Writer Wednesday: Introducing...

Me.

I was supposed to interview someone else, someone way more fabulous, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me today. My name is Pamela Skjolsvik and I write.  I'm not on the NYT's best seller list.  In fact, I have a fairly slim publishing history.  And you know what?  That's okay.  I keep putting myself out there because a.) I'm very persistent and b.) my sensitive, thin writer skin is now becoming thick and calloused.  In fact, I laugh at the cool calculated form letters of rejection.  Ha!

So anyway, in the past month, most of my writer brain cells have been focused on this blog.  I discovered through the A-Z challenge that I kind of like this blogging thing.  It's casual.  There's no pressure.  I don't feel like I have to be smart or profound or have a terrific narrative arc.  I just get to be me and connect with people. And sometimes what ends up on this blog means something to someone and let me tell you, that is a WONDERFUL feeling.  

But in the past week, things have changed.  I sent out my book proposal to an agent and she was kind enough to read it and give me some pointers about how to make it better.  So, now I've got to write like my life depends on it and what am I doing?  I'm writing this blog.  Why?  

Because I'm afraid.

I'm afraid that I'm not good enough.

Or smart enough.

And that people won't like me.

FEAR.  It is a total and complete bitch.  Up until the age of 38, my fear of social situations and meeting new people prevented me from actually living my life.  It took going to grad school in a mid-life crisis moment of "what am I going to be when I grow up?" to finally start living.  But I had to look at death to do that.  Funny how that worked.  Oh, and I also went to therapy after that whole death trip.  Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is wonderful if you're afraid to walk into a party and not be a wine swilling dip clinger.  (and yes, wine swilling dip clinger just popped out of my head and I ran with it.  Say it three times fast!)

So, next week, I'll have my regularly scheduled writer on here.  I will have my proposal done or pretty close to being done.  And I will kick fear's ass to the curb.  Kinda like Ripley in the power loader.

So, what are you doing this week?  Going to the beach?  Reading a good book?  Fighting aliens in your mind?   Tell me.

Movie Tuesday: How to Die in Oregon

I've written about this movie before, but that was prior to people actually reading my blog.  Like last week's post, this is a documentary, probably the most powerful, beautiful documentary I've ever seen and I've seen a few.  It's about the Death with Dignity law in Oregon.  So, watch the trailer.  And if you can, watch the film.  It's out on dvd now.  I'd love to hear what you thought about it.  Yes, it's controversial, but I guarantee this film will get you talking about death.  And that's an important talk to have.

Okay, brave readers, who has seen this film?  Anyone live in Oregon?  Talk to me.

Monday Mournings: The Death of a Sister

Susan Oloier, author and writer; mother and wife. In my previous life I was a third grade teacher and Reading Specialist until my husband and I decided to quit our jobs, sell our house, and buy an RV to travel the U.S. for a year with our then two-year-old son. Now I write and take care of my kiddos. I was raised in the Midwest, lived in Phoenix for quite some time, and now reside in SW CO.

DW:  Who was the person who died?

Susan:  My sister-in-law, Sara. Her death last year dealt a devastating blow.

DW:  How old were you at the time?

Susan:  Early 40s.

DW: How old was the person? 

Susan:  36

DW:Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen? 

Susan:  It was sudden and tragic. Sara was driving home from work, and there was a horrible car accident. No one else was involved. Somehow, she wound up hitting a concrete light pole. I believe they had to use the jaws of life to extricate her. She was taken to the hospital with countless injuries. I can still picture her lying there—so much herself, yet so very different. She never did wake up, so my brother was faced with some extremely difficult decisions. To this day, no one knows what happened.

DW:  Did you and Sara ever talk about death? 

Susan:  We never really talked about her death. Though, I would occasionally bring up the life-limiting diagnosis of my younger son with her. She was so warm and loving with him; very compassionate.

DW:  Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before this person died? 

Susan:  Yes. Many. Family pets (don’t laugh), all of my grandparents, aunts and uncles, two miscarriages, a close friend to cancer, and way too many children of other families who had children with Trisomy 18—my son’s diagnosis. In fact, after Zane was born, we were told to expect him to die within a few months. So death seemingly has been a companion lately.

DW:  Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving? 

Susan:  I found people to be very supportive. There was a lot of family around after Sara’s death. But everyone was really in shock. I helped my brother and Sara’s parents plan out the memorial, and I helped officiate. So, in addition to grieving, I found myself in the role of supporting my brother’s grief, as well.

DW:  Is there anything you wish you’d done differently with Sara?

Susan:  I wish I would have reached out to her more, gotten to know her better. We were just coming to a point where we were feeling so much like sisters. So many times I get caught up in the minutiae of life that I tend to let too much time go by between calling someone. Maybe we’re all a little guilty of this. But it will always be my regret with Sara. I wish I could tell her how much she meant to me. But somehow, I believe she already knows that.

DW:  Was she buried or cremated? 

Susan:  She was cremated.

DW:  Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share? 

Susan:  I believe grieving is a life-long process sometimes, especially when death is untimely. I learned this from all the babies and children who have died as a result of complications associated with Trisomy 18; I’ve learned it with Sara. One critical thing I’ve discovered is that loved ones don’t want us to forget those who have passed. So we need to keep talking about them and not be afraid of hurting those who remain by bringing up their names. They’ve already been through the worst. We need to keep them alive in spirit, in heart, and in memory. It’s when others stop asking and talking about the deceased that it becomes especially painful.

DW:  I couldn't agree more.  Last but not least, were any songs played at the memorial that were

important to Sara?  

Susan:  There’s one from Rascal Flatts that was their wedding song, but it’s still too painful to have you play that. I can picture them dancing together at the reception to it. Instead, my brother made a slideshow using In My Life by the Beatles. Listening to it (even today) brings me to tears and makes me think of the memorial. It is so very fitting, though. And Sara’s parents are huge Beatles fans. 

This one goes out to Sara...

A Memorial Day Remembrance

     This Monday is Memorial Day in the United States, a day to remember the men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. I have invited one of my classmates at Goucher to share her experience of burying her father at Arlington Cemetery.  Tracey Emslie has been a journalist for many (many, many) years.  She is a Navy wife and an Air Force mother.  Her Dad was an Army PFC.

