Janice Lewis is in her early 70’s and has had some health issues that make it difficult for her to get up from sitting down. With the help of Shellie Campbell the Senior Dream Center provided Janice with a portable power seat that will allow her to get in and out of any seat in her home. She can even take it with her when she travels. Thank you to Shellie for helping us make Janice’s dream come true.
Shortly before midnight on July 23, my father died in my arms.
He was in his bedroom, with two of his four sons and his wife of 44 years. His odometer stopped just shy of 92: a great life and a good death. He had always considered himself lucky.
Five days earlier, Emil Mikula made his wife, Peggy, breakfast before they went to Sunday Mass. Typical for him, he tended to some yard work after that. Later that afternoon, he experienced a pain in his gut so intense he went to the hospital. He would never stand on his feet again.
He’d been diagnosed with colorectal cancer 10 months earlier, and doctors were prepared to operate on him to remove the tumor. Now, surgery was the only way to repair the intestinal rupture that was killing him.
In both cases, Dad was adamant: “Do not cut me.” He was unwilling to take the considerable chance of stroking out on the table and spending the rest of his life incapacitated and unaware.
“I want to go home.” His voice was stern and strong. “I want hospice, and I don’t want to be in pain anymore.”
Calls were made, and soon a hospital bed was waiting in his home in Pinehurst, North Carolina.
Stunned, but not surprised, I was there the next day with my three brothers, Kevin, Matt and Patrick. I thought we’d gathered to say goodbye, to have one last whatever it was with Dad.
Standing over his failing body, I was thankful that I didn’t need to say goodbye. Thankful that I had always hugged him like I might never see him again. Glad I had seldom let him rush me off the phone.
My mind struggled to process the scene. All around him were stark reminders that the indignities of illness are unmoved by a life of good works: tidy stacks of medical supplies, various medicines and the notebooks chronicling their dispensing, never-to-be finished books and crossword puzzles, the smells of sickness.
When I was a child, Dad was a folk hero — the smartest and strongest man in the world. Now he clung to a chrome bedrail. I broke down. He stirred as I failed miserably at composing myself. He smiled. “Hi Mike.”
That night I read an e-mail from my friend Jeff, himself a veteran of the final march. “Pay attention,” he wrote. “Something important is happening.”
Even Martha Stewart might think my mother goes overboard with her planning. She is a retired schoolteacher, registered nurse and decades-long hospice volunteer. In choosing doctors, hospitals and treatments, she had always been a fierce advocate for Dad’s health. Now she became a fierce advocate for his death.
To her, Dad’s death, though heartbreaking, was as natural as it was inevitable. She knew the greater medical community often views death as defeat. She also had seen hospice patients die at home with the pain aggressively managed, not in a hospital with unmanaged expectations.
Being both painfully pragmatic and senior citizens, Mom and Dad made their wishes known. They wrote them down and spoke with us. They acted as their own death panel. But it was more abstract than creepy.
Dad had played golf five days a week, regularly shooting his age since his mid-seventies. I call my mom a “shark” because she never stops moving.
In the fall of 2009, however, months of intestinal discomfort led to the colorectal cancer diagnosis. Dad opted for mild chemotherapy. The surgical risks were unacceptable, but he wasn’t conceding any putts yet.
The chemo slowed him down a few ticks. He retained his fine white hair and good looks, but he was smaller and less steady.
In early 2010, he stopped playing golf. He quit, not because he felt bad, but because he wasn’t playing “worth a damn.” There isn’t a person alive who knew my dad when he didn’t play golf. Now he stopped. And, for the first time, I’d allowed that he was going to die someday.
Someday became the Sunday Kevin called with news of Dad’s hospitalization. He’d gone in before, but this one felt different.
Things moved quickly. I’m a professional, with understanding employers and a flexible schedule. I have a reliable partner in my wife, Sarah. Though struggling with her own grief, she and her mother took on our household and children.
My brothers were similarly fortunate, so we were all together. I wondered what death is like for those without such economic and domestic stability. Is it yet another measure of class distinction? Or is it a unifier — we all do what we must when we must?
Dad was conscious and cognizant, so there was never a doubt or dispute about his wishes. But because we were prepared, I am certain we would have pursued the same course had he been incapacitated.
