Someone asked if we think it would help if they visited my dad. How do you answer that question?Dad has Alzheimer’s and he’s dying, would your visit help him die faster? Die more calmly? Remember more suddenly?Perhaps that person would like to resolve some things for themselves on that visit. Maybe the visit would help them? At the end of this process the family is not going to sit down and say, “you know, we really shouldn’t have had person A visit, it didn’t help, next time Dad passes, let’s ask Person A to show up a bit earlier.”Along the same lines, I hear conversations about when to tell Person C about Dad, or what to say to Person D. Or, wait to tell Person E until you’ve told Person Z. Come on! Again, is the family going to sit down and optimize their public relations plan for the next time dad passes?Impending death creates uncertainty… and uncertainty, for some, is correlated with an expression for more control. Perhaps control leads to certainty. However, humans will always do what’s in their best interests, and what’s in a human’s best interests are not necessarily being compliant with another human’s need to control. And if that’s not philosophical enough — the irony is that death is certain for all of us! Therefore, because death is certain, and someone in hospice will die relatively soon (unless your Jimmy Carter), it’s probably best to try and control only the things you truly can control — yourself. And it’s probably best to allow things just to happen as they’ll happen. When it’s all said and done, the grieving will grieve, they won’t re-examine their execution and optimize for the future. As my Dad would say, with his arms raised and in an exasperated tone — “JUUUUST keep it SIMP-LE!”

I think about my breakdown earlier this year. And, doing my post mortem, I realize that I put too much pressure on myself. You might do this too — — too much pressure to get things right the first time, to succeed the way I think I should succeed, to be in a place I think I should be, to do the things I think I should do, to respond the way I think I should respond, to activate the potential I think I should activate.I came to realize that the best thing I can do is lean into should. Comedians, like Conan, do this all the time, and I see this as a strong strategy. Here’s an example:Person: David, you’re going bald.Me: Oh, my gosh, I know. I’ve started using the reflection of the sun off my scalp as solar power. I know I’m going bald, and no, I know I’m not using my scalp as solar power. However, I’m leaning into the discomfort of baldness by making that discomfort my friend — using it to bring a smile. Another example:Me to myself: I should be able to know these numbers and rattle off the report.Also me to myself: Oh my gosh I know, I should also be able to pick the trillion dollar winning power ball too… I’m responding to a “should” with an “absurd should.” And the absurd should defangs the toxic should.Generally speaking, I have a decent self-esteem. I know who I am, what I’m good at, what I’m not good at, and I’m self-aware of myself most times. I know I’ll be okay. I know all I have is now. I feel pretty good about myself. And because of that, I believe there is room to not taking myself so seriously.I’m reminded of the Joker’s comment from Batman — “Why so serious?”Perhaps the takeaway is — when you present yourself with a toxic should consider asking yourself the question why so serious? and give yourself the gift of an absurd should.

Well meaning people ask: how is your dad?I have no idea how to answer that question without sounding like a jerk. I dread answering the question. I know myself — I speak bluntly and directly more often than not. I know that I see things pretty matter-of-factly, and I know that doesn’t come across well. When answering — all I can say is: He sucks. He’s dying. He’s lost his mind, and he’s not fully aware of what’s happening to him. And, it’s awful. Thanks for asking. I mean every word of it, including the thanks for asking. I appreciate that people care. Though, most people register it as sarcasm, but it’s not meant to be. Well meaning people also ask: how are you doing with it? I hate answering that question too. I answer — I began mourning the loss of my dad years ago. It’s painful to watch him go through this process. In the end, I made my peace with it a while ago, and this is just a natural thing that happens, and it will come for you and I at some point. So how am I? I’m existing, and I’m okay, and I’m going to be okay. That answer screws people up — they always follow up with a doubting, are you sure?Yes, of course I’m sure! If I wasn’t sure, I would use different words to describe my uncertainty. However, I am certain I will die, I am certain I am okay, and I am certain that I’ll be okay. In the end, I appreciate people’s intent behind the questions. They’re checking in. They’re wondering if they can help. They’re offering support. What they miss though is something rather important — they are expecting me to answer them as if I was them talking to them. How many times did I use “them” versus “me”? 4:2. It’s not really about me — their interpretation of my response is about them. And, unfortunately, I can’t manage for them.

