"My father never got to tell us what he wanted, and we never really knew how to ask"

 

My father died in stages, the way most people do, and the four of us boys — me and my three brothers, our wives beside us — didn’t know what we were watching. 

He’d had a stroke and couldn’t speak or meaningfully move for the week or so before he died; we didn’t know what he was feeling. We didn’t know what to say, or whether to say anything at all, whether to hold his hand or give him space, whether the grimace on his face was pain or something we were misreading entirely.       

We didn’t know why he’d suddenly seemed so alert for a day, and we didn’t know what it meant when that passed. We were well-educated, reasonably worldly adults with decades of life experience between us, and we stood around that bed like children who’d wandered into a room where the grownups were speaking a language none of us had ever been taught.              

I’ve thought about that a lot over the years. Not with guilt, exactly, though some of that is in there too. Mostly I’ve thought about it as a kind of cultural failure; a thing our society stopped teaching somewhere along the way and never bothered to replace.   

For most of human history, people died at home, surrounded by family and neighbors who’d seen it before, who knew the signs, who understood the arc of it. Death was something a community witnessed together and held together.

Then we moved it into hospitals, handed it over to professionals, and quietly lost the knowledge that ordinary people once carried as a matter of course. Now we’re shocked, disoriented, and grief-stricken in ways that might be at least partly unnecessary, if only someone had thought to tell us what was coming and what it meant.

That’s why a piece published this month in the Washington Post was so meaningful to me. Written by Ashley Abramson, it’s about death doulas, a profession that barely existed twenty years ago and is now growing fast enough that the International End-of-Life Doula Association has trained nearly 6,500 doulas worldwide.

A death doula is a non-medical companion who provides emotional, spiritual, and practical support to people who are dying, and to the families around them. As Kristen Patterson, a death doula and end-of-life planner in Northern Virginia, puts it, a death doula is “a calm, compassionate presence who can be there for dying people and their loved ones in their final moments.”

They can read aloud, play music, advocate with medical providers, help navigate paperwork and final arrangements, and simply stay present in ways that hospice nurses — stretched thin and focused on clinical care — often can’t. People don’t always realize that hospice care isn’t 24/7, Patterson notes; it certainly wasn’t in our case (Dad died at home). A death doula can be there as much as the family needs.

But what I found most valuable in Abramson’s piece wasn’t the description of the role itself. It was the specific things that death doulas, from their long experience at bedsides, have learned about the dying process that most families simply don’t know going in. This is the kind of knowledge that can transform a terrifying experience into something that still holds space for love and even peace.

The first thing the doulas want you to know is that dying can be peaceful. Diane Button, a death doula in Northern California and the author of What Matters Most: Lessons the Dying Teach Us About Living, puts it simply: “Just like the body knows how to be born, it knows how to die.”

For people who’ve been living for months or years in bodies racked by illness, the transition can actually come as a relief. Jill Schock, founder of Death Doula LA, told the Post that many people are relaxed at the end, because dying feels better than continuing to live in a body that’s been suffering. That’s not what most of us picture when we imagine death, but it’s what people who sit with the dying actually see. And Button adds that the most common regrets she witnesses aren’t about things left undone — vacations not taken, money not earned — but about things left unsaid. If you can get to a place of peace with your relationships before that time comes, the dying itself tends to go more gently.

The second thing the doulas want you to understand is that the dying person can still participate in shaping that experience. Even in a hospital room, you can fill the space with what matters: favorite music, beloved objects, the people and even the pets you love.

Erica Reid Gerdes, founder of Waxwing Journeys in Chicago, describes a client whose husband found real comfort in being able to play music from his wife’s favorite musical and read her favorite books to her in those final days. She was unresponsive by then, but as Reid Gerdes says, “We knew she could still hear.” That’s not a small thing. That’s everything.

Third: death doesn’t need to be painful. Many of us carry images of painful deaths we witnessed in earlier generations, but modern hospice care is specifically designed to manage symptoms including pain.

Part of a doula’s job is to make sure the dying person has adequate medication and isn’t suffering unnecessarily. And medication does something else, too — it can calm what’s called terminal agitation, something my family saw with Dad and had absolutely no framework for understanding. When someone is actively dying, the shutting down of organs can affect brain function in ways that cause the person to pick at their clothing, claw at their bedsheets, or seem frightened and restless.