Within minutes of our arrival, Mom handed us a hospice pamphlet that might as well have been called, “So You’ve Decided to Leave Your Physical Body.”
We mocked it, but we read it. It explained step by step how the body’s systems shut down as death approaches, why Dad would take no food and little water — they often cause pain and delay the inevitable. Additional hours and days would not equal additional life. They equaled more pain.
I’d watched my wife bear and deliver our two sons and marveled at the body, a perfect machine. Now I saw parallels. Sarah’s body began changing after conception, its true mission activated as if she had just seen the queen of diamonds. My father’s body was changing, too.
Astronauts don’t just yank the keys out of the space shuttle when the mission concludes. Various systems come off line in a particular order.
Dad’s organ functions slowed. He slept more, interacted less. He was barely in our world.
One afternoon the four of us struggled to change his bedding. We soon cracked ourselves up at the inability of our big brains and strong arms to perform this seemingly simple task. Dad griped. “Is this some kind of f—ing joke?” We got it together. He still wielded power.
After four days, we were ground down raw. I missed my children more than I could have ever imagined.
Friday afternoon I took Kevin to a pub. Kevin drinks less than a six-pack a year, but he said that was the best beer he’d ever had. Just getting away was productive and energizing. We would soon need all that.
Those familiar with hospice know that the employees who come into your home are the closest thing to angels. “Myrtle the Redneck” bathed Dad and worked the room. Nurse Nancy delicately examined Dad and, just as delicately, the rest of us.
That Friday, Nancy noted the signs of approaching death. Dad’s extremities were discolored and his breathing had changed. Which term is more unnerving, “death rattle” or “terminal respiration?”
His abdomen was distending and he had been more restless. The infection intensified. Nancy upped his morphine and we braced ourselves for a long night.
There was little communication with Dad now, but his eyes still sparkled for my mom. They looked at each other and cried. She told him it was OK to let go.
Matt and I took the late shift. Kevin slept and Pat returned to his family less than two miles away. Mom slept next to Dad’s hospital bed.
Dad’s attacks were coming about once an hour. He writhed and moaned. Morphine sulfite quickly calmed him.
The later it got, the briefer the respite from attack. Around 11p.m., he writhed so violently he nearly launched his failing body over the bedrails.
We rushed into the room. I held him, calming and securing his body. Matt readied the morphine. I thought to myself, how much more of this can he endure? How much should he endure?
BAM! Another attack. My left arm held him close, my right hand on his heart. It was failing. I locked on his fading eyes. The less his heart beat the more mine did. I whispered, “Go Dad. Go.” He went.
This man who’d held me as I came into the world faded in my arms on his way out. I held this great man, everything he’d done, everything he was, everything he was to me, as he breathed his last. And I never felt smaller.
As Dad would say, the week was not all “skittles and beer.” Our emotions sometimes ruled us. There was stress and anger, hurt and despair, laughter and boredom. We struggled. Stiff drinks were taken.
The next day, I returned to my family in Atlanta. The August 2 New Yorker was waiting for me. If you’ve ever lost someone, you know that coincidences are as much a part of the process as baked hams, and sure enough, there was Dr. Atul Gawande’s article, “Letting Go.” Gawande wrote that our medical and cultural approaches to terminal illnesses make the experience my family just had the exception. Agony and hospitals are all too often the norm.
Some doctors indulge themselves and their patients into thinking that over an endless timeline, with unlimited finances, humanity’s losing streak against death can be snapped. But every gambler knows the house always wins.
Lots of luck went into my Dad’s “good death,” but luck favors the prepared.
Mike Mikula is a writer and cartoonist whose “Cartoon Clicks” appeared on CNN.com from 2004 to 2010.
Adequate and proper tools are needed to accomplish any task. Everyone can agree that education is the cornerstone of success. Self image and self confidence play a major role in this equation.
Can you imagine the hurdle of not having appropriate clothing has on learning? We can’t either. Join Jackson, Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home, and the Lagonda Elementary School in the Children’s Emergency Clothes Closet Drive.
Many families and their children struggle financially and are unable to afford proper clothing and this can impact the learning environment. With so many people struggling financially because of the recession; your clothing donations matter more now than ever.