Day is Done

Tracey Emslie

           The Chaplain closed his book and stepped to one side. The six members of the honor guard remained immobile, holding the American flag stretched taut above the urn as soft rain dripped from the overhead canopy. It was peaceful, if you didn’t mind the hum of traffic on the other side of the niche wall.  Eight more soldiers stood at attention on the green, grassy rise to our right.  Seven of them held rifles.  One stood apart.  A crisp rifle volley cracked the quiet; three rounds of seven simultaneous shots producing the traditional twenty-one gun salute.

            When the after-echo of the shots fully died away, the eighth soldier put a bugle to his lips and produced the twenty-four traditional, haunting notes of Taps, letting them drift over row upon row upon row of starkly simple, white markers inscribed with the name, rank, and dates of birth and death of those interred at Arlington National Cemetery.  Composed by Civil War General Dan Butterfield, the bugler’s soft lullaby to the setting sun—and death—may be the only truly lovely sound to come out of a war.

There are restrictions concerning who can have full burial rites at Arlington: those killed in battle, those awarded major medals, Presidents and the like top the list.  Most of the others are “inurned” in the niche wall or Columbarium.  The common link for all is significant service, but despite the elegant uniformity of the markers, all their stories are unique and often complex; like my Dad’s, for instance.

 He enlisted in the army as soon as he turned eighteen.  A year later, he was driving an ambulance; a medic dodging artillery barrages in the snow and fog of the Ardennes Offensive without enough food, clothing, or medical supplies during that largest, bloodiest battle of World War II.  89,000 American casualties. 19,000 killed. He was again behind the wheel of his ambulance, 14^th in line to cross the Ludendorff Bridge over the Rhine at Remarge, the 9^th to arrive at the other side.  Five vehicles ahead of him were blown up, including one immediately in front of him that was being driven by a friend.  Not long after he returned from the war, his mother committed suicide and he had to identify the body.

 He drove race cars.  He became a brilliant engineer.  His “doohickies” that enabled the creation of F-111 fighter jets made the cover of Aviation Weekly.  Twice.  Eventually almost totally deaf, he actively welcomed social isolation.  He could drip charm when he chose, but was a supremely absent father and grandfather who managed to alienate three successive wives, any number of family members, and all of his subsequent caregivers as Alzheimer’s took its brutal toll.

            After the playing of Taps, the honor guard folded the flag once, twice, then into a triangle of white stars on a blue field. It was presented on bended knee to my brother, with “appreciation from a grateful nation.”  An Arlington Lady, one of a cadre of volunteers who attend every funeral to ensure that no one is buried alone, presented a condolence card from the Secretary of the Army and his wife.  Dad’s ashes were placed in the niche wall.  I put a modern postcard from Bastogne featuring a poetic tribute from Belgian children to the Ardennes veterans alongside it. It said they were the children those who died never had. The marble cover was screwed back on.  The honor guard went on to another funeral.

            We walked up the hill to pay tribute to the Tomb of the Unknowns, where a solemnly marching guard helped a group of schoolchildren lay a wreath.  On our way back down, we drew aside for seven dark, gleaming horses clip-clopping their way up the hill.  One was saddled.  Six were in harness, pulling a caisson bearing a flag-draped casket as another rifle volley and another rendering of Taps played in the distance.

photo by Tracey Emslie

            400,000 starkly plain, white gravestones.  400,000 stories; some long, some tragically short.  They perform thirty funerals a day.  There are now so many dead that there is a three to six month waiting list.

The DFW Writer's Conference

So, the whole reason I have this here "Death Writer" blog is because I wrote a book about my anxiety fueled journey exploring death.  I would never have studied death if it hadn't been for school.  I'm the kind of person who thrives in an environment where I'm held accountable. Look at death!  Okay!

One day I hope to sell Death Becomes Us.  You know, so I can pay off those student loans. Grad school was expensive, but totally worth it.  Heck, even if my manuscript never sees the vaguely florescent light of a Barnes and Noble or the computer screen glow from a Nook I'm a much better person for taking the trip.  Ask my family.

Me & Tom French, one of my mentors at school.

And if I'm going to be totally honest, I'd like to see something I wrote in a bookstore. At the rate I'm going, however, I'm afraid by the time this thing makes it into print, print will be gone.  E readers are cool.  I guess.  I don't own one.  I like paper.  But I am not violently opposed to them.  Whatever happens, happens.

Here I am looking at the "stars" on the ceiling at the conference.

I think I've had a glass of wine or three.

So, last weekend I attended the DFW Writer's Conference in lovely Hurst, TX.  I've been to a few conferences in my day, but I have to say that this one was particularly enjoyable.  For one, the Hurst conference center was beautiful and there were snacks.  Lots and lots of snacks.  You wouldn't think that snacks would make or break a conference, but you would be oh so wrong if you thought that snacks were unimportant.  People, myself included, like to eat a cookie or grab a cup of coffee when their brain is on overdrive trying to absorb all the output..  And there was a ton to absorb.

I thoroughly enjoyed James Rollins' Keynote Address.  I've never read any of his books, but that doesn't matter.  He still gave a very funny, heartfelt speech about becoming a writer.  And who doesn't love a man who will openly admit that he approached Ron Howard at his first conference thinking he was someone he knew.  Plus, he used to be a veterinarian and despite the fact that he's now a best selling author, he still volunteers his services once a month at a spay and neuter clinic.

My favorite class was called Fast Draft and was taught by Candace Havens.  This woman is not only funny and an excellent teacher, she's also a trooper.  I'm not going to go into why I think she's a trooper, but trust me, she is. I just figured out the ending of my book after months of pondering and hoping for some sort of miracle happy ending.  Books about death, even ones written in sort of a humorous tone are kind of heavy, and the damn thing was right in front of my face.  Since this is a memoir, there has to be some sort of detachment in order to reflect on the events.  I've finally got it!  And it took one night of fast draft to free myself up.  I figuratively vomited my ending.  Now I'm wading through the mess.  Ewwwwwwww!