Seeing that in someone you love is alarming, even traumatic, if nobody has told you it’s a known and manageable part of the process. It has a name. It can be treated. You’re not watching your father suffer some unique and inexplicable torment: you’re watching something that happens, that doulas and hospice nurses have seen many times, and that medication can ease.    

Fourth, and this one is critically important: it’s normal, even expected, for a dying person to stop eating and drinking near the end. The body simply needs less energy. Swallowing becomes too taxing. The Post article makes the point explicitly — you don’t need to urge someone who’s actively dying to eat or drink. It doesn’t deprive them the way it would deprive a healthy person. Families often feel guilty about this, or frightened by it, and push food and water when the body is trying to do what it knows to do. A doula can gently explain that letting go of that particular effort is itself an act of love.

And fifth — this is the one I keep returning to when I think about those last days with my father — there’s a phenomenon called terminal lucidity, or an end-of-life rally. In the days just before death, many dying people experience a sudden surge of energy and clarity. After days of not talking much or eating, they perk up. They seem like themselves again. Families often mistake this for improvement, for a turn in the right direction, and the hope it kindles makes what follows all the more devastating. What doulas know, from having witnessed it over and over, is that this rally is often the body’s final gathering before it lets go. It isn’t a sign of recovery. It can be a gift — a last real conversation, a last moment of connection — if you know how to receive it as such rather than as cause for false hope.

I wish someone had told us all of this before we walked into that room. I wish someone had sat us down and said: here’s what’s happening, here’s what to watch for, here’s what it means, here’s how you can be present for him rather than just frightened beside him.

That’s what a death doula does. That’s the knowledge that used to live inside communities and families and has largely been lost, and that a growing number of remarkable people are now working to restore.

INELDA and the National End-of-Life Doula Alliance both maintain directories where you can find certified doulas in your area. Death doulas are generally not covered by insurance, which is a policy failure worth fighting about separately, but the field is having conversations about Medicare reimbursement and pro bono work for those who can’t pay. If the financial barrier is real for you, ask; many doulas offer sliding scales or even volunteer their time.     

But even if you’re nowhere near this moment in your own life, I’d urge you to read Abramson’s piece in the Post, and to have the conversation with the people you love before it becomes urgent. Talk about what you’d want. Ask what they’d want. Write it down. The conversation itself is an act of love, and it costs nothing except the willingness to be honest about the one thing none of us can avoid.

My father never got to tell us what he wanted, and we never really knew how to ask. That’s a quiet regret I carry. You don’t have to carry the same one.

---

If this piece meant something to you, please share it with someone who might need it: a sibling, a grown child, a friend whose parent is aging. And if you’ve had experience with a death doula, or wish you had, I’d love to hear your story in the comments. -Thom Hartmann

    

Rev. Andrew Guljas, C.S.C.

REV. ANDREW R. GULJAS, C.S.C. July 21, 1938 – April 20, 2026, Notre Dame, Ind. – Rev. Andrew Roland Guljas, C.S.C., 87, died on April 20, 2026, at Holy Cross House after a short illness. Fr. Guljas was born in South Bend, Ind., on July 21, 1938, to Michael and Genevieve (Penkala) Guljas and is the second oldest of seven children. 

After attending St. Joseph High School from 1953-1955, he entered the Holy Cross High School Seminary in Notre Dame, Ind., graduating in 1957. After his postulant year, he entered Holy Cross Novitiate in Jordan, Minn., on August 15, 1957, and pronounced his First Vows the following year. In 1962, he graduated from the University of Notre Dame with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, while also making Final Vows on August 16th. 

In 1966, he earned his master’s in theology from Holy Cross College in Washington, D.C. and was ordained a Holy Cross priest on June 8, 1968. After ordination in 1968, Fr. Guljas assisted and taught at Notre Dame High School for Boys in Niles, Ill., until 1973, before serving as a guidance counselor at Holy Trinity High in Chicago, Ill., for the following school year. 

