Nature: Life and Death

Fallen bird's nest

Mushroom cap in grass

Mummified squirrel

Mushroom cap in pine needles

Baby bird fallen from nest

Birdhouses: Indoor Decor

The little white birdhouse.

I bought this pretty little house years ago, when I took care of my bedridden mom, down for the count with a broken back. I had spent some of the money I got from a contractual buyout (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2013/09/sunday-paper.html) to spend a month nursing her through yet another fall, the result of MS and her own inability to cope with the disease. She was depressed, angry, and prone to violent fits. My brothers had warned me over the phone that she had gone seriously downhill before I flew back East: a normally intensely neat women with daily cleaning rituals, her apartment started to become cluttered, dirty, and messy.

Years ago I discovered Feng Shui (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feng_shui), and while I wasn't a mad devotee by any means, I bought a few books on the subject out of curiosity. Much of it is simply basic good design sense for any space: lots of light, green plants for color, oxygen, and good health, water features for relaxation, and mirrors to bounce around the light, to make small spaces feel bigger. The different centers of the eight-sided Bagua correspond to different areas of life; there's one corner for wealth, another for health, and so on (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bagua).

So, after nursing her physically and emotionally, I set about making her place warm and welcoming. First, I needed a lot of garbage bags. She had held onto papers that had the same year as my grandfather's death, which was never fully addressed in her mental health care routine successfully. I spent days going to her room to show her each and every piece of paper stuffed away into various nooks and crannies. She cursed me and fought me so viciously that finally, out of desperation and in exhaustion, I finally looked at her wearily and said "Look, honey, you can say whatever you want to me, but this process isn't going to stop. So do your worst. It won't change anything."

And like that, the spell was broken. I went to a crafts store soon after to begin bringing some cheer to her place. I created a little area of interest on top of a book case with a basket holding some fake ivy, and intertwining those branches, I stuck in these cheerful little birdhouses to add more interest. After I went back to Colorado, my mom thanked me for pulling her out of her downward spiral. She had gone to see a doctor who tested her for depression, and she had drawn a clock backwards, which is a positive sign of it. Her real recovery began, as so often happens when I am directly involved.

That time period taught me a lot about the power of beautifully decorated space, and how important design in the home is. It's where we spend most of our time. I hadn't really had a knack for interior design prior, because I never had the money or a place of my own to express myself, but once I came back to Brooklyn, my interest caught fire in earnest (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2011/01/joys-of-winter-comforts-of-home.html). This year, moving back home for my own reasons, my mom turned to me on the couch, and asked me, "What is that there?" Only the white birdhouse remained from my time nurturing her through that period. I took the little birdhouse away, into the other room, and there it now lives.

http://www.pinterest.com/mariedoucette/birdhouses-and-treehouses/

Bluebell the English Bulldog

Who's that little doggie in the parking lot?

Little Bluebell with the big personality.

I first met Bluebell walking to the library. I noticed a dog sitting in a window seat often, in a house behind the local funeral home. One day I saw a little white bulldog sitting outside, looking up at another dog sitting in the window seat of the house, in a way that seemed like teasing. I called out "Hey! What are you doing?" and then the white dog started racing across the parking lot in spurts, stopping then starting, with me giggling nervously but also enjoying the show. Then a man with a handlebar mustache came out, shouting and calling to the dog, which made it take off in a tear towards me, jumping right over a small hedge easily, surprising for a doggie with such short legs. I shouted out "Is he friendly?" He said "She's a girl! Very!" I noticed she had a pink dog collar as she tried to bite into my shoe, snuffling around my ankles. When he came closer, she jumped back over the hedge, circled around his legs a few times while he chased her, trying to bit his feet, too.
It was really funny.

Belly rubs!