I also had three requests for my proposal, but I kind of live by the motto, "Expect nothing and you'll never be disappointed."  So, if anything comes of it, you'll be the first to know.  I'm lying.  You'll probably be the third to know.  Mom and husband come first because they've had to put up with me a lot longer than you have.

Yesterday I found out that I'm going to be able to attend another writing conference in July called the Mayborn Literary Nonfiction Conference.  It's in Texas.  Yee haw!

So, bloggers, what's your favorite conference?  Why?  Are snacks important?  Discuss...

Don't write and wondering where all the death is in this post?  Check back Monday when I hope to have two, count em, TWO posts.  It is Memorial Day, after all.

Working with Death Wednesday: Pediatric Surgical Nurse

Today I'm starting my new feature where I talk with people who work in a profession that encounters death.  I am pleased to welcome Jessica Salyer to the death writer blog! Jessica is a pediatric surgical nurse with over twelve years of experience. When not nursing, she can be found with her husband and three children. If she has any free time it's spent on her laptop where she is busy working on her first YA novel or blogging. 

DW:  So, why did you want to become a nurse?

Jessica:  Growing up my mom was in and out of hospitals. I saw the impact that nurses and doctors made on my mom's and my life. I realized that the time when people are in the hospital is a scary out-of-control time and the nurse's are the ones that can make or break the experience.

DW:  Did you realize in the beginning of your professional journey that you would be dealing with death?  I  know this seems like a ridiculous question, but I have to ask it.

Jessica:  Death has always been a reality in my life. When you grow up with a mother who has had multiple kidney transplants and on the brink of death multiple times, you grow up with a different view of death. Instead of it being a mysterious thing you know nothing about, you grow up with it. You know that it's always a shadow there in the background. I've never had any illusions about death or what I would be dealing with as a nurse. It's part of why I became one.

DW:  Did you have personal experience with death before becoming a nurse?

Jessica:  Before becoming a nurse I had a few family members die. My Great-grandma and Great-grandpa died when I was younger. Then when I was in nursing school my two uncles died within six months of each other. This was a very hard time for my family. Especially my Grandmother.  She lost her two sons and then less than a year later we lost my mom. My grandmother lost three of her four children with in a year and a half of each other. It was hard enough for me losing them, I can't imagine what my grandmother went through. She is the strongest woman I know.

Losing my mom was hard for me on two levels. First, the fact that I lost my mom and my best friend. Second, I had just become a nurse when she went into rejection the last time. Suddenly, I had all the answers and made all the decisions. I picked her doctors, signed consents, decided if and when she would have surgery, and when the time came decided they should let her go. I questioned my ability to make those decisions for many years after that. Questioned whether I made the right ones. Questioned that if I had made different ones she would still be here.

DW:  Do you remember the first person who died?

Jessica:  (note: In order not to give any patient identifiers I replaced her/him with them/they and changed the patients name to Patient.) Certain patients stick out in my mind and will always be with me. I do a lot of congenital heart defect surgery so sometimes the outcomes aren't so good. (Very technical terminology I know.) When I first started doing hearts there was this little baby that we operated on quite a bit, that baby sticks out. A few years later there was this patient who had a heart transplant. The patient did fine during surgery but after had some complications and never regained consciousness. I took that patient from the parents. I was the last person that saw that patient alert, smile, and say good bye to their mom and dad. I did not deserve that privilege. I've done organ procurements and those are never easy. I try to remind myself that they have died anyway and now they're saving someones life. However, when the anesthesiologist turns off the machine and walks out, it's very surreal. There's another one that sticks out lately. This patient hasn't died yet. I say yet because Patient has osteosarcoma (bone cancer) with tumors that went to the lungs. Patient had to have their right leg and pelvis removed. They also have had their tumors in their lungs resected (taken out) multiple times. The last time we did surgery, we only did it to let Patient live through the summer. Patient wanted to live long enough to go on a road trip this summer with a family member. Hopefully they'll make it that long. I admire Patient. The positive outlook they have is refreshing. Although they know they are going to die, it doesn't stop them from living.

DW:  How did you deal with that?

Jessica:  Death is inevitable. I cannot control which one of my patients live or die. What I can do is make sure that the interaction that they have with me is the best that they can possibly have. I remind myself that if they are going to die, they would die whether I was there or not, but maybe I could impact it, maybe I could make it a little bit better.

DW:  What kind of nurse are you?  

Jessica:  I'm a pediatric surgical nurse. I don't have a lot of patient interaction while my patients are awake, but I feel like what I have is very important. It's a very stressful time in their lives. Parents have to give their children over to a perfect stranger, to who-knows-what is going to happen to them. I have a small window of opportunity to gain a rapport with the family. To make the parents and child comfortable with me; so, maybe it won't be so hard.

DW:  Do you find yourself keeping some sort of emotional distance from your patients?  

Jessica:  I'm a very emotional person, so I have a hard time separating. I do try and remind myself that whatever happens to them is meant to happen. I just try to make it better. 

DW:  Is there any sort of support for your staff after a particularly sad or challenging day?

Jessica:  There are people who we can talk to and sometimes if there is something very traumatic they have a debriefing.

DW:  What is the most uncomfortable part of your job?

Jessica:  Taking the patients from their parents. It's not so bad with simple cases, but with bad cases or complex surgeries where the outcome might not be so good, it gets hard. Also when the dads cry. I expect the moms to cry, but when the dads cry, I almost start. 

DW:  As a nurse, is there any advice you have for people who read this blog?

Jessica:  Be your own advocate. Don't be afraid to ask questions or for second opinions. You have every right to know exactly what's going on with your health care. Also organ donation. You don't need your organs when you die, but someone else might. Think about this... my mom had her first kidney transplant before I was born. She had me and my brother. I had three kids and my brother had one. That's seven people that one person saved from their one kidney. Not to mention my future (much in the future) grandchildren.

Thank you so much Jessica for sharing your story with me today.  And thank you for the work you do.  Nurses are the greatest.  And I couldn't agree with you more about organ donation.  My brother-in-law is on the heart transplant list.  If anyone out there is feeling generous, you can donate to Jason's heart transplant fund.  New hearts cost a lot of money.

