Tag death

Pre-Need Burial Arrangements

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A glimpse of what will be my final resting place

Making pre-need burial arrangements for yourself is one of the most thoughtful and responsible decisions you can make for your loved ones. While it’s not always easy to think about end-of-life matters, planning ahead offers peace of mind, ensures your wishes are honored, and eases the emotional and financial burden on your family during a very difficult time.

I have personally put everything in place for my final disposition after I die, and it gives me a great sense of relief to know that I have taken care of arrangements in advance. From the cremation arrangements, including purchase of the urn (which sits in my closet), to paying for rights for the burial plot, to paying for interment and the name plaque, I have made arrangements so that there will be no question about my final wishes. No one will have to scramble to find a cemetery plot or take care of any of the aspects of final disposition when I leave this earth.

In addition to my own pre-need arrangements, I had made pre-need arrangements for both my mother and my Aunt Alice. It made a huge difference in the stress levels I dealt with when they both passed, because I didn’t have to worry about where they were going to be buried, etc. Trust me when I say that grief makes everything related to ironing out the details for a funeral so much more difficult. I still had a number of expenses for both my mother and my aunt which weren’t anticipated when pre-need arrangements were made, but at least I didn’t have to start from square one.

Why Pre-Need Burial Arrangements Matter

  1. Reduces Emotional Stress on Loved Ones When someone passes away, their family is often overwhelmed with grief. Having to make funeral and burial decisions—often within a short period of time—can be incredibly stressful. By making pre-need arrangements, you remove much of that pressure. Your family won’t have to guess what you would have wanted or make difficult decisions while grieving.
  2. Ensures Your Wishes Are Carried Out Pre-planning gives you the chance to decide exactly how you want to be remembered. From choosing between burial or cremation, to selecting a cemetery plot, casket, or even music for a service—these choices are yours to make, and pre-planning ensures your wishes will be known and respected.
  3. Prevents Family Disputes When plans aren’t clearly laid out, disagreements can arise among family members. Some might interpret your wishes differently, leading to conflict. Having everything documented in advance eliminates confusion and potential conflict.
  4. Financial Benefits Many funeral homes offer the option to pre-pay for services at today’s prices. In addition, many funeral homes also provide interest-free financing so that you can pay the balance over time. This can save money over time, especially considering the rising costs of funeral services. It also protects your family from unexpected financial burdens and lets them focus on healing rather than worrying about costs.

What Needs to Be Done in Advance

  • Choose a Funeral Home: Research and select a funeral home that you trust. Speak with a funeral director about pre-need options.
  • Decide on Burial or Cremation: Make your preference clear. If burial, choose a cemetery and possibly a specific plot. If cremation, consider what should be done with your ashes.
  • Select Specific Services: Choose the type of service (religious, secular, military honors, etc.), music, speakers, and any personal touches you’d like.
  • Choose a Casket or Urn: You can select and even purchase these in advance to ensure they reflect your taste and budget.
  • Prepare Legal Documentation: Write out your wishes in a pre-need contract, and if applicable, make sure it aligns with your will or estate plan.
  • Communicate With Loved Ones: Let your family know your plans, where the documents are stored, and any contact info for the funeral home or service provider.

How It Helps Loved Ones

  • Gives Them Clarity: They don’t have to wonder what you would have wanted.
  • Provides Relief: They’re spared from making many decisions at an emotional time.
  • Supports Grieving: With logistics handled, they have more time and space to process their loss.
  • Avoids Financial Stress: Pre-paid arrangements or even just having a clear plan in place helps loved ones avoid unplanned expenses.

In the end, pre-need burial planning is a final act of love—a way of saying, “I’ve taken care of this so you don’t have to.” It brings comfort, direction, and peace of mind to those you leave behind, and it ensures your final wishes are honored just as you intended.

My Mom’s Eulogy

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My mom was the type of woman who didn’t apologize for who she was, and she was fully aware of her abilities.  It always amused me how she made sure I knew how to use basic tools like hammers and screwdrivers, and wasn’t afraid to do things like assemble furniture or fix a hole in the drywall.  However, she was also willing to admit when she was not as adept at certain tasks.  One case in point was cooking.  My mom didn’t really cook, and with the exception of meat loaf, broiled meats, and sukiyaki which was made with canned sukiyaki vegetables and fresh beef, her idea of cooking was looking at the back of the Stouffer’s box to see to what temperature the oven needed to be heated. 