From 1974-1984, he assisted the District of Chile before doing advanced studies at Illinois Professional School of Psychology in Chicago, Ill., and a three-year internship at Fr. Meade Veterans Med Center in Rapid City, S.D., earning a PsyD in 1990. From 1990- 1995, he assisted the District of Chile again, before returning to Notre Dame, Ind. From 1995- 1997, he served as counselor for Life Treatment Center in South Bend, Ind., before assisting at AIDS Ministries from 1997-2022 and Victory Clinical Services from 2001-2022. 

Beginning in 2022, he resided at Holy Cross House in Notre Dame, Ind., until his passing. Fr. Guljas was preceded in death by his parents and brothers Fredrick (Loretta) and Michael (Susan). He is survived by his brother Edward (Valerie) and sisters Bonita Holderman (Jerry), Rose Kelsheimer and Mary Howie (Mark). He is also survived by many beloved nephews and nieces. 

A Wake Service was held on Monday, April 27, 2026, at 7:30 p.m. at Moreau Seminary and Scholasticate, Notre Dame, Ind. A Funeral Mass was held at 3:30 p.m. on Tuesday, April 28, 2026, at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, Notre Dame, Ind.  You may join via livestream at https://funerals.holycrossusa.org. Burial will be at the community cemetery at Notre Dame... 

Memorial contributions in support of the mission and ministries of the Congregation of Holy Cross can be made to: United States Province of Priests and Brothers, Office of Advancement, P.O. Box 765, Notre Dame, IN 46556-0765 or online at https://donate.holycrossusa.org

Fr. Guljas was my favorite teacher and priest at Notre Dame High School, where we had many discussions about religion, philosophy, and music. 

                 "No man is an island, entire of itself...  
                   Each man's death diminishes me, 
                   for I am involved in mankind; 
                   therefore, send not to know 
                   for whom the bell tolls, 
                   it tolls for thee."  
                                                    -John Donne

"Trump supporters say, 'We suffered Eight years under Barack Obama.' Fair enough. Let’s take a look":

The day Obama became president; the Dow closed at 7,949 points. Eight years later, the Dow had almost tripled. General Motors and Chrysler were on the brink of bankruptcy, with Ford not far behind, and their failure, along with their supply chains, would have meant the loss of millions of jobs. Obama pushed through a controversial, $80 billion bailout to save the car industry. The U.S. car industry survived, started making money again, and the entire $80 billion was paid back, with interest.

While we remain vulnerable to lone-wolf attacks, no foreign terrorist organization has successfully executed a mass attack here since 9/11. Obama ordered the raid that killed Osama Bin Laden. He drew down the number of troops from 180,000 in Iraq and Afghanistan to just 15,000, and increased funding for the Department of Veterans Affairs.                     

He launched a program called Opening Doors which, since 2010, has led to a 47 percent decline in the number of homeless veterans. He set a record 73 straight months of private-sector job growth. Due to Obama’s regulatory policies, greenhouse gas emissions decreased by 12%, production of renewable energy more than doubled, and our dependence on foreign oil was cut in half.   

He signed The Lilly Ledbetter Act, making it easier for women to sue employers for unequal pay. His Omnibus Public Lands Management Act designated more than 2 million acres as wilderness, creating thousands of miles of trails and protecting over 1,000 miles of rivers.

He reduced the federal deficit from 9.8 percent of GDP in 2009 to 3.2 percent in 2016. For all the inadequacies of the Affordable Care Act, we seem to have forgotten that, before the ACA, you could be denied coverage for a pre-existing condition, and kids could not stay on their parents’ policies up to age 26.

Obama approved a $14.5 billion system to rebuild the levees in New Orleans. All this, even as our own Mitch McConnell famously asserted that his singular mission would be to block anything President Obama tried to do.

While Obama failed on his campaign pledge to close the prison at Guantanamo Bay, that prison’s population decreased from 242 to around 50. He expanded funding for embryonic stem cell research, supporting groundbreaking advancement in areas like spinal injury treatment and cancer.

Credit card companies can no longer charge hidden fees or raise interest rates without advance notice. Most years, Obama threw a 4th of July party for military families. He held babies, played games with children, served barbecue, and led the singing of “Happy Birthday” to his daughter Malia, who was born on July 4. Welfare spending is down: for every 100 poor families, just 24 receive cash assistance, compared with 64 in 1996.