Tuesday Movie: Into the Abyss

Just as I prefer nonfiction to fiction when I pick out a book, I love documentary films, especially when they are about subjects that I find fascinating.  Let's face it, the truth is sometimes way stranger than fiction.  I know there are thousands out there who would love to argue that point with me, but let's just agree to disagree.

Which is good advice concerning the subject of this film.  It's about the death penalty and no matter which side of the fence you're on, I know I probably can't make you change your mind.  Not many people have given much thought to the death penalty because it's not something that concerns them in their day to day lives.  Heck, most people don't even want to contemplate their own mortality, so why should they care about some stranger?  I know that's callous sounding, but it's true.  So, I want you to be brave and just watch the film and see what happens.

Into the Abyss opens with Richard Lopez, a death row chaplain standing in Joe Byrd Cemetery talking about his job.  And then Mr. Herzog asks Lopez to talk about an incident with a squirrel.  You're probably thinking, huh?  I was too.  I also interviewed Mr. Lopez, but we didn't talk about furry woodland creatures.  Our talk was more about God and his (Lopez's not God's) presence during an execution. But, now that I've seen this interview, I think questions about squirrels might be the ticket!.

Okay, sorry for the digression. The film focuses on a murder that occurred in a small town in Texas.  Three people were killed.  The reason?  A car.  Herzog interviews the two men who committed the murders as well as the victim's family members. Both sides are given equal time. 

It is a slow film, but it is haunting.  I very much enjoyed Herzog's look into these people's lives.  He is a wonderful filmmaker.  Who else could make you think about life, death, and for a fleeting moment, squirrels?

If you've seen it, I'd love to hear what you thought about it. 

Monday Mournings: The Death of a Brother

Linda Jackson here. And I don’t know why Pam wants to know my age, but I’m a proud 45-year-old, who hopes to turn 46 in June. I am from the great state of Mississippi. (Yes, it’s great, regardless of what you’ve read in books or seen in movies.) I write books for children, specifically middle grade, perhaps someday, YA or even picture books. I self-published a few books to get my start in the business, and I am published in a couple of Chicken Soup for the Soul titles and did freelance writing for educational publishers as well. So, there you have it, I’m a writer. Oh, yeah, and I blog.  And if you comment on this post, you will be entered into a drawing to win this book that I'm in!  Pamela will select a winner on Friday.

DW:  Who was the person that died?

Linda:  My oldest brother, Jessie.

DW:  How old were you at the time?

Linda:  34

DW:  How old was your brother?

Linda :  50

DW:  Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen?

Linda:  Ironically, I thought it was sudden, because, at the time, I didn’t know what the word hospice meant. (Yes, I was 34 and had never heard of hospice before. Living under a rock, right?) When I heard my other siblings say he had been sent home under hospice care, I never thought to ask what that meant. I assumed it meant nurses were coming by his home to check on him until he got better. He had been battling cancer, had gotten better, then it came back, but I didn’t know it was there to stay. So, I guess everybody else knew my brother was in his last days except me. And that made me feel even worse.

DW:  Did you and Jessie talk about his death?

Linda:  A few days before my brother died, I talked to him on the phone. He asked me whether my youngest sister and I were planning to come see him. (That was nearly 12 years ago, but I can still hear his voice.)  He said, “I know y’all are coming to see your big brother.” I laughed and said, “We’re not driving that far.”

Here’s the deal. My brother lived in Decator, Illinois, at the time. I lived in Kansas City, and my sister lived in Mississippi. Both my sister and I were visiting my mom in our hometown in Mississippi for a few weeks during the summer break, which is why he asked if we were coming to see him.

So, even though we didn’t talk about his death, he assumed I knew about his impending death. But, of course, I didn’t. I had planned to surprise him with a visit on my way back to Kansas City. Sadly, he died a week and a half before my vacation ended, shortly after that phone conversation.

DW:  Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before Jessie died?

Linda:  I had another brother die from a gunshot wound when I was sixteen. It was my first experience with someone close dying tragically. In case you’re wondering, my mom had thirteen children—one son died as an infant, a few days after he was born, I think.

DW:  Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving?

Linda:  Since I was in high school when my first brother was killed, I received plenty of support from my classmates. But with my second brother, nobody knew I was grieving. My siblings assumed the death didn’t affect me much because I didn’t attend the funeral. And the reason that I didn’t attend the funeral is because my mother didn’t attend, and I chose to be with her so she wouldn’t be alone. Side note: my mother stopped attending funerals after both her parents passed away. So she didn’t attend the funerals of either of my brothers, her siblings, my father…or  anyone else who died after 1977. I was afraid no one would show up at her funeral last year because of this…but they did. J

DW:  Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with this person?

Linda:  Yes, I wish I had told my brother that I was coming to visit him rather than choosing to surprise him. Had I known what hospice meant, I guess, I would have known better.

DW:  Was he buried or cremated?

Linda:  My brother was buried. I don’t know of any cremations in my family.

DW:  Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share?

Linda:  I learned that you can’t live life with regrets. As a result of my brother’s death, I decided to move back home to Mississippi. I felt horrible for my brother during his battle with cancer because I knew he wanted to be home (Mississippi). I never wanted to face that. So as soon as I went back to KC, we sold our house and moved to MS in less than a two-month timeframe. Also, months after the move, I was still grieving over the fact that I didn’t tell my brother that I was coming to visit him. Then one morning after I had taken my daughters to school and daycare, I stood in my bedroom and let it all out. I cried really hard for the first time after my brother’s funeral and told him how sorry I was that I didn’t go see him and that I was sorry I didn’t attend his funeral. Then suddenly I actually felt a presence in the room and sensed my brother’s voice saying, “It’s okay. I know. I know you were coming to see me. You don’t have to keep holding on to that.” From that moment, I let it go and never cried for my brother again.

Shortly after that incident, my family and I started attending a church where we met a man who, I swear, could have been my brother’s twin. And not only did they look alike, but they sounded the same and had the same mannerism. Of course, I questioned him about his family. But his family was from Alabama, and he didn’t think we were in any way related. But since that day, that man has been like an older brother to me.

