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"JOURNEY": Passage or progress from one stage to another
IN THE JOURNEY
Stories by Kenneth Merle Morrison
These stories were published in the Alexandria Town Talk Senior News.
WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY
by Kenneth Merle Morrison
Lacy was in the bed with the covers pulled up around her neck. As usual. she was wearing her best hat. Standing at the foot of her bed was a man who also was wearing a hat. He was neatly dressed in a three piece suit and was wearing a tie with brightly colored stripes. He could have passed for anybody’s uncle or he could have been an angel in disguise. Although they did not seem to be acquainted, Lacy showed no surprise at his presence in her room. Intuitively, she knew why he was there. “Have you come for me?” she asked. “Yes, I have,” he replied, “are you ready to go?”
With that conversation, G.B. Trudeau, the creator of the satirical cartoon Doonesbury, sets the stage for the final act of Lacy’s life - she is about to die. The moment has arrived for her to pass on from this life to the next and the man with the hat and striped tie was to be her escort. He was to be her guide and companion on the most important journey she would ever take. In reply to his question, “Are you ready to go?” Lacy firmly replied, “Yes.”
If Trudeau’s cartoon had appeared in last week’s newspaper instead of a few years ago, the conversation between Lacy and her escort might have been different. Using a little imagination, we can surmise Lacy’s answer as being something like this: “No. I am not quite ready to go. I need more time to think about making a Living Will.”
To make or not make a Living Will has become a matter of supreme importance for every senior who has the mental capacity to do so. A Living Will, sometimes called an advanced medical directive, can no longer remain in limbo. A recent report stated that in the United States over 7,000 people will die every day and none of us has the knowledge of when our own name will be included in that number. We are, after all, mortal.
My own adventure with a Living Will began on August 22, 1997. I was in a hospital room with my wife Doris, who was receiving medical treatment for lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph nodes. I sat quietly while an experienced counselor on the staff of CHRISTUS St. Frances Cabrini Hospital explained the purpose of an advanced medical directive. Far from being a frightening or emotionally disturbing encounter, the counselor explained to her that she was being offered the right to control any decisions that were made regarding her medical care, including the decision to have life-sustaining procedures withheld or withdrawn in instances of a terminal and irreversible condition.
In addition to a well presented overview of an advanced medical directive, the counselor gave Doris a printed Living Will form which she was given to read and sign, that is, if she agreed with its declarations. After studying the form and asking a few questions, Doris asked for a pen and readily signed her name which, when signed by two witnesses unrelated to her, made it official under the laws of the state of Louisiana.
At that time there was no way of knowing how soon the Living Will would play a crucial and dramatic role in a life or death situation for Doris. She had been a cancer survivor for sixteen years - the first two years with lung cancer and then fourteen years with lymphoma. Maximum treatments of radiation and endless sessions of chemotherapy had taken a grievous toll on her frail, physical body. Her immune system was greatly impaired, allowing the deadly germs of salmonella and meningitis to further complicate and compromise her medical condition.
Being watched over by a caring and experienced medical staff, it soon became apparent that all of her vital signs were in a wild and uncontrolled tailspin. All the indicators were in place to firmly establish that life for Doris was steadily ebbing away. Our twenty four hour vigil confirmed our fears and the doctor’s decision to withhold life enhancing nutrients turned hope into a word without meaning.
This passing parade of events took us back to the moment when Doris signed her name to a stated declaration that in the case of a terminal and irreversible illness, no further life-sustaining procedures should be used. It had been Doris’ decision and whatever we thought about it was now irrelevant. It was, for me, a supremely uncomfortable moment to watch as a nurse shut off the flow of nutrients that had been helping to stabilize a life that was now being placed on a medically approved fast track that would, at some time, result in death.
I felt that I was being transported in time back to the scene of some Shakespearean tragedy where I was on stage as one of his star-crossed characters. “How much longer,” I asked the doctor, “can we expect her to live?” “No longer than seven days,” he replied, “and it may come sooner than that.” It was a pronouncement I did not want to hear and it resulted in an uncontrollable silence as I turned away to hide my tears.
After that, each time I came to her closed hospital door, I would pause for a few moments to prepare myself for what I would find when I entered her room. But there was nothing that could prepare me for what I found when I entered her room a few days later. To my amazement, I found her sitting up in bed eating her morning meal. She then said, “Give me my glasses I want to read the newspaper.” And later she sent me out for a pizza.
When the doctor had the opportunity to observe these totally unexpected events, he started using unprofessional words like “fantastic” and “amazing.” He confirmed that she had come back from the threshold of an expected death and had reached a new plateau.
It was a new and unbelievable plateau for all of us and there appeared to be no logical explanation. Logical or not, I needed to discover the unknown pathway that Doris followed to transport her from near death to new life.
So I went back to the journal that I had faithfully kept during her extended illness. There, I found a quotation from the writings of Dr. Bernie Stegel in a book called “Handbook For The Soul.” He wrote, “I’ve observed that people who face life-threatening illness are often able to recover the ability that most of us have lost, the ability to connect with the soul.”
I had written about Doris’ connection with her soul in another part of my journal. Using words that reflected the intensity of my emotional state, I wrote: “In my imagination I can see her being pulled away from us - slowly at first - and then she is gone. Much like a person on the beach of an ocean who starts wading further and further out into the sea. Then, suddenly, the rip tide drags her under the ocean wave and she is gone! She is gone and we have lost her forever.
“But there is a limitation to my imagination,” I wrote. “My eyes are dim and I cannot see beneath the crashing waves of the churning sea. Down there where my faith has not yet taken me is a life line. The life line is the connection she has with her soul. I cannot see it and the doctor cannot see it but Doris can, so she takes hold and it pulls her back up on the shore where she stands in a radiant beauty that only God can bestow.”
When Lacy’s friend, the man wearing a hat and a striped tie, appeared in her room, I like to think that he was an angel disguised as an ordinary man. If he had appeared in Doris’ room when the nurse stopped the flow of nutrients, and if he had asked her the same question he posed to Lacy, “Are you ready to go?” she would have sat up in bed and resolutely replied, “No I am not ready to go and when I am, I will let you know.”
And that is the way it was with Doris - she did not go until she was ready to go. And that is another story.