Obama comforted families and communities following more than a dozen mass shootings. After Sandy Hook, he said, “The majority of those who died today were children, beautiful little kids between the ages of 5 and 10 years old.”

Yet he never took away anyone’s guns. He sang Amazing Grace, spontaneously, at the altar. He was the first president since Eisenhower to serve two terms without personal or political scandal. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

President Obama was not perfect, as no man and no president is, and you can certainly disagree with his political ideologies. But to say we suffered? If that’s the argument, if this is how we suffered for 8 years under Barack Obama, I have one wish: may we be so fortunate as to suffer 8 more."

A post to remind those that so conveniently forgot. - Teri Carter.
@topfans

I Miss You!

     
John E. (1895 - 1976)   

Johnny B. (1961 - 1987)

Bertha B. (1896 - 1987)        

Dorothy B. (1925 - 1990)

Bob B. (1942 - 1994) 

John D. (1916 - 2009)

David B. (1922 - 2013) 

Jim L. (1951 - 2018)

Rich Z. (1950 - 2021) 

Brian B. (1947 - 2023)

Terry J. (1948 - 2023)

Joe O. (1951 - 2024)

Binoy M. (1959 - 2025)

Andy G. (1938 - 2026)

Bob L. (1938 - 2026)

    

The Loss of Pets

 

                                                                   Zoe

I saw it firsthand after my cat Murphy died earlier this year. She’d been diagnosed with cancer just weeks before. She was a small gray tabby with delicate paws who, even during chemotherapy, climbed her favorite dresser perch – Mount Murphy – with steady determination. The day after she died, a colleague said with a shrug: “It’s just part of life.”

That phrase stayed with me – not because it was wrong, but because of how quickly it dismissed something real. Murphy wasn’t just a cat. She was my eldest daughter – by bond, if not by blood. My shadow.

Why pet grief doesn’t count    

More than two-thirds of U.S. households include pets. Americans tend to treat them like family with birthday cakes, shared beds and names on holiday cards.

But when someone grieves them like family, the cultural script flips. Grief gets minimized. Support gets awkward. And when no one acknowledges your loss, it starts to feel like you weren’t even supposed to love them that much in the first place.

I’ve seen this kind of grief up close – in my research and in my own life. I am a psychologist who studies attachment, loss and the human-animal bond.

And I’ve seen firsthand how often grief following pet loss gets brushed aside – treated as less valid, less serious or less worthy of support than human loss. After a pet dies, people often say the wrong thing – usually trying to help, but often doing the opposite. Many Americans consider pets family members.

When loss is minimized or discounted

Psychologists describe this kind of unacknowledged loss as disenfranchised grief: a form of mourning that isn’t fully recognized by social norms or institutions. It happens after miscarriages, breakups, job loss – and especially after the death of a beloved animal companion.

The pain is real for the person grieving, but what’s missing is the social support to mourn that loss.

Even well-meaning people struggle to respond in ways that feel supportive. And when grief gets dismissed, it doesn’t just hurt – it makes us question whether we’re even allowed to feel it.

Here are three of the most common responses – and what to do instead:

‘Just a pet’

This is one of the most reflexive responses after a loss like this. It sounds harmless. But under the surface is a cultural belief that grieving an animal is excessive – even unprofessional.

That belief shows up in everything from workplace leave policies to everyday conversations. Even from people trying to be kind. But pet grief isn’t about the species, it’s about the bond. And for many, that bond is irreplaceable.

Pets often become attachment figures; they’re woven into our routines, our emotional lives and our identities. Recent research shows that the quality of the human-pet bond matters deeply – not just for well-being, but for how we grieve when that connection ends.

What’s lost isn’t “just an animal.” It’s the steady presence who greeted you every morning. The one who sat beside you through deadlines, small triumphs and quiet nights. A companion who made the world feel a little less lonely.

But when the world treats that love like it doesn’t count, the loss can cut even deeper. It may not come with formal recognition or time off, but it still matters. And love isn’t less real just because it came with fur. If someone you care about loses a pet, acknowledge the bond. Even a simple “I’m so sorry” can offer real comfort.

‘I know how you feel’

“I know how you feel” sounds empathetic, but it quietly shifts the focus from the griever to the speaker. It rushes in with your story before theirs has even had a chance to land.