The doctor I visit prescribes me blood pressure medication; my blood pressure is high when the doctor’s office takes measurements. When measurements are taken, the nurse asks me to rest my arm on my leg. The measurements are taken after in the morning after a cup of coffee. Usually my arm is dangling next to my side. Additionally, healthcare and the system it belongs to challenges my patience. It’s no wonder that my blood pressure is elevated, 138/68 in the office. The doctor is concerned, and contemplates increasing the blood pressure medication. I take my blood pressure at home, almost at the same time every day. The diastolic (top) number is 112 on average, with a standard deviation of 13 points. I don’t see much volatility between the numbers for the last 5 days, most however around 108 or 113. When I take measurements I use all of the measurement best practices — my arm is level with the top of my heart, the blood pressure cuff is correctly situated, I’m sat down with both feet on the floor, and I don’t attempt to zen out. I’m puling these best practices from Nature — source. The doctor’s office measurement is 2 standard deviations above the mean, almost 3 — which would make it more significant data-wise. The nurse is not adopting established best practices when taking measurements — it’s clear that the arm position matters. And, I’m starting to experience some dizziness when I change position — my hypothesis is that this is caused by my current dosing of blood pressure medication. I decide to share my thoughts.I fail to understand why healthcare professionals become so extremely offended at feedback from non-professionals. Healthcare people appear extremely direct, their bedside manner more-often-than-not leaves a lot to desire, and when I attempt to mirror that bedside manner they find me rude. Perhaps they’re stressed out and overworked? Well, I’m stressed out and overworked, and I don’t prefer to be on more medication — and I prefer better collected data. Maybe they believe their expensive credentials are being challenged? That’s a good thing! We learn when we fail. And, at least as it relates to medication that goes into my body, I prefer to be open to data — I am my own n=1 experiment. Perhaps they’re aware and wish they could do better but this is not the time and place? Then I argue, when is the time and place? Perhaps I should leave feedback on the “healthcare survey” form? I’m convinced that data is used in the aggregate, and any system change is made to appease the median patient — I’m probably an outlier and it wouldn’t make sense to change a system for an outlier. Of the people that are the hardest for me to understand — healthcare professionals continue to be the subset of humanity that my connection efforts fail. Mirroring communication patterns doesn’t work. Showing the peer-reviewed human/clinical trial preponderance of data doesn’t move the needle, and being gentle only allows the bully to be more of a bully. I’m not ready to give up… Call me Ahab.

Euclid writes that a point is that which has no part. Well if something has no parts, it cannot be divided into other parts… and if it cannot be divided into any other parts, because it doesn’t exist? Another definition suggests that a point is the point from which magnitude increases. In astronomy, magnitude means brightness. In mathematics, magnitude means size. In seismology — energy. Could it be said that a point is nothing unless the person receiving the point assigns an amount energy/value/size/importance to that point? What is the point of this post? To some it might be nothing… but to me, it’s that a point, like art, matters in the eye of the beholder.

Burt, Hal, Dionne — and later Babs — ask the important questions of the listener:What’s it all about? Is it just for the moment we live?What’s it all about when you sort it out?Are we meant to take more than we give? Or, are we meant to be kind?Are the kind foolish and the strong cruel? And if the strong be cruel, do you lend on a golden rule?The song asks the ultimate question — what’s life about? And is it about hoarding what’s yours or giving all you can to serve others? And if you hoard, what are you missing that causes you to keep? Perhaps it’s love — true love — the feeling of being loved. I love the last line:“When you walk, let your heart lead the way. And you’ll find love any day, Alfie.”Enjoy:

Disclaimer: I’m not writing a religious post!At church today, the priest spoke about suffering — “suffering is a means to life.” He also said, “death is not an end, life is changed through death, it continues.” The religious idea is that we are promised eternal life by Jesus. I enjoy researching consciousness. In the last 90 days, I found articles theorizing that consciousness could be non-local — source. The idea is that consciousness may be some quantum entangled thing and it might persist long after our bodies die. I’m ultra-simplifying and robbing you of the nuance — for more, read the link.Here, I have two ideas — one religious belief and one scientific theory. Both ideas point to the idea that our consciousness might/does survive our death. Perhaps this is where the ideas of angels or spirit guides come from? Maybe this is the experience we have when we believe our ancestors are talking to us? Maybe this is what our parents mean when they say “grandma and grandpa are looking down on you and watching over you.” As I come to terms with the hospice situation of my dad, I experience comfort knowing that both ideas might be true. That death isn’t the end… it’s just a change. Nothing comes from nothing, everything comes from something… the end of one begins another.