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
“DEAR SIR, YOU ARE BEING AUDITED”
By Kenneth Merle Morrison
Oh Dear Lord! It’s tax time again and I am still working on compiling all the bits and pieces of business records that will eventually became a part of what the IRS calls Form 1040. Those of you who have already filed Form 1040, and those of you who have already received your coveted refund, have every right to feel superior. You are to be congratulated and held in high esteem.
We laggards run the risk of being labeled as lazy, listless, a slowpoke, a dawdler or a chronic procrastinator. I invite all laggards to take your pick of which label you would want placed on your car as a bumper sticker. Then your friends would find it easy to say, as you drive your car down the street, “There goes that lazy, listless, slowpoke who shamelessly dawdles away his time.”
“But wait, there is more,” as the TV commercial announcer would say. Instead of being a chronic procrastinator, we so called laggards may, in reality, be a chronic “deliberatarian.” A deliberatarian is a word I invented to describe a person who is consciously and intentionally careful and unhurried. A deliberatarian is a person who engages in long and careful consideration. He or she is inclined to be detail minded, refusing to be rash or hasty. In a word, he or she is deliberate.
With these definitions in mind, I confess to being a world class deliberatarian. Running the risk of being called a Form 1040 laggard, I am going to file Form 4868, which grants me an automatic four-month extension to file Form 1040. This is acceptable to the IRS as long as I understand that it does not extend the time to pay the amount of taxes that are due.
Deliberatarians also run the risk of being reprimanded by those who are closest to us - those who know us best. My late wife used to say, “Kenny Merle, (a name she used when her patience was exhausted) stop analyzing the job and just do it.” Later, when the IRS came knocking on our door, she was very happy that she had married a deliberatarian.
It was on a Wednesday morning that I opened my postal box at the local Post Office. It was always an adventure to open the box, not knowing what lottery I had won or what rich uncle had died, leaving me a fortune. But on that morning, there was no good news coming out of my post office box. There was, however, one lonely letter - a letter with a hand written address. It appeared innocent enough until I saw the return address which read: Internal Revenue Service, Alexandria, Louisiana. You know you are in big trouble when it is a hand written address on a letter from the local office of the IRS. I did not immediately open the letter. I took it home and placed it on my desk, where, as an experienced deliberatarian, I thought about what I would do if the letter contained the dreaded words, “Dear Sir, you are being audited.”
After using up my allotted “analyzing” time, I carefully opened the letter and discovered that my fears were not unfounded. It was an official notice, written in the style of polite governmental jargon, informing me of a pending audit to be conducted at our place of business. This was no causal audit asking for additional information to be brought to their office. This was a full-blown audit where all business records were to be made available to the visiting tax auditor. A date was set for the audit with the stipulation that I could request a delay.
Of course I needed a delay! If for no other reason than to get over the shock of being selected, out of all the companies in Central Louisiana, to bare open the soul of a private business, being conducted by law abiding senior citizens, I needed all the extra time I could get. It just did not seem fair. So, I applied for a delay and was granted two more weeks in which to organize the necessary documentation.
I had always heard that if you are audited, be sure not to volunteer any information - only answer the questions that are asked and do that without embellishment. That was common knowledge and that was about all I knew concerning an official audit by the Internal Revenue Service. If I had not been so naive, I would have sought the counsel of a tax attorney or a CPA. But since I was the person responsible for filing the tax return for the year in question, I decided to face the music alone, hoping for a harmonious exchange of questions and answers between the auditor and me.
Before the audit began, I visualized the scene: Sitting on one side of the table would be a middle age, overweight man with a scowl on his face, displaying an attitude of complete confidence. On the other side would be a seventy year old, underweight senior citizen whose manner reflected the uneasy and painful feelings he was experiencing. If it had been a ten round prize fight, I, the underdog, would have been knocked out in the opening minutes of the first round. Again, it did not seem to be fair.
Visualizing an event before it happens can be, and usually is, completely misleading. Responding to a gentle knock on my door on the morning of the scheduled appointment, I found myself face to face with a pleasant looking young lady who identified herself as being from the Alexandria Office of the Internal Revenue Service.
Her demeanor was such that I was immediately put at ease, helping me to overcome my prize fight mentality. In her opening remarks, she enabled me to understand that an audit was not a contest between two combative people - it was a simple request to review the documentation which would validate the information I had submitted on Form 1040.
Fortunately, because I was detail minded, I was well prepared. When questions were asked, I did not answer with words - I removed a file from a box that contained documentation such as paid invoices and canceled checks. All in all I had available for the auditor, a total of forty eight letter size file folders, each full of needed information.
As the investigation continued, I had a few questions of my own. “What,” I asked, “was the red flag that caused the IRS to instruct your office to conduct this audit?” “It was the amount of money your company paid for insurance,” she answered. “The amount you claimed as expense was in excess of the amount our guidelines approve for a company your size.” When she looked in the folder that I had labeled Insurance, and saw the validating information, the audit was essentially over. After asking many more questions and looking in many more file folders, she looked across the table at me and said these unexpected and unforgettable words: “Mr. Morrison, you have one of the best set of books I have ever reviewed.”
Immediately, the stress of a heavy burden was lifted. I had been put to the test and had passed. Now, when you see my car traveling down the street, you are likely to see a bumper sticker that reads: “I am a certified deliberatarian and proud of it.”
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
LEST WE FORGET
By Kenneth Merle Morrison
They say we are dying off at the rate of 1,000 a day; some say it is closer to 1,500 a day. Of the 16.1 million Americans who served in the armed forces during World War II, less than 4 million are still living today. So, as a veteran of the U S Navy during the war, I consider myself fortunate to be counted among the living with vivid memories of what occurred on December 7, 1941- a day President Franklin D. Roosevelt described as “a date that will live in infamy.”
That day marked my conversion from being a political novice who was sympathetic to British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain with his “peace at any price” rational. Before the surprise bombing of the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor by the Japanese, I would have chosen to be on a debating team that passionately argued the value and virtue of the political philosophy of peace at any price.
After December 7, I was able to see through the fog and haziness of my naive political persuasion and I started viewing the world as it really was - filled with evil people bent on evil deeds. That was the day when evil came out of its cage. It came out of its cage of just being a word with religious connotations and proceeded to disguise itself as real people dressed in the garb of humans. Evil became personified with names like Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin. More specifically, December 7 added the names of Emperor Hirohito and General Tojo Hideki of Japan.
