The 1 Year Anniversary of My Father not Dying

                                                  Cherry on Top | Photo Credit: Emily Scott

A year ago, my 95-year-old father called me and said, “I’m dying, come here.”  This call was a surprise as he and I have been estranged for years and I thought that someone else would be telling me this news.   I surprised myself by saying, “On my way.”  I was not surprised when he criticized me for not coming immediately, as if I am responsible for the 3-hour time difference in our locations and the flight schedules.  His parting shot, “I won’t be alive if you wait.”

He was in his hospital bed the next day.  He was giving detailed instructions to the nurses and doctors about how to do their jobs and why they weren’t doing it correctly. I recognized their eye rolls and exasperation as I had been doing that for so much of my life.

My first words startled him and set us on a very different path than our usual can’t-get-past-hello-without-an-argument.  I said, “I am here to make sure that whatever you want happens happens, whatever you don’t want to happen won’t happen, I love you, and I am sorry you are in pain.”

That I have been with many people at the end of their lives helped me choose this philosophy.  The opportunity to empathize, comfort, and assist if possible at the end of someone’s life is of benefit to both individuals.  Had I not been down this path plenty of times before, I would have been at a loss for my father and for myself that day in the hospital.

The next two days were a combination of hand holding, assisting in filling out paperwork, discussion and implementation of end-of-life choices, encouraging words to the medical personnel (rather than those of admonishment), ordering takeout for him to enjoy (and as expressions of gratitude for the medical staff), and some crying and laughing. 

Magic happens when you least expect it.  My father told me he was ready to go.  He wanted to go.  He had enough.  I pushed back and he didn’t budge.  So, I brought the doctor in and said, “He wants to go, what do we need to do to make sure all his wishes are met?”  For over an hour we went through every question and every document.  As his daughter who knows a bit about how his mind works, I could offer explanations and examples that helped him understand the paperwork and what he was signing off on.  When we finished, he turned to me with a look I had not seen before and proclaimed, “You are my daughter after all.”

Translation: I am not exactly like my mother, whom he divorced 53 years ago, and their mutual dislike of each other remains.  That his smarts and wisdom flow through me as well. 

Truth: This is my father’s first time in over 40 years that he has approved of something I have said or done and I knew that this was his way of expressing that sentiment (not the best way to lovingly express approval, in my opinion, but there you have it).

Since returning home, we have skyped frequently and each conversation begins the same way:

Me: “Hi Dad, how are you?”
Dad: “Not good.  This is it. I’m dying.”
Me: “I know.  And I am really sorry you are in pain.  And I love you.”

Six months ago, I flew back to Massachusetts to visit him.  As always (always being my entire life), he spent hours giving me his theory of DNA programming even though I have heard it so often I could recite his theory back to him.  This time there was a difference in that experience.  I asked him if he wanted me to only listen or did he want me to respond and if he wanted my verbal engagement, was he prepared to listen.  Our dialogue pattern altered as I listened with the recognition that it was importance for him to get his thinking “out there.”

My father also let me take care of him.  I cooked, freezing much of it for future meals.  I had him instruct me how to make “his” salad dressing even though I have spent years making it on my own.  The instinctual recognition that we all want to feel needed and heard was never more obvious to me than during that weekend.

We spent hours talking about his life, about his escape from Europe during WWII, the murder of my relatives at the hands of the Nazis, his time in Cuba, and his eventual immigration to the United States.  While I knew much of his story, many pieces of the puzzles emerged.  He handed me letters from his father – the grandfather I never met -  that had been smuggled from Czechoslovakia to Hungary, readdressed and then mailed to my father in France where he attended college.  I had never seen these before and had no idea of their existence. The detailed accounts of what was happening at that time in Europe and to my ancestors on the almost-sheer, crumbling paper was one of those spine-tingling moments.

On the one year anniversary of his first call, I skyped my father and said, “Happy one year anniversary of not dying yet.” He laughed.  We actually laughed together.  We both know that he is dying.  He is 96 years old, of course the end is near.  That we could talk about life and death for this year has been more life affirming than sad. That we had our time to discuss and put aside some of the past differences has been more therapeutic for both of us than the years of counseling we have probably both done to heal ourselves from each other.