That instinct comes from a good place. We want to relate, to reassure, to let someone know they’re not alone. But when it comes to grief, that impulse often backfires. Grief doesn’t need to be matched. It needs to be honored and given time, care and space to unfold, whether the loss is of a person or a pet.

Instead of responding with your own story, try simpler, grounding words:

• “That sounds really hard.”
• “I’m so sorry.”
• “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You don’t need to understand someone’s grief to make space for it. What helps isn’t comparison – it’s presence. Let them name the loss. Let them remember. Let them say what hurts. Sometimes, simply staying present – without rushing, problem-solving or shifting the focus away – is the most meaningful thing you can do. Pets frequently make a showing in family photos and holiday cards. 

‘You can always get another one’

“You can always get another one” is the kind of thing people offer reflexively when they don’t know what else to say – a clumsy attempt at reassurance.

Underneath is a desire to soothe, to fix, to make the sadness go away. But that instinct can miss the point: The loss isn’t practical – it’s personal. And grief isn’t a problem to be solved. This type of comment often lands more like customer service than comfort. It treats the relationship as replaceable, as if love were something you can swap out like a broken phone.

But every pet is one of a kind – not just in how they look or sound, but in how they move through your life. The way they wait for you at the door and watch you as you leave. The small rituals that you didn’t know were rituals until they stopped. You build a life around them without realizing it, until they’re no longer in it.

You wouldn’t tell someone to “just have another child” or “just find a new partner.” And yet, people say the equivalent all the time after pet loss. Rushing to replace the relationship instead of honoring what was lost overlooks what made that bond irreplaceable. Love isn’t interchangeable – and neither are the ones we lose.

So, offer care that endures. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. A check-in weekly or months later, whether it’s a heart emoji, a shared memory or a gentle reminder that they’re not alone, can remind someone that their grief is seen, and their love still matters.

When people say nothing

People often don’t know what to say after a pet dies, so they say nothing. But silence doesn’t just bury grief, it isolates it. It tells the griever that their love was excessive, their sadness inconvenient, their loss unworthy of acknowledgment.

And grief that feels invisible can be the hardest kind to carry. So, if someone you love loses a pet, don’t change the subject. Don’t rush them out of their sadness. Don’t offer solutions.

Instead, here are a few other ways to offer support gently and meaningfully:

• Say their pet’s name.
• Ask what they miss most.
• Tell them you’re sorry.
• Let them cry.
• Let them not cry.
• Let them remember.

Because when someone loses a pet, they’re not “just” mourning an animal. They’re grieving for a relationship, a rhythm and a presence that made the world feel kinder. What they need most is someone willing to treat that loss like it matters.

-The Conversation, Brian N. Chin, Assistant Professor of Psychology, Trinity College

 
                              Apollo

Zoe and Apollo were my two cats years ago: 

https://teacherpoetmusicianglenbrown.blogspot.com/2023/10/cats.html

Binoy Misra

                            I will miss you, my dear friend and neighbor.

Remembrance

 

Harry (1878 - 1944)     

John (1895 - 1976)

Johnny (1961 - 1987)
Bertha (1896 - 1987)   
Dorothy (1925 - 1990)
Bob (1942 - 1994) 
David (1922 - 2013) 
Jim (1951 - 2018)
Bill (1951 - 2020)
Rich (1950 - 2021) 
Brian (1947 - 2023)
Terry (1948 - 2023)
Joe (1951 - 2024)

 

from Meditation 17 by John Donne (1572-1631)

No man is an island, entire of itself.
Every man is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thy friend's
or of thine own were:
any man's death diminishes me
because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore, never send to know
for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee…
 

Hachiko

 

The last photo of Hachiko, the faithful dog who waited for more than nine years in front of Shibuya station for his master to return. This photo is the result of a story of devotion and loyalty that moved the world.

Hachiko became famous for patiently waiting for his master, Professor Hidesaburo Ueno, in front of Shibuya Station in Tokyo every day, even after his death in 1925. For nearly a decade, Hachiko returned to the same spot every day by day, waiting for his friend. Hachiko's story has inspired books, films and monuments around the world, becoming a symbol of unwavering loyalty and unconditional love.