Evil, disguised as human beings, was now having its way while America was lulled to sleep by the seemingly sincere diplomatic endeavors by the Japanese to convince us that their desire for peace was equal to our desire for peace. Evil knocked on our door, and we, as good neighbors are inclined to do, open the door wide and invited them in. Like Little Red Riding Hood, we did not recognize the disguise until it was too late.
After experiencing the shock of the surprise bombing at Pearl Harbor, America’s response was one of incredulous disbelief: How could a small island nation with very few natural resources hope to win a war with a much larger nation with an enormous wealth of natural resources? To help us with an understanding of this baffling mystery, Peter Duus, a writer of historical events, suggested this explanation: “Japanese leaders were aware
of America’s immense economic and technological strength, but they gambled that the American public and politicians would not be able to stomach the fight to the finish. Japanese war plans envisaged a limited war that would lead the United States to a negotiated peace that would recognize Japanese dominate position and territorial gains in East Asia.”
What a terrible and tragic misreading of the prevailing American spirit; what a complete display of ignorance concerning the fortitude of the American public who had come of age in the early 1940s - a generation that Tom Brokow named “The Greatest Generation” in his bestselling book by the same name.
Hardened and toughened by the extreme difficulties of the Great Depression, my generation was a witness to a herculean response never before seen in the history of the world. Throwing off the shackles of peace at any price, we demonstrated a willingness to make any sacrifice necessary to defeat the evil empire of a run amok Japan who had no comprehension of the inner faith and the outer strength of the common, ordinary American citizen. We had already learned the meaning of suffering, sacrifice and sharing; we were now prepared, in Winston Churchill’s words, “to wage war against a monstrous tyranny, never surpassed in the dark, lamentable catalogue of human crime.”
In Brokow’s book he lays out for us the stories that reflect the response of America’s greatest generation, both on the battlefield and on the home front. This is a publication that must be passed down from one generation to another lest we forget the lessons learned from the events of December 7, 1941. It is a reminder of what history has always revealed about the nature of our world: Lurking out there in the future is some evil empire that is waiting for the opportune time to inflict disastrous damage upon their perceived enemy, namely, the United States.
My generation failed to recognize the potential for such an event happening to us - after all, we were, for the most part, peaceful, law abiding, and God fearing citizens of the world community. The lesson to be learned is never to be caught off guard by another December 7 or September 11. The price we pay is constant vigilance and the refusal to believe that peace at any price is always the superior solution.
While my generation made an initial failure, coming out of the carnage of December 7 we, with faith and fortitude, formed a united effort that ultimately produced victory out of defeat. The account of how that happened has been told in the multiplied thousands of stories of heroic deeds and the ultimate sacrifice of human life.
Tom Brokow, in his book, also pays tribute to the multiplied thousands of ordinary people who made victory possible by their dedicated work on the home front. He wrote: “World War II required such a massive buildup in such a short time; the home front effort was as impressive as the fighting in Europe or the Pacific.”
As a member of the greatest generation, my contribution to the war effort had two faces - service in the U.S. Navy for a period of time and, prior to that, as a worker in an essential defense industry.
When I graduated from high school in the early part of 1941, I became an active part of the U.S. army of workers. After a period of training, I was employed by Boeing Airplane Company. I was assigned to the assembly line where I helped fabricate the long range bomber known as the B-29 Super fortress - the airplane that became famous for dropping the atomic bombs that brought about Japan’s unconditional surrender.
While working the midnight shift, I attended engineering classes during the day and in due time I applied for a transfer to the Tool Engineering Department where I became qualified as an engineering draftsman. That led to my working with a tool engineer who became the subject of one of Tom Brokaw’s stories about America’s workers on the Home Front. In a seven page story, Brokow credits Charles Briscoe (we called him C.C.) with a major role in developing the B-29, the plane of the century that became one of the most important war instruments that led to Japan’s defeat.
Charles was a senior designer who was my crew chief. I received assignments from him and in time I became a junior designer. When the first plane rolled off the assembly line, we were there to celebrate a modern day miracle; when the Enola Gay B-29 delivered its burden of bombs that brought about Japan’s surrender, it was time for the ultimate celebration.
Working for Boeing was the capstone of my contribution to the war effort. When those of us on the assembly line were driving one rivet after another, we became partners with those brave men who were firing one bullet after another. When I picked up my drawing pencil and drawing instruments and placed lines and dimensions on a sheet of vellum paper, I became a partner with those courageous men who flew the Enola Gay B-29.
I doubt that any of my rivets were a part of that plane, but I do know that some of the parts on that plane were manufactured by workers following the Boeing Airplane Company blueprint that had the name of Kenneth Morrison inserted in the space titled “Drawn By.”
While Tom Brocaw called us the “Greatest Generation,” I am aware that it is only transitory in nature - there will be others in the future who will claim that title by remembering the lessons of December 7 and responding with a valiant courage that will keep America the home of the free and the and the land of the brave. I will diligently pray for them - lest they forget.
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
ELDERTALK
By Kenneth Merle Morrison
I remember when our children were infants - just learning to say ma ma and da da. My wife and I would become engaged in the fascinating world of BABYTALK. I suppose we thought that if we imitated the rather primitive sounds they uttered, they would understand the equally primitive sounds we were making. When logical thinking ruled that out, we justified our use of BABYTALK as a diversion into the world of fantasy - a time of reliving our own childhood.
Every age group has its own unique way of talking. After BABYTALK there is CHILDTALK, a way of talking that can sometime present problems for seniors. When my great grandson comes for a visit, I begin our conversation with these words: “Remember that I am an elderly person whose ability to hear is not as good as it once was, and my less than sharp mental skills keep me from understanding the words that flow out of your mouth at 100 miles per hour. So, when you talk to me, please slow down and please speak up.” He listens and then wisely hides his exasperation and for the next few moments we understood each other.
Next comes TEENTALK which often is equally difficult for seniors to interpret. The problem is not in the softness or loudness or slowness or fastness in how they talk - the problem is that their youth jargon is full of words with which we are unfamiliar. There is nothing more delightful for a teenager than to witness question marks floating up out of the heads of adults as their TEENTALK continues to leave us frustrated and baffled.
ADULTTALK also has its problems. Linguists inform us that there are more than 34 distinct and identifiable accents and dialects found in different localities of the United States and Louisiana certainly has its share. This brings us face to face with what I call ELDERTALK - the kind of language spoken by the majority of seniors in our area.