Since Mom was always working so much, she was doing the best she could to provide for me, but even if she had time to cook, it just wasn’t her thing.  So I wasn’t surprised when she VERY eagerly encouraged me to bake and cook after I had revealed to her that I had an interest in doing so.  In fact, when I was 17, I told my mom, “Let’s not go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving this year, I wanna make an entire turkey feast!”  She was doubtful that I could pull it off, but when I did, she told me that I had full permission to repeat the process every subsequent year if I wanted. 

My mother was always interested in spy stories and mysteries, and had told me that she once wanted to become a private detective.  She also wanted to travel internationally, but sadly was never able to do so, mostly due to a lack of money, but also because she was so devoted to work and to me that it would have been difficult for her at best to go traipsing all over the globe. 

By the time I actively began pursuing my own international travel goals, my mom was already ill, so there was no way that she could join me in those travels.  In an effort to bring exotic locales to her, I would share all the photos, videos, and funny stories I had collected from my travels.  I often thought that if she hadn’t had me, she might have been that jet-setter she had dreamt of becoming, but as we all know, life can take us in all kinds of directions we hadn’t anticipated.

Even though I was her only child, my mom probably also really would have been happy to have had other children besides me, and I was able to see her motherly devotion given to others when I got her a Scottish Fold kitten, whom she named Spencer Tracy.  That little dude stole her heart, so much so that I got a bit edged out! After she had had him for about a year, she started referring to the cat as my baby brother!  There was one time when I was at her apartment, and figured I would sleep in my former bedroom, but Mister Spencer would have none of it!  He hissed and carried on so much that I was effectively banished to the sofa for that evening!  What a bratty brother!

Harriet also adored my ex-husband, not only while we were married, but throughout the years after we divorced. Whenever he would visit her at the assisted living facility, my mom would pretty much ignore me, and devote all her attention to him.  This would prompt me to say, “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?”  But I always secretly enjoyed the fact that she was so close to him.  She always had a keen interest in in hearing about other members of her family or my dad’s family as well, and even my friends, some of whom she had never even met in person. 

Over the 19 years after her brain aneurysm rupture occurred, Harriet’s tastes changed, and they were unexpected and interesting. She became a Bingo master, and I could tell she enjoyed being the boss lady, calling out the numbers and monitoring everyone else’s boards.  She won so much virtual money from those Bingo games, I tell you…if that had all been real money, she would have been able to buy something like a television! 

Speaking of television, she cultivated a passion for the Lakers, despite never having followed the NBA, or ANY major league sports for that matter, prior to 2013.  She had Lakers posters in her room, and would talk to me about the games.  Mom also kept up with current events, and was pretty hip for an elderly woman.  She surprised me shortly after Prince had passed away by telling me, with a devilish glint in her eyes, that she thought Prince had been a VERY good looking man. 

All in all, Mom was a remarkable, caring, supportive, tough, honest, opinionated woman, who made sure I developed a backbone. You would be asking for it if you wanted her opinion about something, and this was the case until very shortly before her passing.  I think people actually got a kick out of how sassy my mother could be, even though she could also be cantankerous and defiant. 

Now that my smart, strong, sassy, beautiful, amazing mother is gone and no longer suffering, I can honestly say that I must have been the luckiest person in the world to have had this wonderful woman as my mother, my hero, and my best friend. 

The White Dove

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white-dove-wallpapers-3

My mother’s family believes very strongly that departed spirits return to the physical world in winged form. This belief was handed down to me, and is so deeply ingrained that I am always keenly aware of the presence of birds and insects I encounter when a loved one has recently passed away.

When my favorite aunt passed away last December, I didn’t feel her energy around me at all. This was in stark contrast to when my dear friend Rob Willhite passed away in April of 2014. Right after Rob died, he hovered around my meditation table and my bed, and left coins on my bed, bathroom counter, desk chair, and car seat. His energy was heavy, palpable.

I began to accept the possibility that I wasn’t as spiritually connected with my aunt as I had always thought. I traveled to Oahu the third week of January and spent the days leading up to my aunty’s funeral getting reacquainted with the island. I still felt no connection with my aunt’s spirit.

The day of the funeral arrived with a vengeance, spewing rain and strong winds which were the exact opposite of the balmy, sunny days which led up to it. The funeral service was odd, and seeing my aunt’s embalmed corpse was alarming to me. It was definitely an empty vessel.

