Category Archives: Death and Dying

Only Child on Losing a Parent to Cancer

Sharon at 13 with Mom and Dad

When your mother or father is terminally ill and dies when you are still a child, you lose a part of your life, but more importantly you lose a part of yourself. Your mother or your father is no longer there and the hole that was once him or her follows you around like a bad omen.

Especially if you are an only child like me. Yes, I know, I’m a senior now, but that happened to me when I was growing up. Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer at age 58 and I wasn’t quite 10. That was back in the late 1950s when the treatment options for cancer were limited to cut and burn. The link between smoking and cancer was known then, but a lot of it was hidden from public view. Tobacco companies were keeping their mouths shut about it. Here is a much later than 1950s study that covers that issue.

Dad had half a lung removed for the cancer. But that wasn’t the end of it. Two years later cancer spread to his brain and he had to cope with that for four more years. So did Mom and me. I inadvertently found a unique way for Mom and me to do so. But it wasn’t until later years when I was around Dad’s age of death , that I realized what Mom and I were doing back then. What had been foremost in my mind after Dad’s cancer returned was me pulling away from him emotionally because I was afraid he would die. Deep down that was probably something I knew. It scared me and as a pre-teen and teenager that was how I coped. I am not proud of this.

I wrote a personal essay about Dad’s cancer and something Mom and I were doing at the same time after he returned home from his second stay in hospital. The memoir piece was just published in the online magazine The Smart Set which is a publication of Drexel University in Philadelphia. Perhaps what Mom and I were doing did help, maybe even my Dad. We don’t always know or realize these things at the time.

Here is the link to “Don’t Look Down” in The Smart Set Magazine.

Cheers.

Sharon

Only Child Writes

Only Child’s Dad when younger

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under 1950s, Albert Langevin, cancer, Death and Dying, Health, Mom and Dad, Piano

Only Child on fears about getting old

Only Child with Mom and Dad in the early 1960s.

Only Child with Mom and Dad in the early 1960s.

A artist friend has sent out a survey of four questions on aging for those 60 years and over. The survey is in connection with an art show she is exhibiting in fall 2017. I haven’t done the survey yet, but the first question has really got me thinking. Her question?

As a woman approaching/over the age of 60, what is my greatest fear?

Before I answer it, I’m going back to my mother and my father as their lives as seniors or almost seniors are influencing me.

My father had some form of cancer the last six years of his life. An operation that removed half a lung stopped the cancer there, but it spread to his brain and surfaced twice in two different places. Radiation stopped it in the one area, but four years later it returned in another area of his brain. That one killed him. He was 66, So much for three times is a charm – unless it is a bad charm.  At least Mom and I were with him at the end. I was 16 and despite expecting this to happen, still felt the loss. We had all gone through so much suffering and for this?

After Dad died, Mom was never the same. She had lost her soul mate and her body began to betray her. Arthritis appeared in mega-doses – rheumatoid arthritis in her hands, feet and ankles, causing much pain and disfigurement. If that weren’t enough, God threw in something just as bad – schleroderma – which attacked her insides and her face – hard puffy cheeks and a low (as in not loud, not timbre) almost squeaky voice. She had lost her autonomy and no  matter what her youngest sister and I did, she got worse. She decided to downsize to an apartment and so began the long job of getting rid of stuff. Looking back, I wished I had done more. But I was a typical late teens adolescent, although I was working at my first job as a secretary for the Ontario Government. My boyfriend (later my husband) stepped in to help and organized the two of us to at least get some of the smaller stuff to the apartment, stuff we didn’t want to go in the moving truck. He didn’t have a car or drive then. So there we were, making many trips back and forth (a five-block walk) with as much stuff as possible crammed into her bundle buggy.  And once we were moved to the apartment, I took over most of the grocery shopping, including paying for groceries. But she helped – she taught me how to budget and how to shop. Something I use to this day.

Mom would visit her sister on her sister’s farm in western Ontario but that brought problems too. She fell on the steps (two steps) and back home, she fell off her vanity bench. The latter sent her into a coma and despite an operation, she died five days later, officially of a brain aneurysm. I say arthritis killed her. It happened to fast and I, at 22, was in a daze. Her sister, my godmother, took me back to the farm to heal. But a few days don’t heal. Especially when Mom died at 63.