ELDERTALK is a language that has been through a stabilizing process and is not subject to sudden change. We have become comfortable with the language that our generation speaks and there is no impetus, no challenge, no driving force to make us want to change directions. Unlike TEENTALK with its colorful, vibrant, fresh, vigorous and pungent language, ELDERTALK is on the road to becoming stale and stagnant.
Using Shakespeare as our model (It is reported that he invented over 1,500 new words) I propose that we put new life into our way of talking by coining new ELDERTALK words - words used exclusively by and for seniors.
The challenge is for us to take ELDERTALK to a new level - making it more interesting, entertaining and perhaps inventing a new word that one day will find its way into common usage. As a result, I am taking on the role of an amateur neologist. So, here we go - on an exciting venture of inventing some new ELDERTALK words. Using the word “senior” and the word “elder” I have combined them with other words or group of words to create a neologism made up of a single word. Here are a few:
SENIORITIS: This is a word that describes the affliction that affects baby boomers who can’t wait to become an authentic senior who enjoys monthly Social Security checks and the benefits of the Medicare program. The word is used like this: “Adam’s SENIORITIS has affected his ability to think clearly about the aging process and has resulted in some unwise and disastrous decisions.”
ELDERTUDE: The description of an overreaction to some unpleasant negative comment about seniors and their lifestyle. It may be used like this: “When Mr. Young Jr. complained about the cost of medical benefits for the elderly, Mr. Young Sr. reacted with an expressive ELDERTUDE that could not be disguised as anything other than utter distaste and aversion for the misguided comment from his son.” He plainly demonstrated an ELDERTUDE.
SENIORCOPTER: This is an unwelcome guest who shows up when a group of senior merrymakers get together to celebrate some special event. The age weary SENIORCOPTER hovers overhead with arms rotating while shooting out negative word bullets that seek to belittle and disparage happiness where ever it can be found. It is used like this: “I am a SENIORCOPTER and it is my calling in life to locate pockets of joy, drop incendiary bombs on them for enjoying life while I live mine in misery.”
ELDERHENSIVE: Some seniors seem destined to live their lives full of anxiety and fear. This new word can be used like this: “When Mrs. Blackwell’s husband died, she became quite fearful and uneasy about the future. When she consulted a professional counselor, her condition was recognized it as being a case of ELDERHENSIVE addiction.” With his help she was able to overcome her anxiety and apprehension.”
SENIORCANE: This can be a person who is capable of creating a category five storm. In talking to a friend I once describe a mutual acquaintance as “being aggressive, opinionated and being an elitist.” Unexpectedly, my friend replied, “You have just described me.” It was a reply that enabled me to change my thinking about elitism. In its broader sense it means to be counted as a part of a group regarded as the “finest, best, and most distinguished.” My friend was all of that and more. SENIORCANE can then be used like this: “My friend is delightful, bright, intelligent, and full of mature wisdom. But be aware that behind the smooth veneer is a fireball personality - forceful, energetic and vigorous. At her epicenter she is a certified SENIORCANE.”
ELDERVATOR: It is generally accepted that at age 65 people should seriously consider retirement. But there are some motivated older than 65 people who have formed a different concept about healthy aging. Their goal is to keep going up and up - continuing to have a purposeful reason for living. This gives us a new word that can be used like this: “While Mr.
and Mrs. Browning are experiencing the usual age related problems, they are looking past those problems and they have become known throughout the community as the ELDERVATORS,”
From BABYTALK to ELDERTALK, the stages of life can be outlined by the way we have learned to put words together in an understandable fashion. Each stage should take us closer and closer to a goal of achieving some measure of excellence in our way of talking. Sometimes that may require the invention of a new word. There are thousands of other new words yet to be coined. Make your own list; invent your own words; who knows, one of them may make it into the new edition of Merriam-Webster’s Deluxe Dictionary.
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
TO PRAY OR NOT TO PRAY By Kenneth Merle Morrison
I remember when, as a young child, I was introduced to the mystical, spiritual experience we call prayer. As my mother called out the words, I would repeat them: “Now I lay me down to sleep / I pray the Lord my soul to keep / If I should die before I wake / I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
At the time I had no intellectual concept of the meaning of the words “pray” or “soul.” Over time I learned their meaning and the words of this classic children’s prayer became an important part of my spiritual heritage. It was my introduction to the fascinating world of prayer - a subject matter that has captured the interest of both saint and sinner and those of us who live out our lives somewhere between those two extremes. It is estimated the 80% of Americans are inclined to look with favor on the subject of prayer; thus, it is difficult to repress its spiritual influence on life today.
I can trace my spiritual heritage back to the 1850's when my great-grandfather was a dedicated and energetic circuit riding Methodist clergyman. His circuit of churches was in the rugged mountains of West Virginia where life was lived under dangerous and difficult circumstances. Bread for the body was supplemented by bread for the soul in the form of the faithful practice of prayer. For my great-grandfather, prayer was not just a now and then occurrence - it was a daily and nightly routine.
My father, who bore the distinguished sounding name of Leonodist Bunyon Morrison, was faithful in following a similar routine. Every morning, following a sit down breakfast, he would gather the family together in the living room where he would offer a prayer seeking guidance for his four boys as they prepared to depart for school.
This legacy of prayer has given me a continuing interest in both the successes and the failures that flow out of our experiences with prayer. When a recent newspaper and TV report suggested that prayer was a failure in providing help in an important area of life, it attracted my attention, caught my interest, and caused me to begin a process of reexamining my core beliefs about prayer.
The newspaper headline read: “Study finds no effect of praying for health.” The first sentence was in the form of a question: “Does praying for a sick person’s recovery do any good?” The next sentence read: “In the largest scientific study of its kind, heart surgery patients showed no benefit when strangers prayed for their recovery.”
We have been encouraged to believe that whenever the word “scientific” has been attached to some study or finding, it gives it a credence and authority that should not be disputed. So, countless thousands of readers, among them senior citizens, will face new questions about the value of prayer. It should be noted that it is alright to entertain new questions as long as we keep ourselves open the new answers.
One well known syndicated columnist, Bonnie Erbe, accepted this scientific study at face value, especially the part that revealed that those patients who had knowledge that they were being prayed for by an unknown third party suffered from more complications than did the group who did not know they were being prayed for. As unbelievers are inclined to do, she allowed sarcasm to characterize the final sentence of her column. She wrote, “The next time I get sick and someone says, ‘I’ll pray for you,’ I’ll respond: ‘Do me a favor and please don’t. I’d like my chances for recovery to be as high as possible.’”