Lagonda Elementary School will store and distribute the clothing as needed to their student population. “Having appropriate clothing is something most of us take for granted” said Scott Bresee of Lagonda Elementary, Community Connector. “This impacts how children perceive themselves and directly impacts their learning. “
Anyone wishing to donate children’s clothing can do so by dropping them off at Jackson, Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home 2425 N. Limestone. Used clothing is acceptable as long as it is in good condition with working fasteners and no rips.
The drive will go on until April 22nd and the clothing will be distributed to people in need at no cost. Clothing can be dropped off at Jackson, Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home 2425 N. Limestone . Call 937-399-2811 if you need more information.
Jackson Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home understands that what served the families of our community well years ago may not be what serves them well today. This is why we remain at the forefront of innovations and services that provide real comfort and practiced solutions at a very difficult time.
Jackson Lytle & Lewis recently added a car wash service for our customers so they can make sure their car is ready the day of the service. We know they have many emotions and decisions to make and while we take care of the funeral services we decided to go one step further in helping them by taking care of one more item and making their load a little lighter.
This service is an addition to our other Signature Services of Bereavement Travel Services (discounts on airfare, car rental and hotels), 24 Hour Compassion Helpline which is staffed by professionals in grief counseling 365 days a year, Aftercare Planner which provides a step by step organization system to help simplify managing the business affairs and closing the estate, Child Grandchild Protection which provide free funeral services if a tragedy occurs and your child or grandchild need our services, Veteran Discount Program and Free Homeless Veteran Burial Program.
For details or questions on any of our Signature Services and programs contact us at 937-399-2811 or stop by 2425 N. Limestone Street to speak to a professional in person.
I recently had the opportunity to assist a personal friend of mine with his wife’s Life Celebration. As we went thru the conversation with his grown daughters it was clear that they wanted to focus on the life that she had lived and the lives she touched.
The obituary clearly stated that you were not to wear black to the Life Celebration. The event was catered and several drink options and appetizers were available and enjoyed by all. There were several stations set up with pictures and photo albums to tell her life story. Every station represented a different segment of her life. Every table in the hall was decorated with a different color table cloth. I had several people I knew comment that this was unlike any funeral they had ever attended and that they liked it. My response was this is not the funeral this is the Life Celebration and the formal funeral service will be tomorrow and these are two seperate events. Lights seemed to go on in people’s heads and they did not realize this could be done, but now this is what they will do in the future.
Here is an excerpt from the follow up letter from the husband.
“Thank You.
My daughters and I would like to thank the many relatives, and friends that came to our assistance during our time of sorrow. Your many acts of kindness , the meals that you prepared for us, your thoughtful words, your visits, your phone calls, your cards, your emails, your flowers, your donations to the identified charities, your attendance at the Celebration of Life and the chapel service, all of which were signs of your love and friendship for Barbara and her family.
Some of you were not able to attend the Celebration of Life or the service at the chapel so I wanted to give you a glimpse of what took place. The Celebration of Life gave us an opportunity to meet with many of you and share memories about Barbara. We displayed many pictures illustrating the various parts of her life, such as her modeling pictures when she was 18 (an absolute beauty), her wedding pictures (me with hair), pictures of her from Cheer Mom days, travel pictures from around the world, pictures of her crafts, and many family photos. The service at the chapel provided the many that attended an opportunity to share funny and loving stories of how Barbara touched each of our lives. All of them made us smile and laugh and feel lucky that she was part of our life.
Life with Barbara was a joy in many ways everyday. She made me the luckiest guy in the world when she said “YES” when I proposed in 1972. We will miss her………….
Frank, thank you for your guidance and suggestions on the Life Celebration and chapel service. Everything was perfect.”
This is a great example of what you can do with a Life Celebration and the positive impact on both the family and the friends that participated.
Our Life Celebration staff will work with you to incorporate your personal touches, because giving honor to a loved one makes the entire experience more meaningful.
Through a Life Celebration, families and friends are given guidance by professionals to make the choices which allow them to create a memorable tribute, coming together to remember and celebrate the unique life of their loved one.