For the first time ever, I served as a pallbearer. As we carried the casket out to the hearse, the rain began to fall again. By the time the funeral procession had arrived at the cemetery, the rain was steady, and the winds were so fierce that it threw a few of the folding chairs at the site into the air.

During the burial ceremony, the priest stood in front of the casket, with his back to the interment site which awaited my aunt’s body. While he spoke, the winds whipped furiously, pushing the rain into us and rendering the protection of the tent we were sitting under completely useless. One particularly assertive gust of wind hit, and I looked up despite risking getting a face full of rain. As soon as I glanced up, a single white dove flew up from the exact position where my aunt’s final resting place would be, made a sweeping arc behind the priest, and flew up into the sky. That was the sign I was looking for. Aunty was there.

The next evening I returned to Los Angeles, and because I was battling a wicked case of bronchitis, I chose to sleep on the sofa downstairs so that I wouldn’t wake anyone upstairs. By some miracle I actually got a decent night’s sleep that night. When I woke up the next morning, I put my left foot down onto the floor, and noticed a single white feather right next to my foot. Another sign.

That feather is now in a pouch with a mala my friend Rob gave me.

The Last Essay By Dr. Oliver Sacks

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Dr. Sacks on porch

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/09/14/filter-fish

Filter Fish
At life’s end, rediscovering the joys of a childhood favorite

Gefilte fish is not an everyday dish; it is to be eaten mainly on the Jewish Sabbath in Orthodox households, when cooking is not allowed. When I was growing up, my mother would take off from her surgical duties early on Friday afternoon and devote her time, before the coming of Shabbat, to preparing gefilte fish and other Sabbath dishes.

Our gefilte fish was basically carp, to which pike, whitefish, and sometimes perch or mullet would be added. (The fishmonger delivered the fish alive, swimming in a pail of water.) The fish had to be skinned, boned, and fed into a grinder—we had a massive metal grinder attached to the kitchen table, and my mother would sometimes let me turn the handle. She would then mix the ground fish with raw eggs, matzo meal, and pepper and sugar. (Litvak gefilte fish, I was told, used more pepper, which is how she made it—my father was a Litvak, born in Lithuania.)

My mother would fashion the mixture into balls about two inches in diameter—two to three pounds of fish would allow a dozen or more substantial fish balls—and then poach these gently with a few slices of carrot. As the gefilte fish cooled, a jelly of an extraordinarily delicate sort coalesced, and, as a child, I had a passion for the fish balls and their rich jelly, along with the obligatory khreyn (Yiddish for horseradish).

I thought I would never taste anything like my mother’s gefilte fish again, but in my forties I found a housekeeper, Helen Jones, with a veritable genius for cooking. Helen improvised everything, nothing was by the book, and, learning my tastes, she decided to try her hand at gefilte fish.

When she arrived each Thursday morning, we would set out for the Bronx to do some shopping together, our first stop being a fish shop on Lydig Avenue run by two Sicilian brothers who were as like as twins. The fishmongers were happy to give us carp, whitefish, and pike, but I had no idea how Helen, African-American, a good, churchgoing Christian, would manage with making such a Jewish delicacy. But her powers of improvisation were formidable, and she made magnificent gefilte fish (she called it “filter fish”), which, I had to acknowledge, was as good as my mother’s. Helen refined her filter fish each time she made it, and my friends and neighbors got a taste for it, too. So did Helen’s church friends; I loved to think of her fellow-Baptists gorging on gefilte fish at their church socials.

For my fiftieth birthday, in 1983, she made a gigantic bowl of it—enough for the fifty birthday guests. Among them was Bob Silvers, the editor of The New York Review of Books, who was so enamored of Helen’s gefilte fish that he wondered if she could make it for his entire staff.

When Helen died, after seventeen years of working for me, I mourned her deeply—and I lost my taste for gefilte fish. Commercially made, bottled gefilte fish, sold in supermarkets, I found detestable compared to Helen’s ambrosia.

But now, in what are (barring a miracle) my last weeks of life—so queasy that I am averse to almost every food, with difficulty swallowing anything except liquids or jellylike solids—I have rediscovered the joys of gefilte fish. I cannot eat more than two or three ounces at a time, but an aliquot of gefilte fish every waking hour nourishes me with much needed protein. (Gefilte-fish jelly, like calf’s-foot jelly, was always valued as an invalid’s food.)