It is my belief that, while Bonnie Erbe had legitimate and plausible new questions, she stopped too soon when she did not open herself to the possibility of new answers. Our world continues to be a world of change. In the disciplines of religion, psychology, and philosophy new ways of discovering old truths are continuing to unfold in a useful and beneficial manner.
It always creates suspicion when we base our belief and confidence in the value of prayer exclusively on the basis of anecdotal evidence. Personal stories of health problems being relieved through the therapy of payer have been with us since Bible days. People of faith generally accept them as being useful in determining their own belief system. But since there are no known scientific double blind studies to validate or invalidate a person’s faith, we are left with old questions that cry out for new answers.
Sometime ago I was a guest in the home of a husband who was a successful young cotton farmer and his lovely wife, a nurse who was employed in a small city hospital. At one point our conversation centered on her work as a nurse. She talked about her belief that her work as a nurse was something more than just an occupation; it was a calling that was almost spiritual in nature.
She spoke of a time when she arrived at the hospital one evening and was told by the nurse going off duty that one of their patients was not expected to live through the night. Her parting words were, "Don't call the doctor. He was just here and said there was absolutely nothing else that could be done. It would just be a matter of time.”
Knowing that from a medical stand point there was nothing more that could be done; she went into his room, turned her thoughts toward God and said a prayer. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with the impression that she should call the doctor for one last visit with the dying patient. When asked why she had called him, she had no medically appropriate answer to give. She said, “As I stood there I distinctly felt that there must be something else we can do for him.” The doctor listened and then quickly walked to a phone and placed a long distance call to a friend with whom he had gone to medical school. After explaining the nature of the patient’s symptoms and illness, he waited for a comment and what he heard was most improbable. His doctor friend had just been informed of a new medical procedure for just such a case as had been described. Returning to his dying patient the doctor, with the help of his nurse, performed the procedure and within a short time the patient responded; he gradually came out of the coma like state, and in time made a complete recovery. My hostess finished her story by saying, “In all of my cases I always pray for divine guidance.”
Praying for divine guidance is not limited to nurses - it also is practiced by many doctors. A friend, David Carlton M.D. (retired), who during his active years was honored by his peers by being elected president of the Louisiana Medical Association, has remarked that most of the doctors he knows are aware of a higher power that overshadows all of the skill and experience they have to offer. When asked about the recent scientific study that downplayed the effectiveness of intercessory prayer for heart patients, he, in essence, said, “When I read the report of that study, my reaction was to ask how long was it going to take to refute their findings?” He then cited other studies that gave high marks to the practice of prayer.
So there you have it. Which one are you going to put your trust in, the flippant comment of columnist Bonnie Erbe, who said that she did not desire to have any strangers praying for her? Or the measured words of a trusted family doctor who has stood by the bedside of many seriously ill patients and has witnessed the effectiveness of the joint venture of the therapy of prayer and the skill of medical doctors and nurses.
As I continue my journey through the autumn years of my life, I would be pleased to know that there are unknown people out there who are saying a prayer in my behalf. In the meantime, I will close each day by saying, “Now I lay me down to sleep / I pray the Lord my soul to keep / If I should die before I wake / I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
RULES FOR AGING
By Kenneth Merle Morrison
“Turning old is a tough way to live.” The words were spoken in a matter of fact tone by a man who appeared to be in his late sixties. He was sitting in a small medical clinic waiting room. By his side was a cane that helped him maintain his balance while walking. In his hands he securely held a plastic zip lock bag with six or more prescription bottles that would verify the medications he was taking. The lady to whom he was talking nodded her head in agreement. Others of us remained silent, but it was probably true that all of us were in agreement that age related medical problems sometimes make for a “tough” time of living.
Syndicated columnist Dr. Donohue seemed to agree with this concept when he wrote: “Lots of unpleasant things happen with aging. Metabolism slows. Our bodies don’t repair themselves as they did when we were young. Bones do lose strength and size with age.” Dr. Donohue then summed up his analysis with these forceful and striking words: “Growing old is not for the faint of heart.”
This is not good news for the burgeoning population of baby boomers who are now facing the unrelenting reality of someday growing old. From beginning to ending, life is a process of learning how to live through the different stages that life presents - the last of which is called old age. The secret of making it through each stage successfully is to learn how to escape the fate of being found among those called the “faint of heart.”
Fortunately, gerontologists, who have identified old age as beginning at age 65, have come to our rescue with scientific studies that help to prepare us for the problems - both physical and emotional - that are associated with growing old.
In addition, self-help-books by the hundreds have been published for our consumption because of the continued interest in the subject. Among them is a best seller called “Rules For Aging.” Written by noted essayist Roger Rosenblatt, a Peabody and Emmy award winner, it has been described by Newsday as “A humorous, thinking man’s self-help book...written as a guide for those in the younger generation who want to learn from the mistakes of their elders.”
Full of wit and humor, it provides provocative advice for those who have not yet reached the esteemed stage of old age. Recognizing the possibility that many of the Senior News readers will not find it possible to obtain the book, I have chosen a few of his 58 rules for you to read and decide if they are right for you. Here are a few of them, chosen at random.
RULE #2 - “NOBODY IS THINKING ABOUT YOU: Yes, I know that your friends are becoming your enemies, that your grocer, garbage man, clergyman, sister-in-law and your dog are all of the opinion that you have put on weight, that you have lost your touch, that you have lost your mind, furthermore you are convinced that everyone spends two thirds of every day commenting on your disintegration, denigrating your work, plotting your assassination. I promise you: Nobody is thinking about you. They are thinking about themselves- just like you.”
RULE #5 - “BOO YOURSELF OFF THE STAGE: Charles Lamb attended the opening of one of his plays and, having seen that the thing was very bad, stood up and started to boo - beating the rest of the audience by seconds. Unlikely as it sounds, there may be one or two occasions in your life when you do something not up to your usual high standards. When that happens, lead the booing yourself. It is good for one’s health, and it will deprive others of the satisfaction of your embarrassment.”
RULE #6 - ‘YES YOU DID: If you have the slightest question as to whether or not you are responsible for a wrongdoing, you are. As soon as you think, I really didn’t do it’ - you did. Come to this conclusion early, act to correct it, and live a little longer. Don’t come to it at all, never act to correct it...and how are you feeling?”
