were lost or forgotten.”

“Yeah!” Bobby rolls his eyes. “Great loss!”

“No, we’re serious, Dad,” says Liz.

“And all your podcasts and the videos,” adds Josh. “The hologram will be great at duplicating your voice, your gestures, your vocal inflections, your facial expressions. … You know, the funny slapstick movies you make.”

“No one’s very interested in my ‘profound insights’ now,” Bobby says. “Not even me. I don’t see why anyone would be interested in the future.”

“Well, you never know,” says Josh. “I mean . . . I’m too busy now, you know, with work and all, but when things calm down, you know, I might be curious about what Dad was writing about all those years.”

“And the thing is,” says Liz, “it’s not like your hologram is going to read us your full essays. It will pick and choose. I might ask you, ‘Hey Dad, what made you change your thinking on spirituality?’ And it will give me a little summary of your early writing on the subject, then summarize your more recent stuff, and give me its best guess about why your ideas shifted. You know how Chatbots work, right?” Bobby nods. “So, it would be like talking to you.”

Liz looks down, spins away, grabs a tissue, and blows her nose.

Bobby reaches toward his daughter. “Come here.” Bobby stands and they give each other a big, long hug.

“I love talking with you. I’ll miss that,” Bobby whispers.

“I know!” Liz takes a deep breath. “Me too. That’s why, I thought. . . I wanted . . .” Bobby gives her a big squeeze and a kiss on her forehead.

“Will the hologram be as silly as the real papa?” asks Lara, Bobby’s great-granddaughter.

“I’m not silly.” Bobby feigns shock at the accusation. “Who said that?”

“Me!” Little Lara puts her hands on her hips and gives Bobby her famous snake-eye look.

Bobby wags an accusing finger. “You are the silly one.”

“No, you.”

“I am never silly, never have been,” says Bobby as he grabs Lara and tickles her into screaming submission.

“The hologram won’t be able to give us a real hug, or tickle us, right?” Jasmine asks.

“Isn’t it expensive?” Bobby asks. “It’s too expensive.”

The family responds in chorus. “We all chipped in.” “Prices have really come down.” “You are worth it.” “Yeah, immortality doesn’t come cheap!” “It’s an investment in our future.”

“Is it available to everyone?” Bobby says as he looks around the room. “How long would I—would the virtual me—last?”

“You could be immortal, Dad! Forever!” Josh shouts. “And the hologram program would be available to all of us. It’s cool. You could be in two places at the same time, or more.

“Your hologram program will live for as long as coming generations decide to renew the license agreement.” Liz finds this part a bit awkward. “There’s an annual fee that is renewed automatically, until . . .”

“Until someone decides to finally pull the plug,” Bobby says.

“If you don’t want to do it, Dad,” says Liz as she reaches for the card, “we can cancel and get a refund.”

“No. I mean, it won’t matter to me. Right? I’ll be dead,” Says Bobby as he holds the card against his chest. “And, frankly, I’m vain enough to want my ideas—the few good ones—to live longer than my body, and possibly have some small influence on,” nodding to the grandkids, “your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

“Yeah. We’ll program your hologram to spout only pearls of wisdom. None of the nonsense,” says Josh. “No, seriously. It would be nice to have your advice and even just, you know, to hear your voice, and . . .

Liz picks up the thread, “And you’ve said there are so many questions about your mom and dad you never got to ask. The avatar would give us a chance to ask you questions we didn’t—or couldn’t ask—while you were alive.”

“If you guys really want it . . .” Bobby says with a shrug and smile.

“We do.”

“Jasmine?” Bobby looks to his wife.

“Sure. Your choice. It might be good for a laugh every now and then. I’m planning to outlive you, by the way, so who knows, I might miss you from time to time.” She turns to the kids. “Can it be programmed to focus on the best sides of his personality? Can we dial up the tenderness and dial down the cynicism, for example? Cut out the silly jokes and the stories I’ve heard a million times?”

“I think you kinda get the full package, Mom,” says Josh.

“But I could turn this hologram thingy on and off when I like, right?” asks Jasmine. “That might be refreshing.”

She leans over and gives Bobby a kiss and a pat on the cheek.

“So, it’s a yes,” asks Liz. “You want it?”

“Yes. I want it.”

As the family applauds, Bobby says in a whisper to Jasmine, “The irony is that I won’t be able to experience my own immortality.”

Michael C. Patterson had an early career in the theater, then worked at PBS, developing programs and systems to support the educational mission of public television. Michael ran the Staying Sharp brain health program for AARP, then founded MINDRAMP to continue to promote physical well-being and mental flourishing for older adults. Michael currently explores these topics on his MINDRAMP Podcast and his Synapse newsletter. His website is www.mindramp.org. 

More musings on immortality:

Striving for Immortality

How to Live Forever! Magic Formula! Fountain of Youth!

Resilience: The Simple Truth About Living to 100

How to live forever…

The post Immortal Me appeared first on 3rd Act Magazine.