So, here I sit, in my late 60s, surpassing both my parents in age, and faced with Ramune’s first question.

As a woman approaching/over the age of 60, what is my greatest fear?

It’s a multiple answer, hung together by three words “losing my health.” The litany for that goes something like this. “I fear getting cancer, any cancer, stroke or aneurysm, completing losing any of my senses (and in the last year I’ve had a taste of temporarily losing 85 per cent of my hearing and being threatened with going blind in one eye), losing my mobility and losing my mind.”

Any of those could put me over the deep end. I am not one to wait it out and/or live life not to its fullest. I would like to live to 80, barring the above happening (and I do have health issues which at this point I live with – complaining a lot of course). If any of the above in quotations happens, get me out of here.

Funny, I don’t even consider heart issues as a fear. Maybe I think I could deal with that?

What is  your greatest fear in life? No matter what your age now.

Comments, please.

Cheers.

Sharon

Only Child Writes

Only Child and her Dad on the veranda of house where she grew up.

Only Child at 13  and her Dad on the veranda of house where she grew up.

The teenage Only Child with her late mother who inspired her to do good deeds

The teenage Only Child with her late mother

 

4 Comments

Filed under 1950s, 1960s, Albert Langevin, cancer, Dad, Death and Dying, Family, Health Seniors, Mom and Dad, Only child, Seniors

Only Child on quality versus quantity of life

Only Child  contemplates quality vs quantity of life

Only Child contemplates quality vs quantity of life

Yesterday I attended the funeral service for the mother of a friend. The mother was in her late 80s and for the past 10 years had suffered from dementia. Her quality of life was not good. My friend had to put her in a nursing home eight years ago but she spent a good part of her days with her mother.

It got me thinking of quality versus quantity of life. For those of you who have been following this blog you may remember that my parents did not live to a ripe old age. My dad died of brain cancer at 66 when I was 16 and my mom died of a sudden brain aneurysm at age 63 when I was 22. Here we have my dad suffering from some form of cancer off and on for six years before he died. He was not in a good place (and I don’t mean the hospital) in the last few months. Mom, on the other hand, had a few headaches, then the aneurysm and despite surgery, she died five days later.

Two of my maternal uncles and a first cousin once removed (I hate that ancestry categorization – sounds like they are getting kicked out of the family) lived into their 90s. When the cousin died at 90, she was blind, had dementia and a bad heart. One uncle, my godfather, died at the same age. He had dementia and heart problems. The other uncle, not a blood relative, died at age 98 and was healthy – mind and body – almost up to when he died.

My paternal grandfather died in his early 70s the same year my parents were married – so before I was born. My paternal grandma died in her mid-80s of a heart attack. She still had all her mental facilities and was able to get around okay.

That’s my history. But I’ve seen a lot of other suffering from illnesses and from my observations I truly believe that quality of life trumps quantity. If your mind is gone; if your body is filled with sickness that will kill you, is there a point in carrying on?

However, having said that I believe it is up to the individual to decide if they want to end their life sooner than later if they are terminally ill (of mind and/or body). It is not up to God’s will (and how often has that term been mis-used – from the family of terminally ill people praying for a miracle, to if the person dies well, they say, it was just God’s will.)

Excuse me. It is not God’s life but yours, mine – the person who is terminally will. If God gave us free will then we should have the right, if terminally ill, to decide if we want to die sooner than later. Quality over quantity.

And that’s where the problem arises.

Canada now has given the okay to assisted suicide, although the details have to be worked out. I have a problem with that, not because it will still be up to the dying person to decide, but because another person has to get involved. For every other medical procedure and the like I believe medical doctors have to go by the letter of the law – whatever their beliefs. But not here. I think they should be allowed to go by their conscience as long as they recommend a doctor who will assist in suicide. And not interfere with the dying person’s choice.

The other problem is often a person is too sick to decide and unfortunately hasn’t made a living will. So the family members try to impose what they want and believe to be right, not necessarily what the dying person wants. And not all family members agree.

So, it is a dilemma. Maybe we should have had it built into our being that if and when we become terminally ill, we just die right away.

Of course, some won’t make it that far because of other people’s actions, from vehicle crashes to plane crashes like the German plane crashing over France because of the co-pilot’s deliberate actions.

Perhaps the only thing to do is carpe diem – something I struggle with because of all the problems in my life – and I don’t mean just health-related.