RULE #27 - “JUST BECAUSE THE PERSON WHO CRITICIZES YOU IS AN IDIOT DOESN’T MAKE HIM WRONG: You would like to think that his idiocy makes him wrong, but it doesn’t. Treat all criticism as if it had been produced by the monkey with the typewriter; that is, see it as a lucky shot that happened to hit the mark. That way, you can make corrective use of the assault, yet denigrate the source. You still have your pride, after all.”
RULE #29 - “ENVY NO ONE - EVER.”
RULE #31 - “DO NOT ATTEMPT TO IMPROVE ANYONE, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU KNOW IT WILL HELP: The following situation will present itself to you over and over: There is a friend, a relative, an employee, an employer, a colleague, whose behavior flaws are so evident to everyone but themselves, you just know that a straightforward, no punches-pulled conversation with them will show them the errors of their ways. They will, in turn, see the light at once and be forever grateful that only as good and caring person as yourself would be so kind and so brave as to confront them. Better still, from the moment you inform them about their bad table manners, their poor choices in clothing, their loudness, their deafness, their paranoia, they will reform on the spot. Their lives will be redeemed, and they will owe their renewed selves and all future happiness to you.
I implore you: When the muse of improvement whispers in your ear, swat it. I refer to rule 2. Nobody is thinking about you - unless you tell them about their faults. Then you may be sure that they are thinking about you. They are thinking about....(eliminating) you.”
RULE #40 - “A LONG AND HAPPY LIFE LASTS FIVE MINUTES: One would think that this rule would go without stating, but many people actually believe that a long life of uninterrupted happiness is a real possibility. And they act on this belief! They change families, change careers, the structure of their faces, countries, everything, for no more substantial reason than they recall five minutes of uninterrupted happiness in the past, and now they wish to re-create the memory in perpetuity. They even convince themselves that the five-minute period they recall was really five years and they giddily substitute the exception (bliss) for the rule (confusion, doubt, misery, fear, confusion, and confusion). Happiness is wonderful, but if you have had more than five consecutive minutes of it, it means that you weren’t thinking.”
I must admit that when I started reading Mr. Rosenblatt’s Rules for Aging, I allowed the wit, humor and hyperbole, to obscure the nugget of truth to be found in each rule. As I re-read and internalized them, I became aware of their value: They are not designed to eliminate all of the unwanted things that make turning old into a “tough way to live”; they are designed to enable us to escape the dreaded consequences of becoming “faint of heart.”
If you are 65 or older, some of these rules may not apply to you; if so, pass them on to a member of the baby boomers who, as they age, need all the help they can get, and if you give it to them, your generosity may add at least five more minutes of happiness to your own life.
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
COMMON MYTHS ABOUT AGING
By Kenneth Merle Morrsion
“To prevent the hair from turning gray; anoint it with the blood of a black calf which has been boiled in oil, or with the fat of a rattlesnake.” Those outrageous instructions probably qualify them to be the original myth about the process of aging. Today, we reject them out of hand as being a deceptive myth, but back in 1552 B.C. there were many believers who diligently followed them in every detail. And why shouldn’t they? The instructions were from the trusted Egyptian medical book Papyrus Ebers.
Myths about aging are still with us today - primarily because we just do not want the inevitable aging process to make us look older than we are. A current T.V. commercial shows an attractive lady going berserk when she encounters the first “age spot” that suddenly appears on a previously unblemished face. It has always been that way. I remember when beautiful Greta Garbo, who in 1950 was chosen the best actress of the half century, voluntarily entered into an isolated retirement that led her to become a virtual recluse. After wondering why, I decided that she was emotionally unable to face the fact that her beauty was beginning to fade. Age spots had the enormous power to drive her into the darkness of a New York City apartment where she was seen no more by the general public.
Browsing through a local bookstore, I discovered this intriguing title: “The Perricone Promise: Look Younger, Live Longer In Three Easy Steps.” Written by Nicholas Perricone, M.D., the book invites us to participate in the making of a modern myth on how to put on hold the normal aging process. But before joining the parade of believers, we need to become aware that not all seductive promises have the power to guide us safely through the anxiety filled days of graying hair, multiple age spots and wrinkles galore.
High on the list of common myths that deceive is the one that says: “YOU WILL BE IN YOUR OLDER YEARS THE SAME PERSON YOU WERE IN YOUNGER YEARS.” To which I say,” Balderdash! - Not true.” Deep inside each of us are unused mechanisms that can rescue us from carrying the burden of a self centered and egoistic life style over into the senior years - a burden that results in only being tolerated by others and never being well liked or loved. We are not talking about turning sinners into saints - we are talking about the possibility of moderate changes that will make the senior years more enjoyable and less stressful. It will save us from the cold arctic loneliness that surrounds the unlikeable and the unloved.
To believe that a person can’t make a change is to believe a deceptive myth - a big lie. If you have tried to make the change but have not succeeded on your own, then stretch out your hand and allow someone from outside yourself to take hold and provide a needed rescue.
Another deceptive myth about the aging process is the one that says:
“IN YOUTH IT IS SPRINGTIME, IN MIDDLE AGE IT IS SUMMER AND IN OLD AGE IT IS WINTER.” Even though the sacred writings of most religions use that metaphor, it is not wise to use it as a measuring stick for what should be happening to us as we traverse through the various stages of life.
There are some youth who, because of an accident or an illness, have missed the springtime of life. There are some middle age people who have bypassed summer and have gone on from springtime directly into old age, taking on the limitations that gradually affect the elderly. Then, there are some fortunate seniors who say, “It may be winter, but I am walking to my final destination through fields that are covered with flowers.”
On her ninetieth birthday, my friend Connie’s grandmother was asked what she wanted for a present. Without hesitation she replied, “I want a ten year diary.” Now that is a life being walked through fields of flowers. Such an example is a constant reminder that advanced age should never be considered as being synonymous with the dull dreary days of winter. Even when snow is on the ground, the heart, the spirit, and the soul can live in the springtime. Say no to the big lie! Perennial winter time for seniors is a deceitful myth that must be stripped of its power. Another myth about aging that must be put to the test of veracity is the one that says: “COME GROW OLD WITH ME, FOR THE BEST IS YET TO BE.”
Linking growing older with the concept that it holds the promise of the best years of life, plays a grotesque joke on families where an elderly member suffers from a debilitating stroke or is placed in the dark, endless tunnel of nothingness called Alzheimer’s.