DW:  Were any songs played at the memorial that were important to Jessie?

Linda:  As stated earlier, I didn’t attend the funeral nor did I want anyone to talk about it. So I have no idea what songs were played. All I know is that it rained really hard on the day of the funeral. Also, because of the age difference (16 years), I didn’t know my brother well enough to know his favorite songs. I just know he liked Blues. So if you know of any good Blues to play, go for it. J

This one goes out to Jessie...

Thanks Linda for sharing your story!

Writer Wednesday: A Giggly Chat with Mary Roach

Mary Roach

When I decided at Goucher College that I was going to write my thesis about people who worked with death, the first thing that classmates asked was "Have you read Stiff by Mary Roach?"  Inside my head, I was like "Have you met me? I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to all things death related" but my outside voice said, "No, but I intend to."  

When you decide to take on a subject like death and you haven't had much personal experience with it, you read.  I read many books on death and, well,  they were kind of depressing.  But then I read "Stiff."  And let me tell you, I was like Mary Roach where have you been all my life?  I laughed, and I'm talking out LOUD.  Up until that point, nobody but David Sedaris could make me laugh with a book in my hand.  So I sent her an email to let her know that she officially kicked his ass.  And she responded within minutes, cementing my adoration for her.  (I still love you David.  Let's have coffee some time! In France. With pastries.) 

Well, that was a couple of years ago and last week I sent her another email to see if she'd talk to me right here on this blog.  And she said YES!  How cool is that?   

Mary Roach has written four wonderfully fun and informative nonfiction books about cadavers, the afterlife, sex and space. Her newest book, "Gulp" (And no, it's not about the Big Gulp at 7/11) is coming out in 2013.  I talked to her on Saturday, May 12, 2012.  You can listen to our chat right down there.  Just keep in mind that I do not have the mad radio interviewing skills of someone like Terry Gross. There's giggling, some death talk, a little writer stuff and we end with a discussion of our mutual love of tacos in San Francisco.  Enjoy!

Kreativ Blogger Award

Okay, this is my first blogging award so I'm a little speechless right now. First of all, I'd like to thank the academy.  And, of course, Adam for bestowing this creatively spelled award on the death writer blog.  There are two K's in my name, so I like the way it's spelled.  Adam made it really special by saying in his award's post that people hand out these blog awards like HPV at a frat party, but I still feel pretty darn special. There might be a gyno trip in my future, though.  Okay, so here's the award.  It looks a little shabby and should probably be redesigned, but it's my precious, so who cares?  Looks aren't everything.

In order to accept this award, I've got to do a few things...
1.  Thank & link back to the person who nominated you.  (Been there, done that.  Next!)
2.  Answer the ten questions. (I'm gettin' there.)
3.  Share ten random facts/thoughts about yourself  (Yeah, yeah, yeah.)
4. Nominate seven worthy blogs for the Kreativ Blogger Award (Share the love like a chain letter!)

Okay, here we go...
1.  What's your favorite song?
Um, like at this very moment?  That's a ridiculous question and I'm going to give you an equally ridiculous response.

2.  What's your favorite desert? (Hey, that's how it was spelled and I'm a stickler for details.)
The Sahara.  But, if what they really want to know what to serve at my party, that would be molten chocolate cake, which I make really well.

3.  What do you do when you're upset?
I like to work out when I'm mad, so I make it a point to really piss myself off every morning by standing under florescent lighting in my birthday suit.

4.  Which is your favorite pet?

I have two.  Violet and Judy and I would never pick favorites.  Could you?  Look at them.  They're both adorable and snuggly!

5.  Which do you prefer, black or white?
Well, I pretty much always dress in black, so I'm going to go with black.

6.What is your biggest fear?
Spiders.  When I lived in SW Colorado, we had these gigantic furry spiders called "Wolf Spiders" that lived around our house.  I told my husband that if one of those things ever set foot in our house, we were moving back to California.  I'd post a picture, but I can't even look at them without getting freaked out.  But if you are into that kind of thing, check out Kim Hosey's photos.  She loves spiders.

7. What is your attitude mostly?
This is another ridiculous question, but here I go.  I'm pretty mellow most of the time, especially while listening to The Carpenters.  But I have been known to be a tad neurotic and prone to social anxiety.

Ten Random Facts About the Death Writer

1.  I actually do like the Carpenters and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

2.  I like to write letters.  Remember those things that used to arrive in the mailbox and were handwritten and there was a stamp on the outside?  I write to inmates.  They are wonderful letter writers.

3.  My husband and I are both the youngest of five children.

4.  I wanted to be a criminal psychologist until I did my internship at the Hall of Justice orchestrating family visits and phone calls for the felons.  Most of them wanted to date me.

5.  My middle name is Jo.

6.  My father is a professional poker player.

7.  My favorite place in the world is the library.

8.  I love going to see movies but I like to be the first person there so I usually arrive about an hour early so I can claim my seat in the front row with a railing in front of me to rest my legs.

9.  I'm six feet tall.

10.  At about 16, I developed a white streak in the front of my hair.  Now it's pretty much all white, but I dye it because one time when I let the streak out, my son's friend said, "Your mom looks like Cruella DeVille."  Nice.

Okay, so here's the peeps I'm gonna nominate for the Kreativ Blogger Award.  If you choose to accept this HPV laden statuette, follow the rules and wash your hands afterwards.  I am not sending my awards out to these people because I don't want them to feel obligation.  But if they happen to find this and it's a happy surprise, they can run with it.  I'll bring the hand sanitizer!

1.  Drama Dice and Damsons

2.  The Left Wright Brain

3.  In Search of a Title

4.  The Museum of Joy

5.  My Write Spot

6.  Susan Oloier, Author

7.  The World for Realz

Tuesday Movie: Ghost

Ghost came out in 1990 and starred Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze, but it made Whoopi Goldberg an Oscar winner for best actress in a supporting role. It was a drama, a mystery, a romance and a comedy all rolled into one.  And it probably made the Righteous Brothers a ton more money because a new generation fell in love with their song, "Unchained Melody."