What do you think?

 

Cheers.

Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child Writes

Leave a comment

Filed under Assisted Suicide, cancer, Carpe Diem, Death and Dying, Dying with Dignity, Family, Family and Friends, Mom and Dad, Only child, Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child scowls through life

Only Child wearing her gentler scowl.

Only Child wearing her gentler scowl.

The old Charlie Chaplin song Smile tells us to smile through all our grief (Smile, music: Charlie Chaplin, Lyrics: John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons) but I’m not buying it for me. A study at Wayne  State University (published in Psychological Science says those who smile can live up to 79 years – the wider the smile the longer the life.

Those of us who are glum can expect to live to 73 years, according to the same study.

Do you know where this study’s researchers got their information? By looking at photos of  230 Major League baseball player on 1952 baseball cards,  seeing if they scowl or grin (and how wide the grin) and then checking records to see at what age they died.

I thought these studies were supposed to use the actual people – not pictures and records of them. Maybe the baseball players smiled purposely for the photo. (That was considered in the study, but obviously not held to much importance). Maybe the players were having a good or bad day and smiled or scowled accordingly.

This isn’t enough research for me to change my scowls to smiles. I do occasionally smile but my main facial expression, the last year at least, is a big fat scowl. And it’s not all squinting at the sun or trying to read the print on my computer when my eyes are bummed out for the day. I scowl because of all the misery I have in my life – all the stuff I referred to in my last post (and earlier posts) as coming at me from outside, or as I put it “dealing with others’ shit coming at me”).

As for attitude and perception – I’ve tried the positive route. The beginning of this year I had high hopes 2014 would be much better. Except for some financial improvement, it’s not turning out that way. And the “financial improvement” may all literally go out the window  to replace a few new windows so the rain can’t come in and yet another major excavation outside to waterproof the basement wall because of the contractor Nigel Applewaite’s screw-up in 2011. I’m now booking contractors and window companies for estimates, but deep down I don’t think my finances will cover it all – even with some help from my ex-husband. I’m already carrying debt and am trying to pay it down.

Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be frightful – a mix of rain, ice pellets, snow and high winds – from the east and southeast – right where it can get into my basement when we have this concoction. To top it off I have a sore swollen gland – the tale end and/or a branch of the sinusitis I thought went away a couple of weeks ago.

And don’t tell me if I had smiled 24/7 I wouldn’t have this viral infection.

Back to the study. Look at the life ages predicted. Seventy-nine (for the big grinners) and 72.9 (actual) for us scowlers. Not much difference. But more to the point for me. Even at my age, 72.9 is far far away when you have to put up with all the crap coming at you on a daily basis.

It’s not as if I don’t do anything about it. I don’t bury my head in the sand (if Icould  find it under the snow and ice). I tackle my problems and try to resolve them and get rid of them for good.

But like a bad penny they won’t go away.

Oh, correction, the penny has gone away – from the Canadian monetary system at least. Maybe PM Stephen Harper had the right idea here.

Unfortunate that all the other bad pennies in life won’t stay away.

See story on this baseball players smile study at http://healthland.time.com/2010/03/25/grinning

and

 How smile intensity may offer clues about longevity | TIME.com http://healthland.time.com/2010/03/25/grinning-for-a-longer-life/#ixzz2wKIX3j5m

More stories can be found by Googling “smiling and longevity study”

Cheers. (or should that be “Scowls”)

Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child Writes

Leave a comment

Filed under Death and Dying, Debt, Leaky Basements, Life demands, Money, Only child, Rain, Smiling and Longevity, Snow, Weather, Winter Weather

Only Child honours Dad on his anniversary

Only child's Dad when he worked for the railway

Only child’s Dad when he worked for the railway

Losing a parent can be devastating, but particularly if you are a child. My dad, Albert Langevin,  died from brain cancer at 66 on November 15, 1965. That is a double whammy as I was only 16 at the time. But if truth be told, Mom and I had lost Dad years before that to cancer, starting with the first cancer hit in his lungs a few months before my 10th birthday. Surgery of half a lung removed got rid of it there, but cancer being cancer, it spread to his brain two and a half years later. Mom and I thought he would die. And we had the talk.

One day Mom corrals me in the kitchen.