We needed to arrive at the location before 4pm. If we missed the time, it’s possible we might not complete a critical task on behalf of my dad. We left the first location at 2:30pm, and it became clear that we would arrive at our destination around 3:40pm. We would be rushing to complete our task. Only to have to rush back home in order to make another deadline. At 3pm I decided to turn the car around and head back home. Why rush? Why stress about getting from one point to another? I, and my compatriots, are already stressed and tired — why put ourselves through more of it? My decision created some frustration that quickly abated — “we’re almost there, let’s just get this done… we’ll rest when we’re dead.” Today, I learned that we didn’t need to head to any location yesterday — everything could be done by phone from the convenience of our home. I’m reminded of a story my Dad told me — many times. I’ll change the story — [changes] — so that it’s appropriate for this audience — my Dad wasn’t always the cleanest story teller. Atop a hill sat two young bulls. A young one, and an old one. In the valley, there sat a collection of female cows. The young bull looked to the old bull and said, let’s run down and [read scripture] to one or two of them. The old bull turned to the young bull and said, let’s walk down and [read scripture] to them all.Sometimes the simplest and least stressful plan produces the maximal experience of life. And, while moving slower might feel less productive, in the end, it’s likely better.Commentary: If you know my dad, you know how that story went. And if you didn’t, then I’m comfortable with you believing that he spoke about reading scripture often.

To approach a thing stoically can mean to approach a thing without feeling or in a temperate manner. To approach a thing with a Stoic mindset can mean to deeply appreciate the experience of a thing and then move forward when it’s time to move forward.I struggle to go through life with a small case stoic nature. I feel my experiences deeply, and I desire to appreciate those feelings to maximum extent possible. Perhaps I never want that small case experience. Perhaps, one of the best lessons the death process teaches me is that maximizing the perception of the moment while being able to move forward — time doesn’t stop — is the best way for me to experience life. In fact, I wonder if I effectively move forward unless I allow myself to maximally experience the moment. When I use maximize, I don’t mean to n’th degree every second of every day. I mean to do all I can to be present and allow life to unfold in front of me. To widen my mind and my heart’s aperture as much as I can. To perceive what I can, not judge it, and take a step forward. Said another way — live each moment (responsibly) like it’s the last.

He lay on the bed propping his head up with his hand. Eyes locked on me so that he could receive lyric cues. He listened attentively, trying to match his singing with the song. The micro-smile forming at the corners of his mouth signaled his enjoyment — singing through his favorite songs. We recited the poems he quotes most — Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. He claimed that he would sleep soon, but I still had miles to go. His hand came out from under his head. His lead lay on the pillow. His hands clasped his body and then outstretched themselves asking for a hug. I pulled the covers over him. Gave him a hug. He gave me a kiss. And that’s the moment.I perceived a warm come across my body, and I perceived a light. The world appeared bright to me. As if ball lightning lit up the room. I sensed a ti-bond between myself, my dad, and something else — something else in the room with me. Something else giving me a notion that nothing really matters besides this moment. And more than that, something else communicating that what matters is love and compassion, not score keeping or remembering how I treated or was treated to/by others in the past. That what mattered was a kind of pragmatic optimism about the present.My mind’s eye observed the absurdity of family politics, communication dynamics, the need to over-engineer relationships, hate, dislike, pettiness, and the like when juxtaposed with love. It was hard not to cry and laugh. It wasn’t sadness, it was a grief… but not the grief at the loss of someone important. It was relief from shedding myself of ideas and notions that never really served me or anybody else… and happiness to realize that nothing but this moment and how it’s used truly matters.