This final photo captures the serenity and dignity of a dog who never lost hope, even in the final moments of his life. Today, Hachiko's bronze statue in front of Shibuya Station is an iconic meeting point and a lasting reminder of the strong bond between human being and a dog!  Hachiko died on March 8, 1935 at the age of 11. 

Hollywood's Film Version of a Dog's Tale:

Richard Gere’s bond with the loyal dog Hachiko is one of the most touching stories to emerge from Hollywood, one that transcends the screen and resonates deeply with people around the world. Their story became widely known through the 2009 film *Hachi: A Dog’s Tale*, where Gere played a college professor who forms an unbreakable bond with an Akita dog named Hachiko. What makes this story viral worthy isn’t just the on-screen portrayal but the real-life inspiration behind it, as well as the profound impact it had on Gere and audiences alike.

The film is based on the true story of Hachiko, a dog in 1920s Japan who became famous for his unwavering loyalty to his owner. Every day, Hachiko would wait at the Shibuya train station for his owner to return from work. Even after his owner’s sudden death, Hachiko continued to wait at the station every day for nearly 10 years until his own passing. The story of Hachiko became a national legend in Japan, symbolizing loyalty and love.

When Gere took on the role of Professor Parker Wilson in the American adaptation, he knew he was stepping into a story that would touch hearts. During filming, Gere developed a real-life bond with the dogs who played Hachiko. This connection was so strong that it mirrored the deep emotional ties depicted in the movie. Gere has often spoken about how the experience of making the film profoundly affected him, not just as an actor but as a person. He became an advocate for animal rights, using his platform to raise awareness about the humane treatment of animals.

The film’s release sparked a wave of emotional reactions across the globe. Audiences were moved to tears by the portrayal of such pure, unwavering loyalty. Social media lit up with stories of people sharing their own experiences with pets, and the hashtag #HachiLove trended as fans around the world celebrated the bond between humans and their four-legged friends.

One viral moment came when a fan-created video montage, set to the film’s poignant soundtrack, was shared widely online. It featured scenes from the movie alongside images of real-life Hachiko, interspersed with clips of people and their pets waiting for them to come home. The video captured the essence of what made Hachiko’s story so universal—the idea that love knows no bounds, even in the face of time and loss.

Richard Gere’s involvement in *Hachi: A Dog’s Tale* is more than just another role in his illustrious career; it’s a testament to the power of storytelling and the unique bond between humans and animals. The story of Hachiko, immortalized by Gere’s heartfelt performance, continues to inspire and move people, making it a timeless tale of loyalty, love, and the enduring connection between man and dog.

 

My brother and me, 1964

 

He died June 3, 1987.

Love Anyway

 

Love Anyway

You know that the price of life is death, that the price of love is loss, and still you watch the golden afternoon light fall on a face you love, knowing that the light will soon fade, knowing that the loving face too will one day fade to indifference or bone, and you love anyway — because life is transient but possible, because love alone bridges the impossible and the eternal.

I think about this and a passage from Louise Erdrich’s 2005 novel The Painted Drum (public library) flits across the sky of my mind:

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”

This, of course, is what life evolved to be — an aria of affirmation rising like luminous steam from the cold dark silence of an indifferent cosmos that will one day swallow all of it. Every living thing is its singer and its steward — something the poetic paleontologist Loren Eiseley captures with uncommon poignancy in his 1957 essay “The Judgment of the Birds,” found in his altogether magnificent posthumous collection The Star Thrower (public library).

Eiseley recounts resting beneath a tree after a day of trekking through fern and pine needles collecting fossils, dozing off in the warm sunlight, then being suddenly awakened by a great commotion to see “an enormous raven with a red and squirming nestling in his beak” perching on a crooked branch above. He writes:

“Into the glade fluttered small birds of half a dozen varieties drawn by the anguished outcries of the tiny parents. No one dared to attack the raven. But they cried there in some instinctive common misery, the bereaved and the unbereaved. The glade filled with their soft rustling and their cries. They fluttered as though to point their wings at the murderer. There was a dim intangible ethic he had violated, that they knew. 

"He was a bird of death. And he, the murderer, the black bird at the heart of life, sat on there, glistening in the common light, formidable, unmoving, unperturbed, untouchable. The sighing died. It was then I saw the judgment. It was the judgment of life against death. I will never see it again so forcefully presented. I will never hear it again in notes so tragically prolonged. For in the midst of protest, they forgot the violence. There, in that clearing, the crystal note of a song sparrow lifted hesitantly in the hush. 