“Sharon, I have something to tell you,” she begins, as we stand, facing each other. This isn’t sit-down business. “Your father has cancer of the brain.”

“Is he going to live?”

“I don’t know.”

Our hug does not reassure. (excerpted from You Can Go Home – Deconstructing the Demons, copyright 2013 Sharon A. Crawford)

So Mom called in the “troops” in the form of one of her older sisters to help out at the house so she could spend more time with Dad and often I joined her.

Aunt Gretchen now joins the litany of worriers hovering around Dad as he continues to vomit and endure the headaches. She brings her dumpy flowered housedresses, straight black hair, black oxfords, and bricks of blue cheese that stink up our fridge and would probably kill Dad if he were home and could keep anything down. I don’t remember Gretchen ever setting foot in the hospital, but she rules the home front. She commandeers the cooking and washing up after dinner, supposedly a blessing for mother and me…

 

Gretchen’s answer is to pray. I still hold onto religion then, so our impromptu female trinity prays rosaries, as if strumming the circle of beads and muttering praises and pleas will make my father whole and keep him alive.

     

St. Michael’s Hospital radiatesa friendlier air than Western, maybe because the chief guardian angel resides there. And St. Mike must have listened to our prayers, because one day when mother and I walk into his room, Dad smiles at us.

 

“I ate a cheese sandwich, and it stayed down,” he says. [Author Note: not blue cheese]

     

Soon after Dad returns to our house and Aunt Gretchen returns to hers. (excerpted from You Can Go Home – Deconstructing the Demons, copyright 2013 Sharon A. Crawford)

That wasn’t the end of the cancer but four years later would be Dad’s end.

I like to remember Dad for more than just his cancer. He taught me to ride my bicycle, leading me along our street and the dead end crescent adjoining it. I was nine and a half, maybe a bit old to be just learning to ride a bike as my best friend The Bully told me. Looking back I realize that Dad holding the bike bars and leading me around along our street helped neutralize this Bully’s remarks. True, Dad was overprotective, as elderly parents often are, but he tried to protect me from The Bully.

Dad gave me the gift of being a railway/train-riding enthusiast. Dad worked as a timekeeper for the old CNR (when CN was CNR and had passenger service) so Mom and I got free passes. Our annual holidays to Grandpa’s and my godmother’s farms near Walkerton, Ontario, trips to visit the Detroit, Michigan relatives, and tourist trips to Buffalo, Rochester and New York City were all courtesy of Dad.

Dad’s railway job (an office one at the CNR office when it was in Toronto) may have induced his obsession with all things (including the kitchen wall clock and his watch) being on time. We had to arrive at Toronto’s Union Station very early so he could be first in line to get on the train. Once we were allowed on, Dad cased the joint by walking up and down the coach aisles until he found the perfect seat. Then he would grab the top of the seat back and slide the seat backwards, creating two double seats facing each. I know, this dates me, but it was a great answer to keep families travelling together.

One of our trips to Detroit, when I was five was memorable because when the train arrived at Windsor, Ontario, a boat took us, train and all across the Detroit River.

 

Enter the Landsdowne Ferry in 1891, at 312 feet, the longest ferry on the Great Lakes. That summer of 1954, Mom, Dad and I were fortunate to take one of its last runs because in September 1955 or 1956, depending on your source, the CNR pulled the plug on passenger railway/ferry service. Once again passengers had to disembark from a train at Windsor and board an American train at Detroit. This time a bus carried them through the Detroit-Windsor tunnel.

 

But to a five-year old, the river run is a big sea adventure filled with rollicking train coaches and the screech of metal wheels on steel rails as the train jerks and jolts onto the long open freighter. Instead of the train whistle, we get the foghorn call of the boat and the floor seems to zig and zag. I hang onto the seat, but I also look out the window. The train appears to be moving on water, as if its wheels are kicking through the river…

 

We head to the back of the train and I gasp. The doorway is wide open and an expansion gate blocks our exit out onto the boat. On the other side of the gate the top of the boat sits level with the tracks, and beyond is the city of Windsor, fast disappearing as the boat-train sloshes and kicks its way through the dark green Detroit River. (excerpted from You Can Go Home – Deconstructing the Demons, copyright 2013 Sharon A. Crawford.

Sometimes in November I can feel Dad’s spirit here in my house. In 2005, on the 40th anniversary of his death, I heard his spirit rush through the house, through the back hallway.

