Questions for a loved one

Yesterday I read an article about end of life conversations. As I read the advice being given I reflected on the only end of life conversation I’ve participated in. 

My mom, Cynthia Bademosi, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in January 2016. Before being given the official analysis, in our hearts we already knew. Auntie Marlene, my mom’s younger sister, had had Parkinson’s, as did her son, Kwame. So as a family, we intimately understood the disease and recognized the symptoms when they started showing up in my mother. We were in denial at first but after a while, we had to face facts and accept reality.

My mother was pragmatic. She maintained her health regimen and focused on wellness. My brothers and I supported and encouraged her to live fully and do everything she wanted.

We started on the journey to learn more and do more to help our mother. As part of my research I had a conversation with a friend who is a healthcare professional. A piece of advice she gave was to have an end of life conversation with mommy so we could understand what she wanted when the time came when she could no longer make decisions for herself.

In October 2016 my brothers and I decided we had to have the conversation. I went to my mom’s house to carefully broach the subject. How do you say to someone that you want to talk about the unthinkable – death – hers?

I still can’t remember how I worked up the nerve to say we have to talk – but I do remember my mom’s reaction. She was all over it. She indicated that she wanted to have this talk. She had been discussing it with her friends and wanted to sit down with us, her kids, to share her thoughts and wishes. 

I did not see that coming!

We picked a Sunday afternoon to go to my brother’s house to talk. The four of us were there. I was armed with my researched questions and I lead the conversation. Tears. Choking emotions. Overwhelming denial. We experienced this and more.

The only thing that made that hour better was my mom. She was ready and prepared. She knew what she wanted and didn’t hesitate to make her thoughts known. She was clear of mind and focused. Having worked in healthcare most of her professional life she knew what to expect when her health started to decline. One of the things I will always remember was her saying, hearing is the last thing to go. “Read these bible verses to me and this is the music I want playing.” She provided a long list of both.

Here are some of the questions we asked:

When you can no longer make decisions for yourself who do you want to make financial decisions for you?

When you can no longer make decisions for yourself who do you want to make medical decisions for you?

Do you have a preference in a care giver – male or female?

When the time comes, what type of service do you want?

Zen in Kuala Lumpur

Yesterday I was reminded of the day I promised to listen more and not speak for five hours.

I was helping a friend who was getting her life coaching certification. She needed real people to work with in order to get the mandated hours she needed. Always in search of new tools, I agreed to be her client. We started the process in Bermuda and it continued while I traveled. I remember I was in Kuala Lumpur for one of our Skype sessions. I had already mastered my commitment to exercising. I now needed to focus on my inner health and wellbeing.

My assignment was to be in silence for five hours. How hard could that be? I was alone in a country where I knew no one and I didn’t speak the language. This was a done deal.

I carefully chose the day I would experience heightened consciousness. I knew I could do this. I knew I would be that much wiser and more in touch with my inner essence by the end of the five hours.

That morning I got up and went for breakfast. It was buffet so I didn’t have to talk. Hold on, how do I order coffee? I had to get coffee. So I delayed my silence start. After I signed my tab, my silence clock began.

This was the day I had also decided to do a tour of Kuala Lumpur. It was an on and off bus. Each stop you could get off or stay on the bus. I was two hours into the tour. All was going well. I was on the top deck, experiencing the city, listening to what was going on around me. I was in silent bliss. Then some folk sat behind me. I felt a tap on my shoulder and they asked where I got the city map.

Like I said, I was two hours into the silence experience. Did I open my mouth and tell them where they could find the map or pretend I didn’t understand? I was compelled to speak. I couldn’t help myself, I told them.

Damn! The end of my silence. I couldn’t do it for more than two hours? This was not good. I hadn’t discovered my inner calm, I hadn’t focused on my breath, I hadn’t quietened my mind and become a genius.

With a sigh, I got off the bus and headed back to my hotel. Clearly the only way I could discover zen in Kuala Lumpur was to sit in my room and be in silence.