Deliveries now arrive daily from one shop or another: Murray’s on Broadway, Russ & Daughters, Sable’s, Zabar’s, Barney Greengrass, the 2nd Ave Deli—they all make their own gefilte fish, and I like it all (though none compares to my mother’s or Helen’s).

While I have conscious memories of gefilte fish from about the age of four, I suspect that I acquired my taste for it even earlier, for, with its abundant, nutritious jelly, it was often given to infants in Orthodox households as they moved from baby foods to solid food. Gefilte fish will usher me out of this life, as it ushered me into it, eighty-two years ago. ♦

Comedy And Tragedy

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robin-williams_1Robin Williams’ suicide brought attention to the depression that often strikes entertainers, but sadly, he wasn’t the first comedic genius to take his own life. Freddie Prinz died at the age of 22, and Richard Jeni died right before his 50th birthday, both from self-inflicted gunshot wounds. Evidently, comedy can serve as an outlet for severe depression and psychosis, but the danger lies in the fact that making others people laugh can hide a dangerous secret.

I worked for Richard Jeni for over four years as his personal assistant, and as always blown away by his wit and his brilliance. Being a personal assistant required me to wear many hats, and it was not an easy job, especially when Rich was in one of his moods. He lived in a beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills which I had to maintain, and which, despite all of its creature comforts, always felt very empty. I helped Rich with everything from household related issues, to assistance with booking gigs and organizing travel, serving as his personal stylist, organizing recordings of sitcoms he studied, and traveling with him for Caroline’s Comedy Hour and one of his cable specials.

Rich never married and had no children, and I honestly couldn’t imagine him with a wife and kids because, he was frequently out of town on gigs, and HAD to have everything his own way. There were numerous times that I would find myself greeting a new girlfriend who suddenly was one of the fixtures in the house, only to see Rich’s outlook on life darken when the girlfriend eventually became the ex. I knew that though Rich was incredibly funny, and kept me in stitches when he would dictate his bits for me to transcribe, he was never happy. I knew so much about him, where he was born and raised, how he left law school to become a comic, what foods he wanted in his fridge at all times, what interior design aesthetic he preferred, where and how he wanted his clean laundry distributed, what wardrobe items he wanted me to scout out, etc., but I never knew the depths of his loneliness.

Though I quit working for Rich to embark on my medical education, we stayed in touch from time to time and in this way continued our friendship. The last time I had seen him was in 2005 when his cable special, “A Big Steaming Pile Of Me” premiered. He was paranoid and disjointed during the premiere, and exhibited bizarre behavior which turned out to be the early stages of paranoid schizophrenia.

I still remember seeing the headline on AOL News on March 11, 2007, which announced that Richard Jeni had shot himself in the face and was dead. It stunned me. It was also extremely strange to find out via the Internet, but with Rich’s modest celebrity status, it was appropriate. I still can’t fathom how he had come to the point where he took the gun and pointed the barrel at himself, but I also cannot understand how a family man like Robin Williams chose to wrap a belt around his neck and cut off his own life breath. Both deaths were tragic, unnecessary, and highlighted an insidious mental disease which lurks among people from all walks of life. No amount of money, success, or fame can ever guarantee the happiness of a human being.

In honor of Richard Jeni and Robin Williams, both of whom were brilliant comics, I am posting these videos for you to enjoy:

Loose Change

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Image-quarters-on-a-table

A few days after my dear friend and meditation teacher Rob died, several people told me that those who have recently departed will often leave loose change as a way of communicating. I thought it was interesting but didn’t give it much attention, partly because I was too busy grieving and reflecting, and partly because I had never experienced such a thing. My heart was heavy over Rob’s passing, and I was trying to adjust to the emptiness I felt, knowing I would never see Rob as a living being again.

About two weeks after that, I came downstairs to the garage, and when I grabbed my handbag from the office, I noticed 3 quarters sitting near the edge of my desk. I am not the type of person who ever leaves change lying around, so when I saw the quarters, I chuckled and said Rob’s name. A couple of days later, I came home from the gym, went upstairs to my bedroom, and saw 3 quarters at the foot of my neatly made bed, in a deliberate triangular configuration. Again, I chuckled and said Rob’s name.

Another week or so passed with no change lying around. Then one day when I had been in the house most of the morning, I walked into the garage, got into my car, and noticed two quarters and a dime on the passenger’s seat. No one had sat in the passenger’s seat for over a week, and my food bag was the only “occupant” of that seat since then. Yet the coins sat on the seat in plain sight, not wedged in the crevice but squarely on the seat. If you ask me now whether I believe in the idea that those who have died visit us and leave signs such as loose change, I will emphatically say that I do.