I don’t know if he will re-appear so dramatically this year, but I know he is here.

Love you and miss you Dad.

Cheers.

Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child Writes

Dad's last picture

Dad’s last picture

Only Child at 13 and Dad on veranda of house where she grew up

Only Child at 13 and Dad on veranda of house where she grew up

Leave a comment

Filed under 1950s, 1960s, Albert Langevin, Canadian National Railway, Death and Dying, Elderly parents, Family, Mom and Dad, Only child memoir, Railways, Sharon A. Crawford, Vacations

Only Child looks at dying with dignity

Only Child contemplates death and dying

When I was 16 I announced to my parents, “People should have the right to commit suicide if they wish.” The silence around the kitchen table echoed the shocked looks on my Mom’s and Dad’s faces.

What did I expect? We were all Catholic. Back then in the grey ages, the Catholic Church didn’t even bury suicides in consecrated ground. That has now changed.

So has the law on suicides. Did you know that in Canada it used to be a criminal offence to commit suicide? Of course you had to survive the suicide to be charged. Kind of ironic if you didn’t actually commit the deed you were charged. I know there is still a criminal charge of attempted murder of another person but that’s murder.

I’m talking assisted suicide here. And my views on suicide have changed somewhat since my pronouncement at the dinner table.

Lately, there has been a lot in the news about dying with dignity and assisted suicide. In July, the Supreme Court of British Columbia ruled physicians who help terminally ill patients who request assisted suicide should be exempt from the Criminal Code section referring to “aids or abets a person to commit suicide” The BC court gave a one-year moratorium to its decision so Parliament could rewrite the current law. Read more about it at http://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/story/2012/07/13/pol-cp-federal-appeal-assisted-suicide.html  The advocate and main plaintiff here was BC resident, Gloria Taylor, who had ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease). The court granted her an exemption from the current law for a year.

Almost 10 years ago another advocate for assisted suicide, Sue Rodrigues, again dying from Lou Gehrig’s Disease and again in British Columbia was not granted her wish for assisted suicide (Sue Rodriguez v. The Attorney General of Canada and the Attorney General of British Columbia). However, Rodrigues had her doctor-assisted suicide. The doctor’s name was never revealed and no charges were laid against him or her. Read about it (with references) at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rodriguez_v._British_Columbia_%28Attorney_General%29

Shortly after the June 2012 BC Supreme Court decision, the Federal Parliament appealed to revoke this law. And Gloria Taylor died this month– from natural causes – an infection.

Except for perhaps abortion, controlling our last days on earth (as much as we can; we can’t control getting murdered) is the biggest issue evoking passion on both sides of the fence.

My take is the individual who has either a terminal illness and/or who is suffering from a debilitating illness should decide whether to live or die. And for those of you thinking it is God’s will whether we live or die and even when we live or die, ask yourself the question “ Have you ever heard or read about anyone saying that a murder or fatal car accident is God’s will?” Shouldn’t this aspect apply to terminal/debilitating illness as well? For example, doesn’t a lot of whether a person with cancer or heart failure dies on the operating table or not have something to do with the surgeon’s skills and the patient’s condition?

The individual’s choice means if the individual wants to keep on living as long as possible, then so be it. Give the person all the medical and emotional support needed. But if he or she wants to end life when things go from bad to worse – but aren’t in any condition to do so – then assisted suicide by a medical doctor should be allowed with appropriate guidelines and it must be stated by the ill person in a Living Will, etc. (when they can still do so) that this is his or her wish. We don’t want a greedy offspring with Power of Attorney signing Mom or Dad up for assisted suicide just to get his inheritance. But do we want someone kept on life support who doesn’t want to be because that is the way it is done medically and legally?

I no longer think that anyone who wants to kill himself should be allowed to do so. If a person is depressed he or she should be helped and supported (and not to die). Having had a cousin in his late 30s kill himself and also attempting suicide myself thirty years ago when I was depressed has made me see some light here. I had little support (except a shrink) back then (postpartum depression blew up into a full depression if you must know) and I think with more support I might have never tried to go to the other side. Just lucky here as I miscounted the number of pills that would do it and I called a distress centre. But that’s another topic for another post. My depression wore off when another illness hit – migraines. Today it’s anxiety and worry I deal with, not depression.

