On Being Mortal and Hallowe'en

Jim, Matt, Xiomara, and I attended the Good Shepherd Institute dinner, with Atul Gawande as the keynote speaker. His book, On Being Mortal, should be required reading for every American over the age of sixteen.

We heard about the dinner through the Good Shepherd Hospice newsletter. Our son, David, was a hospice patient with them for two weeks before he died. They took good care of him and of us. Their grief counselor helped us through the first year after his death: I still think about things she said.

When introductions were being made around the table, I mentioned David and our connection to Good Shepherd. I also said I had read On Being Mortal when David was sick. A woman remarked that I was very brave to read it in those conditions. But I was grateful for the insight Atul gave me. It strengthened my resolve to have David die at home.

Lori, a friend of mine, told me she hates Hallowe'en and the way it makes death terrifying. I agree to a point: I don't put up scary lawn decorations or dress like a ghoul. But I like the costumes and candy and the chance to meet young neighbor kids.

We live on a busy street at the edge of a commercial district and have rarely had more than two or three trick-or-treaters venture up our long driveway on Hallowe'en night. This year I got proactive: I created a living room in the front yard, setting up chairs and a table with a dark burgundy tablecloth and a stuffed fabric pumpkin and jack-o-lantern my mom made forty years ago. Jim brought out a floor lamp and I mulled 2 gallons of apple cider and dressed in the dirndl I just bought at a second-hand shop in Munich. We handed out full-sized candy: Snickers, Skittles, and Starbursts. (The latter two were MUCH more popular than the chocolate Snickers). About 40 kids visited: quite an increase over former years.

Jim just came home from church in Belmont. In the time it took to drive home he listened to WCRB play Albinoni's Adagio in G minor. A peaceful ending to a rainy autumnal evening.