I know I have a penchant for older movies.  It's probably because movies about ghosts in this day and age are too dang scary.  Paranormal Activity anyone?  Um, no thanks.  I'd rather laugh and cry than sleep with the lights on.  And Patrick Swayze was a mighty attractive ghost.  Here's the trailer.  Sorry for the sound quality.  Darn you youtube!

My favorite part of this movie is Whoopi as Oda Mae Brown, a sketchy medium who discovers she has a real gift for communicating with the dead.

In Mary Roach's book "Spook," Mary goes to medium school and remains a skeptic.  Hey, speaking of Mary Roach, she's going to be on my blog tomorrow for Writer Wednesday.  I interviewed her this past weekend.  I giggled.  A lot.  Be sure and check back tomorrow!

Monday Mournings: The Death of a Friend

I'm Amanda. I live in North Yorkshire, right on the edge of the Dales - commonly known as God's Own Country. We moved here ten years ago from London. I'm a drama tutor on the shady side of 40, married for 20 years and with a 16 year old son. I blog mostly about drama, gaming and bits and pieces of my life but in the end it all boils down to an over-riding interest in story-telling. After finding the Deathwriter's blog during the A-Z challenge, I became a follower. We don't talk enought about death or the dying.

DW:  Who was the person that died?

Amanda:  Sue was one of my closest friends. We'd known each other for around 15 years at the time of her death in 2007. I'm writing about her partly as a tribute to an amazing human being, and partly because we talked at length about her impending death.

DW:  How old were you at the time?

Amanda:  43

DW:  How old was Sue?

Amanda:  43

DW:  Was it a sudden death or did you know it was going to happen?

Amanda:  It felt sudden, but wasn't. Sue drank heavily and had done so for years. She collapsed at the end of 2006 when her liver started to give up and died of liver failure in November 2007. She phoned me in August 2007 when she'd been rejected for a liver transplant and told me she was going to die. I spent a lot of time traveling backwards and forwards to London to visit her in the hospital after that, but we'd been talking nearly daily for several months before that. Sue was a very tough lady indeed. She outlasted all the medical predictions and several near death scares.

DW:  So you said earlier that you and Sue talked about her death.  Tell me about that.

Amanda:  Oh yes. We talked a lot. Rather obliquely at times. Sue knew she was dying, and made all the arrangements for her funeral. She asked me to write her eulogy, and threatened to come back to haunt me if it didn't do her justice. It was a strange situation. We chatted pretty much every day, and she became very frightened. Those were bad times. She hated the hospital and fought very hard to get out and into a nursing home, where she felt she would be a person rather than a collection of malevolent symptoms. It wasn't so much death that worried her, as the slipping away of her own sense of being a person, mostly engendered by the hospital. She did make it to a nursing home and was happy there for a month before she finally slipped into the coma she never woke up from.

DW:  Had you experienced any other deaths in your personal life before Sue died?

Amanda:  I'd lost both my parents by then. Both were very much expected deaths - my father had been ill for years and had a proper Victorian deathbed with the family around him - going extremely peacefully. My mother fought tooth and nail and it was awful. There were my own three miscarriages, and the sudden death of an ex-lover who was epileptic and drowned in a bath. I wouldn't say death has stalked me at all, but by the time Sue's illness was clear, it was at least a familiar path.

DW:  Were people supportive of your grief or did they shy away when you were grieving?

Amanda:  Sue's death was remarkably bonding. She had a gift for friendship and a lot of people came together over the last months of her life to support her and each other.

DW:  Is there anything you wish you'd done differently with this person?

Amanda:  On a practical level, I wish we'd been living closer. Emotionally, while it was appalling in some ways to watch her disintegrating and being frightened, it felt right to be there for her. This was her time, not mine.

DW:  Was she buried or cremated?

Amanda:  Sue had the funeral she had planned in every detail and was cremated. 

DW:  Did you learn anything about the grieving process that you'd like to share?

Amanda:  Writing the eulogy was the most helpful thing for me. It helped me to clarify exactly how much I valued Sue and how and why I missed her. It might sound fanciful to say that it allowed me to edit my grief, but in a way that's exactly what happened. The first impact of a death is so overwhelming that all you can feel is pain in a big indeterminate blob. Writing about it turned the pain into sharp specific points, but also became a happy thing to do, ensuring that the memories were kept clear. 

Click here to read Amanda's eulogy for Sue

DW:  What music did she have at her memorial?

Amanda:  Being Sue, she picked some specific music for her funeral. "Mr Slater's Parrot" by the Bonzo Dog DooDah Band, the final chorus from Bach's St Matthew Passion, and the madrigal from Ruddigore ("When the buds are blossoming").

Thank you so much Amanda for sharing your experience!  It's been a pleasure.  And without further ado...

This one goes out to Sue

I've got some cool things coming soon!

Okay, so this has been an interesting week.  I am attending the DFW writer's conference next week and so I'm mentally preparing for the pitching of my book, which isn't an easy task when you've got social anxiety.  One on one conversations are fine, but plop me in a room with a hundred people and I'm a nervous wreck.  But I'm gonna do it people because I'm ready to let this baby graduate into adulthood so that I can move on to my next project about religion. Not that I'd be totally neglecting the baby, I just want it in college and maybe working at a minimum wage job.

So, if you've read my blog, you probably realize that I'm a bit quirky and maybe a wee bit insecure and you would be correct.  But, I faced a fear this week and contacted Mary Roach to ask if she'd let me interview her on this here blog.  After I completed the A to Z challenge, I realize that I really like to blog.  It's fun.  I like the interaction with people and one of the things that publishers look for in a non-fiction writer is a platform.  What is that?  It means, who the heck are you and why are you the person to write this book?  Well, I'm a nobody with a hard to pronounce name.  I'm not dying and I'm not an expert.  But, get to know me!

So, I emailed Mary Roach and she emailed me back within the day and said YES!!!  She is a super smart, witty writer and to top it all off, she has two books about death, "Stiff" and "Spook."  I practically had a coronary when I got her email.  So, then I felt a bit emboldened with my good fortune, so I sent an email to Thomas Lynch.  No word yet.  Then I contacted my classmate Mike Capuzzo who wrote the best selling books "Close to Shore" and "The Murder Room" and he said YES too!!!  So, I'm gonna have some big names here on my little blog.  I can't believe it.  I am oh so grateful.  And Eleanor Roosevelt was right.  Do one thing a day that scares you.  Well, I did and I lived to tell about it.