What I do think is if I’m terminally ill or have Alzheimer’s I don’t want to stick around to the bitter end with all the pain and suffering to get there – not just mine, but my family’s. But I want to live as long as the quality of my life is still good. I’ve already appointed my son as Power of Attorney if my health gets to the point where that is needed. And as my lawyer told me, the POA only puts the person in charge of your health. You (I) have to specify what the POS person must do. I have – in a Living Will which I gave my son and in a talk I had with him and his girlfriend/partner.

In a nutshell, figure out what you want to do about your death and dying (and that includes funerals, burials, or not, etc.) – do all the legal paperwork and let your family know your wishes – verbally and in writing. My lawyer has also told me about visiting dying clients in the hospital where family members argued about whether to pull the plug or not.

Now we need governments to do the right thing and give people the choice.

Comments?

Cheers.

Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child Writes

Leave a comment

Filed under Assisted Suicide, Death and Dying, Dying with Dignity, Family, Health, Only child, Sharon A. Crawford, Suicide

Only Child looks at gratitude

Only Child is grateful for her family – with son Martin and his partner Alison

As we Canadians just celebrated our Thanksgiving it is time to look at gratitude – especially its relation to happiness. In the past 10 years a number of studies have linked the two. I’m not impressed with the results.

Look at the title of one study Practicing Gratitude Can Increase Happiness by 25%. That doesn’t even make the halfway mark. This article at http://www.spring.org.uk/2007/09/practicing-gratitude-can-increase.php refers to a study carried out by Dr. Robert A. Emmons in 2003 which is published in his book Thanks. While Dr. Emmons covers all sides of the fence in his studies (gratitude, hassles and everyday occurrences), the bottom line is only 25% upped their happiness scale for expressing gratitude.

In another later study by Dr. Emmons, subjects did a daily practice of writing down what they were grateful for and the gratitude-happiness ratio increased. Another study focused on adults with congenital disorders and adult-onset neuromuscular disorders. The ones that wrote down their gratitude every day slept better, woke up more refreshed, and felt more optimistic. More studies are outlined in this excellent article by Ocean Robbins in The Huffington Post at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ocean-robbins/having-gratitude-_b_1073105.html.

I have no quarrel with the studies, the articles or the books. My point is nobody’s life is perfect and burying the bad while expressing gratitude for the good in your life doesn’t sit well with me. Maybe it’s because of my late Mom’s weird sense of honesty. Maybe it’s my grade six teacher always harping on “I’ll give credit where credit is due” and my silent addition (“and discredit where discredit is due”).

Or maybe it’s because my parents died young – Dad at 66 after almost seven years of cancer off and on and Mom at 63 of a brain aneurysm five months after its cause hit her (she had arthritis and it caused a nasty fall onto the hardwood floor in our apartment). I was 16 when Dad died and 22 when Mom died.

Add in my own long list of ailments (which I won’t bore you with but they number almost as many fingers, including thumbs on my hands). I certainly don’t feel grateful for these health issues, especially as they are all permanent and some interfere with my life. I try to make the best of my situation but that doesn’t make me grateful.

Except for one health problem – migraines –for two reasons I am grateful for migraines – Migraines started me writing in the healthcare field, but my migraines are long gone. That makes a big difference.

I’m not advocating that we skip giving gratitude. I’m just saying we should also acknowledge what we are not grateful for. Doing so gives me motivation to improve my situation where I can but also to acknowledge others suffering which may be worse and perhaps lending a helping hand. For example, if I see someone struggle to get on a bus and they have a cane I will move so they can have a seat close to the door. Or if I see someone with feet or leg problems struggling down the stairs or taking their time, I give them their space and am thankful I can still walk with ease – most days. When my legs or feet “act up,” it’s a different story.

Some people can be grateful for having cancer and I am not slamming them. I think gratitude and well, non-gratitude, are subjective. I also believe in balancing the gratitude/non-gratitude equation. Fair is fair – something else I learned when growing up.

It really doesn’t do to be all Pollyanna. There can lie the route to denial.

Cheers.

Sharon A. Crawford

Only Child Writes

Leave a comment

Filed under Death and Dying, Gratitude, Happiness, Health, Mom and Dad, Mother dying, Only child, Sharon A. Crawford, startling statistics