It was that way for an older brother of mine whose daily visits went unnoticed by a beloved wife who had entered that tunnel of silence and never came out. So, the question is: Best for whom? Best for the sufferer? Best for the survivor? Or, best for neither? Of all the myths about aging, this must be the most dreadful of all - or, at least, it appears that way.
The familiar words, “Grow old with me / the best is yet to be,” are from the pen of English poet Robert Browning. His marriage to Elizabeth Barrett, another gifted poet, resulted in a story of love unequaled in their time.
Elizabeth’s father bitterly opposed their marriage, so they eloped to Italy where she later wrote her legendary Sonnet in which she penned the immortal words “How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. . .” These were the descriptive, unforgettable words that Elizabeth wanted to convey to her husband Robert who had nursed her back to health during their early days in Italy.
Now, when we place the words of poet Browning “Grow old with me / the best is yet to be” against the backdrop of the message of Elizabeth, his words take on a completely different meaning. They can no longer be called a myth. They now become a message of enduring love - a shared love that makes growing older together, even under dire and unfortunate circumstances, a blessing and not a curse. So, as a final evaluation of the matter, we cross out the word myth and write in the word love.
But there are other myths that do not fare as well when put to the evaluation test. What about the myth that says: “WHEN OLD AGE ENTERS THE FRONT DOOR, SEXUALITY SLIPS OUT THE BACK?”
In Mary Plpher’s book “Another Country”, a book that discusses the various aspects of the process of aging, she writes about a joke that was making the rounds of her home state of Nebraska: “A man finds a frog who says that if she is kissed, she’ll turn into a beautiful princess. Instead of kissing the frog, the man puts her into his pocket. The frog says, don’t you want to kiss me and have a beautiful princess?’ The man replies, ‘Frankly, AT MY AGE, I would rather have a talking frog.’”
The key to combat any anxiety that may arise out of the relationship between aging and sexuality is a willingness to be educated. Information is available that should enable seniors to determine for themselves what that relationship should be.
Debunking the myths of aging is a continuing challenge for all seniors everywhere, to whom I graciously give these parting words: “Come, grow old with me, for the best is yet to be.”
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
LOOKING FOR A MIRACLE
By Kenneth Merle Morrsion
When I entered the office I saw a sign that read: Please Take A Number. That usually means you are in for a long wait. Printed on slick paper, the number is on a form which resembles the size and shape of an Indian arrowhead. My number was 57. I took a seat and prepared to practice the art of patience. I was in a Louisiana Motor Vehicle License Bureau. I was there to get my driver’s license renewed.
Three ladies were busily working in their assigned work cubical. Each had a client, so I knew that it would take some time before my number was called. But I was not prepared for what happened next. When a client made an exit from cubical number one, I heard the number 59 called out. “Wait a minute,” I said to myself, “My number is 57 - my number should have been called before number 59.” This could have been the sudden end of my practicing patience; however, self-restraint saved me from an embarrassing display of intemperance. I held my peace and I was rewarded by my number being called in less than a minute.
Presenting my driver's license, I was instructed to place my forehead on a bar which activated the eye examination machine. “Read the top line,” she said. This was the critical moment I had been dreading. The eye examination had been a matter of grave concern for me from the time I had been informed by my eye doctor that my vision had been somewhat impaired by a condition called macular degeneration.
I had read in one of Dr. Donohue’s columns in the Town Talk that “Macular Degeneration is the number one thief of sight for people older than 65. By age 75, close to 90 percent have at least some traces of it.” This unwelcome, rapscallion thief had entered my domain and was threatening to surreptitiously steal my most priceless possession - my eyesight.
It was now a defining moment for me - would I pass or would I fail? The essential quality of my future life would be affected by the outcome of this seemingly routine eye examination. A failure would mean some undesirable and drastic changes in my way of living. It could rob me of that which all seniors consider to be most valuable - independent living. Without a valid driver’s license I would be forced to depend on others to do for me what I had always been able to do for myself - go where I wanted to go and choose when it would happen. The shadow cast by such a possibility was dark and foreboding like an omen of ill will.
While driving to the license bureau, a thousand different thoughts raced through the connecting points in my brain. How could I best prepare myself for this encounter with destiny? Should I use the calming techniques practiced by devotees of yoga? Or, should I activate the excitement center of the brain, creating a vortex that would sustain a state of alertness?
The choice was between being calm or being alert, and, sadly, I was unable to choose. The stress, by now, had reached enormous proportions.
So I decided to use the strategy of listening to music as I drove to my destination. I had in my car a CD recording of music by Yanni. It contained a mixture of energetic, forceful, dynamic sounds intermingled with more mellow, resonant sounds that are pleasing to the ear and calming to the heart. Again, I found myself unable to choose - not knowing which state of mind - alertness or calmness - would be to my advantage as I pressed my forehead against the bar that would display the dreaded vision examination.
“Read the top line,” my examiner said with a voice that was more an intimidating command than a respectful request. Dutifully I did so. And my first anxiety filled words were a clear message to the examiner that I was less than certain that I could pass the test. As I viewed the top line, it seemed to be one continuous blur and I hesitantly asked, “Am I looking at numbers or letters?” I now knew that this examination would be a guessing game; so, I needed information that would prevent me from calling out the letter S when the screen was showing the number 8.
In a voice that was tinged with a bit of sarcasm, she replied, “They are all numbers.” The defining moment had arrived, and she and I both knew that I had already failed the test before the guessing game began. My greatest fear had come to pass - they were about to cancel my privilege of driving on the public roads of the state of Louisiana. I had been driving for over sixty years and now I was about to be deprived of an activity that was the cornerstone of my independence.
As the examining clerk handed my license back to me, I lamely suggested that I might be able to pass another test if I had the prescription changed for my eye glasses. She silently nodded her head in agreement but we both knew the game was over. I had been tested and I had failed. As I walked out the door, all she could see was the departing figure of client number 57. What she could not see was the broken spirit of a senior citizen who had reached a low point in his life. I had been tested and I had failed. I was looking for a little miracle, but on this day it was not to be found.
As I drove toward home my CD was silent; my mind numb; my body fatigued; my spirit crushed. Arriving home I was greeted with more silence. Even my faithful pet cat Abby was nowhere to be found which made the silence even more dreadfully discouraging. Since I live alone there was no one to hear me say in a voice dripping with self pity, “Honey, guess what? I didn’t pass my eye examination, you’ll have to do all the driving from now on.” So the unbearable silence continued until sleep delivered me from the self inflicted wounds brought on by my mournfully negative thinking.