While writing this blog I did a search to see what other people had written on this subject, and came across this incredible post. Please read it if you want to read a remarkable story of one woman’s experience with finding dimes.

http://www.thedailyawe.com/2011/09/spiritual-significance-of-dimes/

Eulogy For Rob Willhite

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FEW CROSS OVER THE RIVER.
MOST ARE STRANDED ON THIS SIDE.
ON THE RIVERBANK THEY RUN UP AND DOWN.
BUT THE WISE MAN, FOLLOWING THE WAY,
CROSSES OVER, BEYOND THE REACH OF DEATH.
– Buddha

One day eight years ago I met Rob and was immediately struck by his elegant stature and his calm and kind demeanor. What was most striking, though, was a spirit presence, something ethereal that I couldn’t define, and it was that presence that put me in awe of him. He kindly invited me to join his meditation group, and I gladly obliged. And so began my journey into more structured meditation, a connection to the cosmos, and a deep friendship.

I remember being somewhat intimidated by Rob, and I realize that this was my own little grasshopper mind coupled with egoic limitations that were causing me to experience that feeling of intimidation. Rob’s “Robisms” reminded me to ponder in more enlightened ways, and I took great comfort in hearing him utter one of his typical sage sayings and following it with either a grin or a chuckle, and a twinkle in the eye that revealed the little boy that still wanted to laugh and play.

Then when Rob was diagnosed last Fall and I heard of all the trials and tribulations he was enduring, I realized that everything this remarkable man had experienced in his life was coming to a head and that the ultimate test was yet to come. I drove to Rancho Los Amigos a couple of days after his surgery to see him, not sure what I would encounter. Yet as I laid my eyes upon Rob, a great surge of joy washed through me, and this joy continued as we talked and joked around, laughed and smiled. He was in such great spirits that even though I was devastated to hear of his diagnosis, it didn’t seem to matter, because we were truly in the moment, friends enjoying each other’s company. Rob’s wonderful dry wit was still very much intact and he used it to say things that had me chuckling at his bedside.

1016444_696074497089656_1678297_nShortly after Rob was discharged to Bess’s home this past December, I made regular scheduled visits to help out, and continued to do so through most of March. Every single one of those days I spent with Rob was an absolute treasure. Our conversations ran the gamut of profound, funny, tragic, and philosophical. Most days we would go for a walk or visit the neighbor dogs for a bit, and on some days he and I would meditate. Our jaunts to the L.A. Zoo were also very special and I feel so fortunate to have gone with Rob there. He missed his animal friends so very much and was able to have two wonderful reunions with them. The first time we visited, Leadbottom, the Andean Condor, was being a butthead and refused to come to the fence to greet Rob, but during our second visit, Leadbottom finally relented, and I witnessed the friendship and bond which they shared. It was truly a magical moment.

Though I had known Rob for several years, it was only this year that I learned that Rob was a man who had never felt, as he stated, like he belonged on this earth. I knew what he meant. He was so evolved spiritually that being locked in the physical realm was challenging at best with him. We spoke at length about countless other subjects during my regular visits, and he revealed more of his life experiences and upbringing to me, making him more endearing and real, and dissolving the silly intimidation I had once felt so long ago. He expressed gratitude towards me many times for helping out during the course of his illness, but the countless spiritual gifts he had bestowed upon me during that time were staggering in comparison.

There was one thing Rob said to me when he was still at Rancho which struck me. He had said, “I’ll meet you on the other side for sake.” To which I replied, “Not just yet, Rob, not for either of us. But I absolutely will meet you for that sake at some point.” Eventually, we will share that bottle of sake on the other side. I look forward to it.

The Swan – Poem By Rainer Maria Rilke

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In honor of my dear friend Rob Willhite…thanks to Jennifer for posting this on Facebook a few weeks ago.

This laboring of ours with all that remains undone,
as if still bound to it,
is like the lumbering gait of the swan.

And then our dying—releasing ourselves
from the very ground on which we stood—
is like the way he hesitantly lowers himself

into the water. It gently receives him,
and, gladly yielding, flows back beneath him,
as wave follows wave,
while he, now wholly serene and sure,
with regal composure,
allows himself to glide.

swan