Many years ago, my Mom died unexpectedly after an operation. The shock to all of us, especially my father, was profound. As we went through my Mom’s papers, we found an envelope addressed, “In case something happens to me.” Basically is was a love letter to Dad and to us all, supporting us with love and urging us to lead useful productive loves. But most importantly to love one another.
There’s a touching article in the NYT by a Palliative Care MD who is encouraging his patients to write a “last letter.” He writes, “Over the last 15 years, as a geriatrics and palliative care doctor, I have had candid conversations with countless patients near the end of their lives. The most common emotion they express is regret: regret that they never took the time to mend broken friendships and relationships; regret that they never told their friends and family how much they care; regret that they are going to be remembered by their children as hypercritical mothers or exacting, authoritarian fathers.
“And that’s why I came up with a project to encourage people to write a last letter to their loved ones. It can be done when someone is ill, but it’s really worth doing when one is still healthy, before it’s too late.”
On this general topic, but from a different perspective, an article in the New York Times concerned family members wishing for a reconciliation with a family member as that person declines. The writer consoled the expectant family members that this was not likely to happen. That it is far more likely that a dying person will maintain the same persona even as they lie dying.
However, family members can sometimes help themselves and their loved one by gently expressing more interest in that person’s life experiences. Many elderly are more keenly focused on their youth as they age. My conversations with my mother led my searching her name and work location on the internet. I discovered what to me is a precious article featuring her accomplishments on her first teaching job, complete with photos.
And as to photos!! I looked for information on 4-H programs my mother had told me of and found a major expose’ concerning a nation-wide scandal. My mother had never told me that she and students across the U.S. were compelled by school administrators to strip naked and submit to being photographed and examined by panels of “experts”. These disreputable examiners filled out many-page questionnaires on all manner of bodily and personality “traits” of these young people:
http://www.nytimes.com/1995/01/15/magazine/the-great-ivy-league-nude-posture-photo-scandal.html?pagewanted=all
I asked my mother if this happened and, despite her frequent episodes of dementia, she was easily able to recall it. She volunteered that she and her classmates were “paraded across the stage like beef cattle.”
So many stories just waiting to be told.