Allowing families and friends to share dear memories and personal reminiscences is the greatest service you can provide. It is a therapeutic and valuable way to help them move beyond the sorrows of today, while continuing to preserve the legacy of the past.
PURPOSE
To allow families to customize and personalize funeral services. Viewing each service as an opportunity for family and friends to become
immersed in the lives of their loved ones, life celebrations allow family and friends to create a unique tribute to the lives their loved ones lived, and everyone their life may have touched.
GUIDANCE
Our staff will work hand in hand with you to guide you through developing a service that remembers the life of your loved one. Whether he or she was involved in sports, military service, religious or community activities or simply enjoyed being surrounded by family and friends, the life celebration service will feature what was important to your loved one.
CHOICES
Our professionals are here to guide you through your choices. Listening and understanding your desires will facilitate the creation of a truly memorable service, one that allows family and friends to come together, bringing comfort at a time of loss.
MEMORIES
Although your loved one has passed, they continue to live on in the hearts of the lives they touched. Professionals will facilitate your service, allowing family and friends to share dear memories and personal remembrances. This therapeutic and valuable service is the best service you can receive, allowing you to move beyond the sorrows of today, while continuing to preserve the legacy of the past.
SIMPLICITY
Life celebrations are designed to provide a meaningful tribute to your loved one. Recognizing that this is a difficult time for families and friends, our staff will provide you the tools necessary to create your service, without creating undue burden on family and friends.
For most it is not about the casket. It is about the story.
All people will tell you they would rather their legacy and your memories be more about the days they lived than the day they died.
|
Personality: Society: Life: |
For many, writing and reading a eulogy at a funeral is a way of not only paying homage to the life and memory of their loved one, but also as a way to say farewell. A eulogy allows the audience to become at peace with the memory of the deceased, as it gives ample opportunity to celebrate what made that person so special and unique. A eulogy can be as simple as reciting the person’s favorite poem, or Bible verse, or as personal as reading special memories out loud to the audience. Whatever option you choose, if you decide to write a eulogy, you’ll have the opportunity to give a fitting tribute for your loved one, since the eulogy marks the process in which family members and friends can become closer to the deceased while letting go at the same time.
Many people find writing and giving a eulogy to be a difficult task, especially if they’re dealing with their own grief. In this respect, a eulogy can be hard to compose and recite, so if you feel you won’t be up to the task, then you shouldn’t feel pressured into giving one.
That being said, here are the best tips and techniques on how to write a eulogy as tribute to the memory of your loved one:
Think Of What Made The Person So Special. The eulogy is meant to give life to whatever it was that made your loved one special in the lives of so many. You can capture this essence by telling funny, happy or sad stories; fond memories that you may have; or simply things that they did that made the world a better place, such as volunteering or always having an ear at the ready for anyone who wanted to talk. Additionally, think of who was important in their lives – did your loved one have any special relationships that made them feel happy or fulfilled? Once you have the material, you’ll be ready to put your eulogy to paper.
Don’t Write Linearly. For many, the most difficult part of composing the eulogy is the introduction. If you don’t know where to start, don’t worry about it; you can start with the middle or end of the eulogy, then return to the beginning when you have a better grasp of what to say.
While the beginning of a eulogy may stump some, the ending can pose an even greater challenge. If you’re not sure how to leave off your eulogy, consider playing a piece of music that was significant to your loved one – or simply say a short sentence of farewell from the heart. Your audience will find your tribute both touching and appropriate.
Check Your Facts. If you mention any dates or stories in the eulogy, make sure that the facts are accurate. Your audience will be distracted by any mistakes, so check with close relatives to make sure that your eulogy is error-free.
Take Deep Breaths. Delivering the eulogy can be just as difficult as composing one, if not more so. Between battling with nerves to struggling with your own grief, you may find that you’re beginning to dread when it’s your turn to speak. However, there are some techniques that you can employ that will calm any nerves, as well as provide you with support should you become overwhelmed.
Be sure to remember that these are family and friends who are gathered at the funeral, and they won’t judge you for your performance. Speak slowly and deliberately, as nervousness and anxiety tend to make us speak faster. Bring a close relative or loved one up to the podium to provide emotional support should you find it difficult to continue. Remember, showing your emotion is perfectly natural; if you become overwhelmed, take a few deep breaths and carry on. You’re not expected to give a perfect speech, and your audience will be completely supportive and appreciative of your efforts.