Also, staring this Monday on the 14th of May, I have a new regular feature appearing on this here bloggity blog.  It's called "Monday Mournings."  And it's posted on Monday morning.  Wow.  How cool is that?  I will be talking to real people about their experience with death.  It could be a parent, a spouse, a child, a sibling, a friend, a pet. You'll just have to pop in and see what's going on.

So, tell your friends.  Have your friends tell their friends.  And so on, and so on...

Heeeeeeere's my brother!

It's not every day that I get to feature a family member on my death blog.  And don't worry, he's not dead.  Yet.  At the moment, he's very much alive and kickin'.  My brother Robby (I refuse to excise the "by" from his name) is a composer out in Burbank, California.  He has been a musician for most of his life playing in bands, but in the past decade, he has had his music featured in movies and commercials.  Here's one right here.

Robby

He posted something on Facebook yesterday that caught the death writer's eye.  It's a song about death!  So, here I am promoting my flesh and blood on my bloggity blog.  So, grab a box of Kleenex and listen to his song.  I really like it and I hope you like it too.

A friend told me his 90-something year old father in frail health was looking forward to the afterlife to reunite with his wife...that struck me as such a sweet and poignant concept...so I sat down at the piano and this simple song kinda wrote itself.  Click here.

A video: "It Could Happen To You"

Today I am posting a video that I saw on a friend's Facebook feed because I think it's important to share this.  Yes, it is about death, but it's also about love and equality and life.  But, I'm going to be honest here.  I was too scared to post this on my Facebook feed.  Why?  Well, I guess I'm a wimp.  And I know that some of my "friends" don't feel the same way about this issue.  According to a poll I saw today, only 50% of American's support gay marriage.  Like Joe Biden, I am for it.  If someone finds another person that they love and want to commit their lives to, who cares if it is a person of the same sex? What's all the fear all about?  That there won't be enough towels or dinnerware at Target for Bridal registries? About 10% of the population is gay.  Seeing the word gay does not make you gay.  Seeing two men hold hands does not make you gay.  Watching this video does not make you gay, but it might make you more enlightened to the human condition.

So, here's the video.  I encourage you to watch it.

Tuesday Movie

I realize I'm a little late in the game on recommending this flick, but I rarely get to enjoy a movie at the theater unless it is animated or contains transformers, sparkling vampires or teens killing other teens for the viewing pleasure of the capitol.  Yes, I have kids.

So, I'm a renter.  And I watch my adult movies (get your mind out of the gutter) when my impressionable young children are tucked in for the night. My public library has a wonderful selection of dvds and best of all, they're FREE, which is my all time favorite word in the English language right next to LOVE.  Just don't combine those two words, as it tends to cheapen things.

Okay, so what's the flick?  It's The Descendants with George Clooney, or as my daughter once referred to him, "You know, that guy, George Looney.  He was in Batman."  I'm not really a huge Looney fan.  He always seems to be playing himself, right along with Julia Roberts.  But, I liked this film.  And I liked George Clooney in it.

I don't want to spoil it for you, but there's a death, there's grief and most importantly, there's an advance directive that get's followed.  

It might make you weepy, so have a box of tissue at the ready.

Unspeakable Loss

     The day of my first wedding, and yes I’ve had two, I found out that I was pregnant.  My period was late, but I attributed its absence to pre-wedding jitters.  It was bad timing on my part to take a pregnancy test on an already emotionally weighted day.  When I showed Guy the stick with the two blue lines, the color drained from his face.  He tried to keep it together for my sake, but his eyes revealed an inner horror, like he was in a tiny canoe heading towards Niagra Falls.  

     I wasn’t too thrilled either.  The pictures from our wedding show a lot of fear.  Our bodies look like mannequins, stiff and uncomfortable with frozen strained smiles on our faces.  During the champagne toast, I felt guilty for even holding a glass of alcohol.  While I did my best to hold back tears, Guy looked like he had a corncob firmly wedged up his butt.  We waited a couple of weeks after the wedding to share the news with our family.  They weren’t exactly thrilled, as we were young and not particularly settled into secure corporate jobs with insurance and a 401k.

    

     In my tenth week of pregnancy, I was in the dressing room of a maternity store trying on waist expanding pants.  I removed my too tight Levis and found that my underwear was spotted with bright red blood. I grabbed some tissue from the dressing room and left in a panic.  I called Guy from a phone at the mall and we met at the hospital.  Since UCSF was a teaching hospital, several pre-med students stood around and watched as the doctor performed an internal ultra sound, which was like a gynecological exam times ten on the embarrassment scale.

     The room was silent and tense as the head physician stared at a screen near my head looking for something, anything.

     “I’m afraid the fetus has died,” he said, his eyes still fixated on the monitor.  I turned towards Guy, the only friendly, caring face in the room.  I don't know if it was nerves or what, but my husband of two months looked more relieved than concerned.  As the nurse lowered the stirrups and helped me sit up, the medical students left the room. 

     “It’s for the best,” said Guy patting my arm.

      I was in shock, not fully aware of the implications of this dismissive comment.

     “I can order a D&C right now, or you can let it happen naturally,” the doctor said.

     The last thing I wanted was to break down and cry in front of that steely-faced doctor, so I chose option number two and fled from the hospital as fast as my unstable legs could carry me.

    The next few days were weird and tense, as I waited for the fetus to expel itself from my body.  

    “It will be like a heavy period,” the doctor offered as some sort of reassurance as we left the hospital.  At the first sign of cramps, I swallowed one of the pain pills I’d been given. Within an hour, I was writhing in pain in the bathtub, hoping the heat from the water would help to soothe my aching body.  But it was unbearable.  I was alone and I wanted nothing more than someone to walk me through this, give me comfort, or just hold my hand and say they were sorry.  As I exited the tub, a spasm of pain overtook me and I fell onto the tile floor.