It was not a restful sleep - it was more like an extended period of being awake, interspersed with fleeting moments of intermittent sleep. But, during the time I was awake, something unexpected happened. A memory floated back into my conscious mind that proved to be the harbinger of good news. My daughter Becky, an RN who had worked for an eye doctor, told me that the Vehicle License Bureau had a form that could be filled out by a client’s doctor giving his evaluation of a person’s visual ability.
Without delay I obtained the form, had my doctor fill out the required information, and I appeared again at a License Bureau Office, this time with renewed hope. As I handed the form to a new examiner, I explained that I had failed a previous eye test and I was there to try again. As she accepted it, she said, “Just a moment please.” I nervously watched as she left to confer with a supervisor. Coming back she said, “Sir, let’s take another eye examination.” “Oh no,” I said to myself. “Not again.” Hope was on the verge of fading, but this time the whole environment was different. Placing my forehead against the bar I was astonished that the line was not blurred and I could tell they were all numbers. As I slowly began to call them out, hesitating once in a while, my friendly examiner would say, “Take your time, you are doing fine.” With that encouragement I finally reached the end of the line, whereupon she excused herself again.
She reappeared with a pleasant smile on her face and said, “Congratulations, you made a passing grade. Your license is good for another four years,” to which I replied, “Oh, that’s great - it’s an answer to prayer!” And I have no other explanation to offer for this astounding turn of events. Moving beyond mental and physical preparations, I used the calming efficacy of prayer, and my mind and body instinctively responded in an appropriate manner. It really was an answer to prayer. I think I will try it on some other problems I face in life. Why don’t you give it a try?
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
MISSION IMPOSSIBLE / POSSIBLE
By Kenneth Merle Morrison
I am on a mission - a mission that seems to be impossible. My mission is to encourage everyone who is reading these words to take up pen or pencil and start writing. No, I am not suggesting that you devote yourself to writing the next great American novel. Nor am I suggesting that you start writing a column for the local newspaper. What I am asking you to do is both simple and doable. I am asking that you put down on paper something of your own history - something that will be of interest to members of your family and close friends. The concept is to capture some memorable moment that has occurred in the past, or is now occurring in the present, so that it might be made available at some future time.
All of us have some story that can only be told by the person to whom it has happened. Others may know about the story, but they lack the details; they lack knowledge about the emotional impact of the story; they lack the ability to experience the sadness or feel the joy that is such a vital part of the story. Therefore, there is only one person who can get the job done and that is you.
Whenever I hear an interesting story and I say to the person, "You must write that down," almost always the universal answer is, "1 can't write." And it is said with such a firm voice that my suggestion is considered to be both unrealistic and unacceptable. As a result, in my lifetime, I have observed many occasions when wonderful, interesting and beautiful stories that remain unwritten and, sadly, the stories die when the person in whose mind the story resides also dies.
It is very important that the would-be writer keep focused on the reason for writing. It is not for some unattainable goal such as writing to save the world.
My mission is to encourage you to focus on those events in your life that have been shaped by the heart and not just by the mind. The purpose is to take a personal, untold story and bring it to life by using the common, ordinary words you use in your every-day conversations. There will come the time when there are no more conversations - there will only be the written word.
All of this prompts me to say to you, the reader: "Don't delay any longer. Get out your paper, your pen or pencil and start writing about those events that have been shaped by your heart. Your written words will keep alive the spoken word and your children and grandchildren will bless you for it.
I have a clear memory of a time when I was given a negative answer to my suggestion that my friend start writing some stories about interesting events that had occurred during the many years she had been a teacher in the Oakdale public school system. Before her retirement, she was a high school instructor in both instrumental and vocal music.
In addition to teaching others, she was a gifted musician who played the pipe organ for a congregation in a downtown Oakdale church. Knowing of my interest in music, she would often play classical music for me on her grand piano in the living area of her home. With that kind of a background I knew she had the ability to write. But, once again I heard the familiar words, "Kenneth, you know that I can't write." Although I was disappointed, I was not surprised by her firm answer. So, for the time being, we allowed the matter to pass.
Then, the time came when her family and circle of friends heard the sad news that she was diagnosed with a terminal illness. It was a life changing experience for her, full of discomfort and pain, and the uncertainty of not knowing what the next day would bring. During a phone conversation at a time when it seemed that everything negative was crowding in on her, her faith enabled her to voice some inspirational thoughts that were amazing. At a time when others of us would have been listening for a word of comfort and sympathy, she was expressing some faith inspired words that could only have come from a belief system that had found lodging in her heart.
My response was immediate. I said in a voice that was more firm and authoritative than before, "Nell, you must write those thoughts down on paper. You must write them down for your family, your circle of friends and for anyone else who might be fortunate enough to hear them."
Shortly, I received a letter with a card in it that contained the words of faith she had communicated to me over the phone. In her own fine handwriting she wrote, "God is my constant companion. I know this because I feel the encouragement of His love within me. With God as my protection, there is nothing to fear"
Three weeks after writing these simple but inspiring words, Nell's terminal illness took her away from her family, her circle of close friends and all of those who had become acquainted with her in her work as an educator and an active participant in civic activities. Nell was known in her community as a person who practiced the art of true humility. But many did not know the extent of her indomitable courage until she put words down on paper that revealed it to us in all of its beauty.
When Nell died, her physical voice was silenced, but her written words took on immortality and they are still full of life even unto this day. When these living words were used during Nell's funeral service, they became a legacy worth far more than anything of material value. I am still deeply moved by what she said and what she wrote to me. In the presence of imminent death, Nell was inspired to write, "I have nothing to fear."
In a world that is constantly haunted by the prospect of devastating fear, I can think of no better companion to accompany us on our transitional journey from this life to the next than the assurance that "we have nothing to fear."
This has been the story of a gentle lady who has left a legacy, not just for her family; not just for those who attended her funeral service; it is for all of us who, by choice or happenstance are now aware of a person who said that she couldn't write, finally put down on paper some of the most memorable words I have ever read.
I am on a mission and I now know that my mission is possible. I have faith to believe that many of you, who formally believed you couldn't write, will now pick up a pen or pencil and put on paper one of the memorable moments of your own life. You will be leaving a legacy for your family and circle of friends, and, who knows, you may be helping to write your own funeral eulogy.
Kenneth Merle Morrisonon
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
