Paul Kalanithi was a young Stanford neurosurgeon who died March 9, 2015 from lung cancer.  Some of you may have read his New York Times essay “How Long Have I Got Left.” Possibly you have read his book Breath Becomes Air (which has close to 9,000 reviews on Amazon) which his wife Lucy published after his death. Or maybe you read Lucy’s NYT’s interview about how the book came about. All good stuff to look into when you have moment.

This week I am featuring Lucy’s response to receiving snail mail condolence notes and cards.  It is refreshing, sweet and to the point. And what a wonderful idea to have children participate.

How to Write a Condolence Note

From blog “Cup of Jo” By Joanna Goddard

This past spring (…) my brother-in-law Paul died of lung cancer. My sister, Lucy, was flooded with condolence cards and flowers. “I loved every single card,” she said, “Just getting a card felt so good.” Yet a few things stuck out as especially touching. We spoke on the phone this week, and she shared what she has learned…

Snail mail a card. Every email, phone call, everything was wonderful; I was astounded by how kind people were. Physical cards were especially nice to hold onto. I didn’t care at all what the card looked like. I have them in a basket in our living room and see them every day.

Describe how you can help. I was so grateful when people said, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.” But when people offered specifics, it felt even easier for me to take them up on their offers. One friend wrote, “If you ever want to come over, we can grill and make grapefruit mojitos; we’d love to see you and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”

This week the website On Being showcased the article, “Living through Death: Love at the End of Marriage.” It is a young mother’s daily observations of her neighbors: a husband caring for his wife during her final days.

It is the most beautiful tribute to the process of dying and being cared for that I remember reading. Probably because it comes from a young person’s perspective.

I do prefer to read rather than listen, but both are offered. I suggest you read, so your mind can pause to imagine the scenes the author writes about.

Take care all of you Talking BS.com readers! May the wind be at your back this month.

>read article

Hello Everyone –

Here is the update on Eve finding her Adam.

A wonderful mother and son story. But a person doesn’t need a son or the internet – nor do they need to go international – to develop a relationship after a death or divorce. (IF a relationship is on their “to do” list.)

They do, however, have to place themselves where they can touch the hearts and minds of others.

>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KPwPZVee-s

Sending love to all of my readers. May you have a good week!

So often the bereaved can’t, or don’t, talk about what is important to them. This week’s Jane Brody NYT’s column, When a Partner Dies, Grieving the Loss of Sex, tackles one of our society’s taboo topics.

For anyone who is recently widowed – and for those of us who work with the bereaved, Brody’s column is a must read.

> Read:  When a Partner Dies, Grieving the Loss of Sex

Today’s post features a 2016 New York Times article, “My Marriage Didn’t End When I Became a Widow” by Lucy Kalanithi. I know it is now 2017, but I think it is important to hear Lucy’s voice before I introduce you to her husband, Paul.

When Lucy’s husband, a young and brilliant Stanford neurosurgeon, was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, he moved within the world of medicine from physician to patient. Lucy, also a physician, became his caregiver and the mother of a daughter conceived after Paul’s diagnosis.

Paul Kalanithi died in March 2015, while working on his book When Breath Becomes Air. The book is beautifully written (not many physicians also have two degrees in English literature) and an inspiring memoir. It was named one of the best books of 2016 by the Washington Post, The New York Times and National Public Radio, and has 4.7 out of 5 stars from 6,265 readers on Amazon.

Janet Maslin from the NYT says: I guarantee that finishing this book and then forgetting about it is simply not an option. Part of this book’s tremendous impact comes from the obvious fact that its author was such a brilliant polymath. And part comes from the way he conveys what happened to him—passionately working and striving, deferring gratification, waiting to live, learning to die—so well. None of it is maudlin. Nothing is exaggerated. As he wrote to a friend: “It’s just tragic enough and just imaginable enough.” And I say just important enough to be unmissable.