Delivering a eulogy can be one of the most difficult parts of a funeral service, for both the speaker and the audience. However, eulogies offer everyone a chance to acknowledge their grief for the deceased, the impact that they had on the world and the special things that will be missed with their passing. In this light, a eulogy is like a connection to both the living and the dead, where an audience can grieve about the passing and let go all at once.
Many times, we are unable to reconcile disagreements, estrangements, and relationships before a loved one passes away. It doesn’t matter whether you spent years not talking to one another, or if the disagreement is recent and still very painful – it’s never easy to deal with death when there are lingering emotions that haven’t been sorted out. And in cases where the emotions are negative, there are even more considerations.
Some of the key questions to ask yourself before attending the funeral of someone you have been estranged from include:
Can you (and the family) put aside any bad feelings for the day? Most of the time, a funeral is considered something of a neutral zone, in which everyone is allowed to bereave and pay their respects as they see fit. If this isn’t the case in your particular situation, it might be better to find a different way to say your goodbyes.
Will going to the funeral help you work through your feelings with the deceased, regardless of what you might feel towards him or her? The same can be said of family members and how you will most likely interact with them. Funerals are typically a time to say goodbye and begin a long process of grieving. If attending will help you in this process, it might be a good idea to go.
Will you regret it if you don’t go? No matter how difficult it may be to attend the funeral, this is your only chance. In some circumstances, regret at not attending can be worse than facing your fears head-on.
What will be gained or lost by your attendance? Think of this in terms of personal growth as well as what the family and friends of the deceased might feel. If your presence will help you gain perspective but cause considerable harm to the family, you’ll have to weigh the pros and cons carefully. The same is true for the reverse (e.g., if the family asks you to attend, but you’re not sure it’s a healthy step for you to take).
What is the length of time that you’ve been estranged? Time has a way of lessening many types of negative feelings, and you may find that sentiments you harbor aren’t shared by family members after all this time.
Would it be better to attend the viewing, but not stay for the funeral ceremony? Can you enter quietly and in the back, without drawing attention to yourself or the fact that you are there? The logistics of the funeral plan can have an influence on whether or not you go. If you’re not comfortable asking the family member in charge of planning the funeral about these issues, phone the funeral director and explain your situation.
The decision of whether or not to attend the funeral is one that only you can make, and based only on your particular circumstances. While a long- or short-term estrangement with the deceased means that you’re not likely to play a role in the funeral planning process, your presence at the ceremony and/or burial will have an impact – not only on your peace of mind, but also on other family members or friends who may have taken sides in the estrangement.
This Christmas and winter season was made better by the generosity and effort of many here in Springfield. The second annual Jackson, Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home and Salvation Army Warm Coats – Warm Hearts Coat Drive was a huge success. We were able to distribute well over 1,500 coats free of charge to those in our community in need of assistance this year in their battle to keep warm during the winter months.
Many adults and children struggle during the winter months because they are unable to afford proper cold-weather attire. With so many people struggling financially because of the recession, your coat and clothing donations mattered more this year than ever. Thank you for the response. It has been great.
The coats were distributed through the Salvation Army, Lagonda Elementary School and the Children’s Rescue Center. “Having a warm coat in the winter is something many of us take for granted” said Ryan Ray of the Salvation Army, Youth Pastor. “But there are far too many people lacking the funds to meet their families’ most basic necessities: food, shelter and clothing”
While the coat drive is officially completed we are still accepting coats. If you received a new coat or sweater or other winter attire this Christmas and now have an extra one that could help keep someone warm this winter season we will make sure that your donation is put to good use by someone in need.
Anyone wishing to donate coats for men, women or children can do so by dropping them off at Jackson, Lytle & Lewis Funeral Home 2425 N. Limestone. Used coats are acceptable as long as they are in good condition with working fasteners and no rips. Other types of outerwear are acceptable and appreciated, like sweaters, jackets and sweatshirts. Even hats and gloves can help someone stay warm this season.
Call 937-399-2811 if you need more information.
