After years of hanging out with nursing-home residents and their families, I've come to the conclusion that the second nicest thing we can do for our loved ones is to preplan our funerals.

I have to admit that, as an accomplished expert in denying reality, I did not support my own mother in this effort almost two decades ago. She was perfectly fine. She was not going anywhere. She couldn't possibly die; I needed her. How dare she even mention the word funeral? SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! I WON'T TALK ABOUT IT!

She insisted that I would one day thank her, insisted too that I join her for a chat with the local funeral director who was making the rounds at her nursing home. I finally agreed, wanting to make sure he didn't pull a fast one on her. So one autumn afternoon, the three of us sat at a little round table in what was then called the South Day Room. They chatted happily as they pored over catalogs of caskets together; I remained bitterly silent and watchful throughout the whole ordeal and, when they were through, made a mad dash for home and a good long cry. 

HOW COULD SHE HAVE PUT ME THROUGH THAT HORRIFIC HOUR? HOW COULD SHE BE SO HATEFUL?

As it turned out, she was as right about this as she had been about everything else we'd ever disagreed on. When the time came -- when she actually did the unthinkable and died on me -- I didn't have to make a single decision about her funeral beyond agreeing on the date and time. She had taken care of everything.

What a gift it was, to be free to grieve, free to launch my inquiry into the possibility that she still existed somewhere out there. 

In the end, preplanning her funeral turned out to be the second kindest thing my mom ever did for me. 

But she also did something even more wonderful for me, something of eternal proportions. And that was telling me again and again, throughout our lives together, where I would find her once she departed this world. 

That, in fact, is the kindest thing any of us can do for our loved ones: To conduct the research, to determine once and for all where we will be spending eternity, and to let them know exactly how to find us.

It's probably best to tell them while we're still alive and kicking, so we can answer all their questions about our final destination, such as how they themselves can get there. But it never hurts to leave them a note.  

My mother did both, and I am eternally grateful -- to her, for making the effort, and to our Creator, for giving me the kind of mom I couldn't bear to lose for all eternity. ​

Located about 35 miles due east of St. Louis, Aviston, Illinois, is known as “a small town with a big heart.” And I guess that’s exactly right, if the folks at Aviston Countrywide Manor are any gauge.
 
In an effort to enhance its staff’s compassion for the people in their care, this Clinton County nursing home took a very unusual step some time ago: It held a contest to see which staff member could last the longest living as a resident of the facility.
 
The winner managed to make it for eight days, taking home a grand prize of $500 – apparently not all that much, considering that only four employees accepted the challenge.  
 
But I think this “Through the Looking Glass” project is absolutely brilliant. I hope it catches on and finds some major funding along the way. Just think what would happen to the quality of care – and the level of compassion – that nursing-home residents would experience if their caregivers really understood, from personal experience, exactly what they were going through each and every day.

Not too long ago, at the nursing home where I hang out, an elderly friend of mine passed away. “Gisela” was just like many of her neighbors – sometimes cheerful and loving, sometimes lonely and cross, sometimes suffering greatly from various aches and pains, occasionally feeling absolutely terrific.
 
And like a handful of her fellow residents, Gisela could often be found with her nose buried in her Bible, searching for edification and consolation. But it wasn’t just any Bible she turned to. Hers was rendered in German, in the old gothic typeface that, like so many other precious remnants of the past, is going to its grave along with today’s elderly Germans.
 
I visited Gisela weekly for several years, trying my best to converse with her about the things of this world and the next. But communicating with her was always a struggle for me. I tried to resurrect my self-taught German from 40 years ago, with little success; once we’d shared a few laughs over “wo ist die Bibliothek?” and chuckled over my lame attempts to read her Bible aloud, I didn’t have much else to contribute. Sometimes we’d just give up, sitting quietly or perhaps singing one of the few hymns she’d mastered in English.  
 
And then, one lovely fall day, along came a new volunteer who was also a native German. Elderly herself, “Ursula” was a wonder, friendly and laughing and oh, so eager to forge a friendship with Gisela.
 
They had a flurry of lively visits together, chattering away about the old country – at least, I assume that was their primary topic, because I’d hear the names of German cities and towns being bandied about.  And through those weeks, Gisela seemed as happy as I’d ever known her to be.
 
But then, life happened. Ursula’s own health was failing, and the visits stopped. Gisela clearly missed her friend. She fell into a gloom that not even my pathetic attempts at conversational German could dispel. And a few months later, she went on home to her Lord and Savior.
 
The moral of this story?  

Please, if you have some interest or skill that might make a shut-in’s day, week or year, don’t keep it to yourself. For instance, if you:

• Speak a foreign language
• Excel at mending clothing while you chat
• Love a good game of bridge or Scrabble
• Enjoy scrapbooking or writing letters
• Are fond of organizing a chatty coffee or lemonade klatsch 
• Play old songs (especially hymns) on the piano or guitar
• Like to read aloud, whether it's books or magazines or, best of all, the Bible 
• Pray unceasingly, especially for other people
• Think it's fun to teach others how to crochet or knit 
• Find nothing more satisfying than re-organizing the contents of drawers or closets
• Are quite an expert amateur birder with a homemade slide show that no one your age is interested in seeing
• Have any of a hundred other special skills or interests that an old lady or old man might appreciate

Don't wait another day! Call a few nearby nursing-home Activities Directors to find out if they have any residents whom you could delight. And even if they don’t have such a need right now, leave your name and number so they can find you in the future, should that situation change.

A girlfriend who volunteers at a rural memory-care center told me that, in this little facility, she has found her purpose in life. Perhaps you can, too, simply by sharing whatever makes you happy with a new elderly friend or two.

As I’ve noted before on this blog, each month a group of us conducts a Christian Music Hour at the wonderful nursing home where I volunteer. And each month, amidst the twelve classic (tr: old) hymns we sing, Chris Carrillo delivers a five-star message prepared specifically for this audience.
 
Here for your listening pleasure and spiritual edification is his June message. If you ever find yourself on the wrong side of fear, this one’s for you:

Want to hear more from Chris? You'll find his May message here.