We can't help but feel helpless when someone we care about faces the end of their life. We offer to bring meals, volunteer to do errands, walk the dog, or even help clean. We pray. But, we don't often think about helping them write letters, which can bring great comfort to the letter writer and the recipient.
Letters last forever. In letters, you can say whatever you want, even if it would otherwise be uncomfortable for you to share your feelings. In a letter, one can express love and gratitude and remember special shared moments and emotions associated with the memories, feelings about the present, and hopes for the future. One can apologize. One can forgive. One can say goodbye.
A dear friend of mine died on June 8, 2015. Lori was a well-loved member of our community and a respected breast radiologist. Lori had a quick smile, a twinkle in her eye, and a laugh that I remember as if it were yesterday. Her second marriage brought her the love of her life, Erik.
Lori was diagnosed with ALS a few years before she died. In 2014, just moments before sharing her diagnosis with her co-workers in a staff meeting that she called for that sole purpose; Lori, the doctor, diagnosed her own aggressive form of breast cancer. Very unexpectedly, she now had two terminal diagnoses to share.
Early in 2015, I suggested to Lori that she might want to write letters to her husband and children, and she asked me to help her with that project since she had limited use of her hands by then. I brought a small tape recorder to her home on two occasions, and we just talked. Sometimes I would ask her questions that would lead to stories – coupled with tears and laughter. I would continue with prompting questions such as, "How did that make you feel?" or "What did she do then?". Later, I played the tapes at home and turned our conversations into draft letters. Lori finished them with her sister, who would give out the letters when the time came. I read a Facebook post a few months after Lori's passing written by one of her daughters. She saved her letter from her mom, and finally, she was ready to read it on her birthday. Letters are an intimate way for those left behind to read their loved one's words anytime they want to feel their presence.
Volunteering in a hospice gave me the opportunity to write letters for Ruth. Ruth called the hospice a "rehabilitation center," so I wasn't sure she knew where she was. Nevertheless, I carefully wrote down every word she said in letters penned to three of her loved ones. The letters were not poetic. No regrets, no grand expressions. Simple letters, each with an "I love you" at the end. I read them each back to her to be sure the letters said exactly what she wanted. "They are perfect," she said. When it was time for me to leave, and I stood at the doorway to her room, Ruth called my name." Sue," she said, "You are holding my heart in your hands."
I realized that Ruth knew she was not in a rehabilitation center; she knew exactly where she was. I turned to walk into the hallway with three most extraordinary letters.
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