     Guy rushed me to the nearest emergency room, which was located in a Catholic hospital, just a few blocks from our apartment.  Contractions surged through my body as I approached the receptionist.

     “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked coldly.

     My body twisted and contorted like Joe Cocker in the throes of a song. 

     “She’s having a miscarriage."

     “Oh,” she replied and called a nurse, who quickly shuffled the two of us into a room.  I was instructed by the nurse to remove my underwear and to change into a gown.  She then led me to a scale.  Blood streamed down my legs and onto the green tile floor.  I was mortified, but as usual, I kept my thoughts to myself.  The nurse threw a large cotton pad onto the examination table, asked me to sit down and then proceeded to stick me about four times with a needle.  Her unskilled intrusion popped one of my veins, resulting in deep blue bruising up and down the length of my arm making me look like a track-marked junkie.

     After thirty minutes of waiting and wondering why I wasn’t an emergency, the frazzled ER doctor wandered into the room.  While examining me, he asked the nurse for a pan. 

     “No wonder this was so painful,” he said and removed the placenta, which was the size of a calf’s liver.  Like an oddly excited kid in a science lab, he pointed out the fetus to Guy, who relayed to me later that it looked like a tiny slug.  

      That night, and for many nights after, I went home; cried, slept, chain smoked, and ate a lot of ice cream.  I never went back to my job. I wanted to start over and pretend that it didn’t happen. There was no funeral or public grieving over this thing, this slug.  Everyone was complicit in maintaining the silence.  It wasn’t until I saw my father at a family gathering that I was cruelly reminded of the potential of my loss. Holding my cousin’s newborn baby, he said, “See what you missed out on?”

     I met Susan Oloier in Bayfield, CO when we both showed up for a new writer's group at the public library.  That night, she read an essay about suffering a miscarriage and we bonded over our shared experience.  I don't know about you, but I find it incredibly refreshing when someone speaks about something that no one ever really talks about. Miscarriage is one of those things.  It's important to share our stories.  Just because we don't have a physical body to bury or a picture to remember that being, that life was real the minute the two lines appeared.  

     If it were up to me, I'd wear a shirt that said "Ask me about my miscarriage," as a social experiment.  And I bet you I'd get approached by a lot of women--women who had no one to commiserate with, or who were embarrassed that they'd failed at doing something "natural", or shamed that is was their fault.  Our stories are important.  They define us.  The help us make sense of things.  They let us heal.

     Susan has written a novel called "Fractured" about a couple who experiences a miscarriage.  It is available as an E book at Amazon and Smashwords.

     I'm so proud of Susan for writing this story and getting it published!  She's doing a blog book tour, so check it out!

     Have you experienced a death in your life?  Would you be willing to be interviewed on this blog about it? I'm looking for people to talk with on my "Monday Mourning" posts. 

     

     

Death on a Flight

Click on the title to read my friend Jill's blog post about a woman who died on a plane to France.

My friend, Susan Oloier, told me about the A to Z Challenge.  It sounded, well, sort of intimidating and scary to blog every single day. But, if there's anything that motivates me, it's fear.  I've had my death writer blog up and running (if you can call it that) for a few years, but I will be the first to admit that I'm kind of a dumb ass when it comes to blogging.  It's not that I don't know how to write, it's just that blogging and doing it well, is a much bigger can of worms.  First, you have to have content.  Check.  Then you've got to have followers.  Um, I think I had maybe 25 people who followed me publicly at the start of this challenge, but most never said a word.  Heck, I don't know if my followers ever read any of my posts.  If there are no comments, I have no way of knowing.  It's kind of sad, actually.  It's like throwing a really great party and only your mom shows up.

"Great dip, honey!"

On day one of the challenge, I started getting traffic.  And people commented.  So, in return I went to their blog and commented.  You know, the whole "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," kind of thing.  And by doing this, I found a few blogs and people that I really liked.  Some people came back to my blog fairly regularly and it made me feel like a freakin' rock star.  Others, I just saw once and they were gone.  Eh, it's kind of like life.  You win some and you lose some.  I'm guilty of this too.  Don't take it personally.  My head it still spinning from all this reading and commenting and trying to keep up with life at the same time.

I realize that some might find my examination of all things related to death to be kind of a downer, so I get that "following" my blog might be construed as something weird.  But, I'm happy to say that I picked up about 55 new followers.  I have no idea how many people subscribed to my blog by email as I don't know how to check this.  If you do, please let me know.  I am laughably naive in regards to technology.

I did not visit every single blog in the challenge.  Yes, time was an issue.  But if I am going to be completely honest, and I usually am, I am attracted to blogs that are a) humorous, b) informative and c) something I want to be informed about.  It would have been SUPER cool if this challenge had been organized by topics or genre.  I know, that that might limit people in their exploration, but for us folks that have limited amounts of time (who doesn't) it would have been more effective.  Yes, it's fun to pop into five random blogs per day, but some blogs had a very small niche and I felt like, well, I really have nothing to add to the discussion here.

"Just stopping by on the A to Z challenge. Come ready my blog."

Commenting.  Well, I tried to comment as much as I could, but I didn't want to get inundated with emails, so I didn't sign up to see if the blogger responded to my comments.  I apologize in advance if you maybe posed a question and I never came back.  Truly, this experience was like blogging 101 for me, or maybe revisiting junior high on some level.  I felt bad for not reciprocating on some blogs, especially if they commented on mine, but I did interact with people if they showed up on my blog.  And that's where I think a blog becomes interesting--in the discussions.  I am so appreciative of every person that read my words and took the time to compose a thoughtful response.  You all rule!

I had a wonderful time.  I flexed my creative muscles and now I'm looking towards the future of this blog to make it a place that people want to visit.  My plan is to do two posts a week.  That would be reasonable and sane.  On the other three days, I'll visit other blogs.  Slowly, but surely, I hope to gain readership so if and when my book ever comes out, I can say "Death Becomes Us" is in print and you can buy it here.  I'll even sign it and send you a bookmark.

I don't know if I'll do the challenge next year with this blog, but I think I may do it with my next book project about religion.

A is for atheist

B is for Baptist

C is for Christ

D is for....you get the point.

Thanks for stopping by!