After that, I kept an eye out for her, and one afternoon I noticed the owner sitting outside on a lawn chair, so I went over to say "hello". He told me her name was Bluebell, an English Bulldog, one of two dogs he had. I noticed her big personality right away and told him so. There was also what I thought was an Irish Setter, a long haired Retriever named Highway, lingering near us with a tennis ball in his mouth, trying to engage us in a game of "keep away". When I asked him about his name, he said it came from his favorite Clint Eastwood movie, Heartbreak Ridge, and he asked me if I'd seen it. I couldn't remember if I had or not. He said Bluebell was a lot nicer than his first bulldog, an irascible, grumpy little fellow, but his son loved the breed so much that they got a second one when he died. She was his opposite; gregarious, friendly, endlessly charming, always ready for playtime, attention, and affection. She let herself out of the house often, and she also liked to sunbathe in the parking lot on her leash.

Aww. Puppy face. "Hi Bluebell!"

Haha! Shake it off, Bluebell!

He said it was a shame bulldogs didn't live very long because of the aggressive inbreeding used to create their distinctive looks. 
I understood. My Giant Mal didn't live long, the same as the other snow dogs I had, and that it was harder for us humans than it was for them, because we missed them so much after they were gone. I realized after I said goodbye to my new friend and walked away that I was probably one of the few people in town (if any) to say those consoling words to the town's funeral director, a man who has said them countless times to people in their times of comfort and need. I'm sure the irony wasn't lost on him, either. 

Precious little doggie with sad face :(

Are you a crazy pet person and you know it? I've got your number right here: http://www.pinterest.com/mariedoucette/dogs/.

On Death and Dying

http://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/entertainment/articles/2012-01/12/car-coffin/porsche

I've always had a problem with American attitudes towards death, like it's a disease that's catching, because it's totally unrealistic. Death is an inevitable part of life. To deny this central fact about our existence seems bizarre at best, and extremely dysfunctional at its' worst. Mourning and grief are not emotions that go away, so it's especially counterproductive pretending that no one ever does.

http://www.aetv.com/hoarders/

Shows like "Hoarders" opened my eyes to millions of people who suffer from an inability to properly process and handle their emotions, thereby sublimating their feelings onto things. If left untreated, their compulsions build and internal tensions increase. Over time, it hardens into a deeply serious mental illness with a low cure rate. They actually entomb themselves within layers of stuff, and lose the ability to connect with others. Like zombies, they are legions of waking dead.

http://www.mediamatic.net/65222/en/ik-r-i-p

I'm more interested in exploring the concept of dying well, and how one can best achieve that state of grace. Part of gathering in remembrance is reliving the joy of that persons' life. It's not solely a sad occasion. For years I've loved stories about a select group of carpenters from Ghana, who craft unique burial vessels by hand and on commission, each one a work of art directed by the intended. Periodically you'll see exhibition adverts at your local museums and galleries. I'd urge you to see them in person. It's hard to deny life while looking at these beautiful objects.

We have some glorious funeral rites, too, right here in the US of A. Naturally, this sizzlin' flavor comes to you courtesy of Cajun country and New Orleans, home of the jazz procession. Who wouldn't want a send off like this? It's just fun.

Perhaps the most famous proponent for dignified death was Mother Theresa. Her organization and the sisters who now run it, still strongly promote and work towards the values she outlined and made public. I invite you to explore their mission work further: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missionaries_of_Charity.


Catholics have traditions about death and the dying that is often at odds with modern sensibilities. The message many people get from media outlets is that death is "unlucky", through eyes which hold childish distaste. This distance between perception and reality sets people up for a big, scary fall, over what used to be a moderated and functioning part of daily life. The central concept to a better (and healthier) point of view is no one should die alone. 

http://topnews.net.nz/content/22043-unsuitable-care-being-received-terminally-ill-stresses-report

To that end, there are organizations that create hospices, hospitals and systems which administer and address this critical need in our society. There are people around the world who consider it their special vocation to tend to a population that is often put in a room somewhere and ignored. Here's a few links about spirituality, and the few special people who care compassionately about how we end our journey: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/21/us/21nuns.html?pagewanted=all and http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/1103124.htm.

http://www.sueelviswrites.com/2012/01/

I hope this opens up a discussion in your family about a subject that's been taboo for too long in our society. Life is a gift, 
and our planet is a miracle. We deserve to broadcast this out loud to the Universe with style, in a manner that suits us, and our loved ones, best. 

Let's live!