What this past year has done is give both him and me the opportunity to see each other and hear each other differently.  He got to see me as an adult, I got to learn more about his childhood and inner struggles. 

Reconciliation had seemed improbable.  We both tried and we failed many times.  Enough times to eventually stop trying. My loving stepfather had offered me sage advice in my late 20’s; keep trying until you are more than completely satisfied that when your father dies, you will have no regrets. I did and years ago, I was satisfied that when he died, I would have no regrets.  Nothing else needed to happen.  What did happen this past year was unexpected and magical.  As my father would say, “the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae.”

                                                                        Peter Scott

The Relevancy of being a Passionholic

In June of 2013, I did a TEDx talk about the combination of principles and passion in one’s philanthropy. It was titled “The Evolution of a Passionholic.” The word “workaholic” didn’t seem to be the best description of someone who is fully engaged, so I coined the word “passionholic.”

Is being a passionholic still relevant? Does passion drive tenacity, patience, determination, persistence, and pursuit of one’s goals?  

When asked, business leaders such as Warren Buffett, Steve Jobs, Oprah Winfrey, and Pat Mitchell have answered, to paraphrase, “Absolutely yes.”  Politicians and global leaders have had a similar response.  In the world of nonprofits, having passion for the cause is especially vital.  The opportunity to match head and heart, to use your skill set for a cause in which you believe, and to be part of a team whose culture shares that mission speaks to the need of having passion for what you do. I have yet to meet anyone in the nonprofit world who works in that sector for the paycheck.

For most nonprofit leaders, the idea of doing something else is unimaginable.  Passion for the cause is so deep that it seems to be in their DNA. Geoffrey Canada, the tireless and passionate leader of The Harlem Children’s Zonereferred to his work as a “love affair.” Eve Ensler created a global movement to end violence against women and girls, V-Day, after listening to hundreds of women who waited at the stage door after each performance of “The Vagina Monologues” to tell her their personal stories as survivors of sexual violence.  Many nonprofits began with the seeds of passion, purpose, and vision.  Without the manna of passion and purpose, it would be hard to maintain the resilience needed as the work is tireless, often heartbreaking, and results can be slow in coming.

What if the question is not how you spend your day but how you spend your philanthropic dollars?  Do you still need passion?  I would still answer “yes” and add, “if you want to feel aligned with your giving.” In interviews with philanthropists, many speak of passion as their strong feeling for an issue, sector, organization, and cause.  This motivation advances your interest andcompels you to contribute in a meaningful way.

I call it your personal Venn diagram for your philanthropic pursuits. 
 

The intersection of your passion, your values and principles, and your knowledge and learning is your sweet spot for meaningful engagement.

Take the opportunity to ask yourself the following: 

• What are my core values and principles?

• What areas (cause, sector, organization, issue) do I have passion for and how do they match with my core values and principles?

• How much time, treasure, and talent do I want to devote to my philanthropic interests?

• What knowledge/beliefs do I have internally and what data and information do I need to find to help me make an informed decision?

This exercise brings forth information that is uniquely yours.  And the beauty is that there is no right or wrong answer; the answer is your answer.  

Peter Karoff, founder of The Philanthropic Initiative writes, “The alignment of one’s passion to one’s giving is often elusive, but worth the search. “The reward is that your gift giving becomes the best possible articulation of your core values and belief systems and at the same time becomes a direct link to those issues within community and society that you deem to be of greatest significance. The payoff is in the immense personal satisfaction that comes when your generosity is grounded in what you feel is the most important.”

What is Your Legacy?

The Iconic Golden Gate Bridge \ Photo by Emily Scott

We lost many iconic figures in 2016 – the list seems longer than usual.  The fact that I am on the tail-end of middle age and thus aware of more famous people has something to do with my perception.  While many of the deceased crossed generational boundaries, Carrie Fisher’s death – and her mother’s, Debbie Reynolds – seemed to be the two that hit many the hardest.  The tribute to only them on the Golden Globes illustrated the point.

The media quoted many with sentiments of shock and sadness, “I feel so old,” “I can’t believe she was so young,” “She was my age,” “Carrie was my idol for so long,” and “I am brokenhearted.” 

The passing of legendary figures hits us uniquely.  We have our own memories that are coupled with these people.  What we were doing when a song was playing, who we were with when we saw a movie, how an invention changed our lives, and how we conceived of what their lives were like. 

When the person is our age, we are reminded of our own mortality in a very public way.  When Steve Jobs passed away, his sister’s eulogy was printed in newspapers.  When Sheryl Sandberg’s husband, Dave Goldberg, unexpectedly died, she publicly communicated her sadness on Facebook in the most eloquently beautiful way. 

I remember thinking, at those times and at others, “What would be said of me when I die? Have I told every person and every organization how important they are to me?  Have I been a thoughtful communicator for the future when I am not here?” 

This led to a complete overhaul in my will and health planning.  My documents had been very buttoned up; well, as precise as they could be when the ‘time of death’ is unknown.  As practical as the paperwork was, none of it spoke to who I am and how I think and feel.  The soul searching, the inclusion of my values and intentions, dramatically changed those documents.  Now, my family, my friends, my executors, any medical personnel, and the nonprofit beneficiaries will understand what was in my brain and heart.  Expressions of gratitude for the efforts of others during my life and after my death run throughout the documents.  Personal notes have been written, items with designated receivers are noted, and recommendations for help sources are included which is a true extension of who I am given that I love to network people.  Small details are included throughout such as the care and funding for my dogs and even the music for my memorial service (along with my user id and password for my iTunes account).

My philanthropic interests are diverse and fluid.  It became obvious that I needed to give detailed instructions to my trustees on what questions to ask before sending any funds to ensure that the organizations still exist and remain true to the mission that generated my interest.  If not, I offered flexibility to research other nonprofits in the same space.  I also left room to include other organizations or causes that while I had recently become involved with I hadn’t yet revised my estate plan to indicate these new passions. 

Several questions came to mind as I worked through this – I call it the desiderata list:

• What do I want people to know about their importance in my life

• What information can I pass on to my trustees so there is little wondering, “what would Emily want” and more confidence in their own judgement

• How can I cover as much as possible and leave room for flexibility and the unknown

• Should anyone feel sad or alone, how can I comfort them without being physically present

• Am I using my worth and words to empower, encourage, explain

• What is my true legacy that describes this life journey

There is a completeness, a comfort in having done this work. My conversations with those important people and nonprofits have been more intimate, more authentic, and valuable in the present than I can possibly say. I have a high degree of confidence that the above list has been asked and answered - for now.  Of course, I still have the long list of “need to-do’s” and it is now just one item shorter. 

More importantly, I fully appreciate that my life has been an incredible journey and if it ends sooner rather than later, I have shared it all for those who need to know.

The Beauty of Budgets

Yes, you read that correctly. It is with positive anticipation that I go through what many people view as “worse than root canal without pain meds.”

Why the difference?

First, as someone who is inherently risk averse when it comes to financial security, the reality of how I am spending my money is necessary for me to get out of bed every day with a less-than-fearful attitude. My bag lady syndrome has a prominent role in my life. The practice of monthly account reconciliation (which I began at 13 years old) and budget reviews keeps me managing this character trait rather than it lording over me. Bag Lady Syndrome (BLS) was introduced in the 70’s as a definition to middle-aged women’s concern that they’ll wind up homeless and carrying around their worldly goods in shopping bags. Allianz Insurance company’s 2014 study estimates that 50% of non-married women have BLS. I have been quoted in 2 articles about it as people seemed incredulous that my privileged life would not diminish this feeling.

Second, as a lifelong dieter, I will offer this metaphor: when my actual spending is lower than my budget, I feel like I’ve lost 10 pounds. It truly is a feeling of lightness, freedom, security and smart living all rolled into one. If I am over my budget, it is generally a modest amount and rather than panic, I recognize what I need to do to minimize the impact and keep it as the 2-pound weight gain.

Lastly, and most importantly, I have the opportunity to examine how my values and interests are in concert with my spending. To create the proposed yearly budget, I spend a great deal of time reflecting on my relationship to money, my needs, my values, and my pursuits. This exercise allows me to clarify how I want to live my life, what adjustments I need to make and in what time-frame. What line item suddenly becomes more important through this mindful/personal lens? For example, what will bring me more joy, travel or local entertainment. Is enhancing my personal space more important to me than clothes shopping? How do I incorporate my passion of philanthropy in my budget? How do I prepare for the unknown expenses (i.e., medical issues, unforeseen home repairs, gifts)? The questions venture far beyond need versus want. I explore, at a deeper level, my life and how to live it in the way that makes the most sense for me.

The budget review is not just a look at how my dollars are spent. It is a true reflection of how I live my life per my values and interests. Creating a financial platform gives me knowledge, comfort, clarity, and some degree of control. It is also the narrative of who I am and what I believe in through my financial means.

The result of the spreadsheet of actual versus proposed? I lost 5 pounds in 2016 and I feel fully prepared to create my 2017 annual budget. Onward and upward…

The Light at the End of the Tunnel | Photo Credit: Emily Scott

The Tears of Men

Last night, the world watched President Barack Obama give a loving, respectful, glowing tribute to his wife, Michelle. As he spoke, we watched him do the many things we have watched other men do to avoid crying in public (and maybe even privately). He rubbed the end of his nose, his lips twitched and quivered for a brief moment, he blinked more than usual, he looked down, he looked up. And then at the moment of barely being able to contain his tears, he took out his handkerchief and dabbed his eyes. The only thing missing was the ‘cough.’

This morning I posted on Facebook, “For the record: 1. Barak and Michelle are role models for loving, admiring, respectful partners 2. Watching Barak tear up and then trying (and succeeding) in stopping those tears made me sob. What a glorious tribute to his wife and family. 3. I still long for the day when males learn that they can cry and have those tears be a sign of heart, pain, passion, joy, sentiment…all the reasons society ‘approves’ of tears produced by women. When emotions are allowed to come forth, they are kept pure.”

As a side point, I appreciate that for those of us who are not President Obama fans, my comments will be abrasive. My suggestion is to separate the presidential job from the husband job.

When boys are taught that it is not okay to cry but it is okay to fight, the aggression behaviors increase as they grow up into men. As someone involved in women’s issues for over 30 years, I agree with those who believe that if men could express their sadness rather than convert it to anger, there would be fewer incidents of violence. I have sat in rooms filled with men who have rued the day they were violent to girls/women and who talked about not knowing what else to do with their feelings. Men, who as boys, watched their fathers’ anger escalate and who were among the victims of their fathers’ violent acts, and vowed to never be like them. And then they were told over and over again not to cry, not to be a baby, etc. And when as boys they kicked and screamed, they were told to calm down; they were not told to stop.

Andrew Reiner wrote about the effect of culture and stereotypes in his article, “Teaching Men to be Emotionally Honest” (New York Times, April 4, 2016). Mr. Reiner who teaches an honors course, “Real Men Smile: The Changing Face of Masculinity,” writes, “What boys seem to need is the very thing they fear. Yet when they are immunized against this deeper emotional honesty, the results have far-reaching, often devastating consequences.” He goes on to cite numerous references describing what happens to men in their academic, personal, and professional lives as well as what happens to the people around them.

As women, we have to do a better job of appreciating that men are just as capable of being depressed, scared, hurt, and sad as we are. This is not a sign of weakness. This is a sign of humanity. Brene Brown, in her book, Daring Greatly, writes, “Here’s the painful pattern that emerged from my research with men: We ask them to be vulnerable, we beg them to let us in, and we plead with them to tell us when they’re afraid, but the truth is that most women can’t stomach it. In those moments when real vulnerability happens in men, most of us recoil with fear and that fear manifests as everything from disappointment to disgust.” In an interview (Redbook Magazine, September 12, 2012), Dr. Brown said, “Women can either embrace and help men walk across the tightrope, or we can be the ones who push them off.”

It is not brain surgery to know that our emotions cannot be stifled, cannot be locked up in drawers forever. They have to be expressed somehow. We have pushed to change the physical aspects of the Barbie and GI Joe stereotypes to make these characters appear more real. It has been just as needed — and perhaps for much longer — to alter the inner beings of these stereotypes. That would be a game changer for all of us

Photo by Emily Scott