"And finally, after painful fluttering, another took the song, and then another, the song passing from one bird to another, doubtfully at first, as though some evil thing were being slowly forgotten. Till suddenly they took heart and sang from many throats joyously together as birds are known to sing. They sang because life is sweet and sunlight beautiful. They sang under the brooding shadow of the raven. In simple truth they had forgotten the raven, for they were the singers of life, and not of death.”

-Maria Popova, The Marginalian

I am going to miss our friendship of 57 years

 

Mom

 

Gordon Lightfoot (November 17, 1938 - May 1, 2023)

 

GORDON LIGHTFOOT — a genius-level Canadian singer/songwriter whose most enduring works include “If You Could Read My Mind,” “Sundown,” “Carefree Highway,” “Early Morning Rain,” and “Rainy Day People” — died on Monday [May 1st] the CBC confirmed. He was 84.

Lightfoot’s deceptively simple songs, which fused folk with pop and country rock, have been covered by everyone from Bob Dylan and Neil Young to Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, the Grateful Dead, and Barbra Streisand, Jerry Lee Lewis, Eric Clapton, Jimmy Buffett, and the Replacements.

He scored a series of hits in his native Canada throughout the Sixties, but most Americans first heard his work in 1970 when “If You Could Read My Mind” reached Number Five on the Hot 100. The deeply personal song chronicles the agonizing breakdown of his marriage, casting much of the blame on himself. “I never thought I could act this way,” he wrote. “And I’ve got to say that I just don’t get it/I don’t know where we went wrong/But the feeling’s gone and I just can’t get it back.”

“I can’t think of any Gordon Lightfoot song I don’t like,” Bob Dylan said. “Every time I hear a song of his, it’s like I wish it would last forever.”

Lightfoot was born November 17, 1938 in Orillia, Ontario. His parents recognized his singing ability at a young age and placed him in Orillia’s St. Paul’s United Church. He eventually taught himself piano and guitar, playing in large-ensemble pop-folk groups across Canada. After a stint at the Westlake College of Music in Los Angeles, he began playing in folk clubs around Canada. He released two singles in 1962 (“It’s Too Late, He Wins” and “(Remember Me) I’m the One”) that charted regionally, and his profile grew considerably when Ian and Sylvia, the Kingston Trio, Peter Paul and Mary, and Judy Collins turned his songs — most notably “Earning Morning Rain” — into hits.

He signed a management contract with Albert Grossman in 1965, helping land him spots on The Tonight Show and the Newport Folk Festival. He played an acoustic set shortly before Dylan made history by playing his first electric set. “I remember Albert and the musicologist Alan Lomax getting into a wrestling match in the afternoon of that day,” Lightfoot told Rolling Stone in 2019. “Joan Baez, Donovan and I, we all stood around and watched. It was over the drum kit. They were trying to stay traditional, and somebody brought the drum kit onstage for the first time. It was quite a kerfuffle over it. It was a hot day in Newport. And a dry day. And I remember the dust was flying.”

In 1966, he released his debut LP Lightfoot!, which he followed up the next year with The Way I Feel. The latter album featured drummer Kenny Buttrey and guitarist/bassist/harmonica player Charlie McCoy. Later that year, Dylan used them as his backing band on John Wesley Harding. “I heard the sound that Gordon Lightfoot was getting,” Dylan told Rolling Stone in 1969. “I figured if he could get that sound, I could. But we couldn’t get it.”

The success of “If You Could Read My Mind” in 1970 was the start of a stunning run of hits, including “Sundown,” “Carefree Highway,” and “Rainy Day People.” The biggest came in 1976 after he read an article in Newsweek about the the sinking of the bulk carrier SS Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975. He called the epic maritime disaster song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”

“It was quite an undertaking to do that,” he said in a Reddit AMA. “I went and bought all of the old newspapers, got everything in chronological order, and went ahead and did it because I already had a melody in my mind and it was from an old Irish dirge that I heard when I was about three and a half years old….I think it was one of the first pieces of music that registered to me as being a piece of music.”

Despite the huge success he had as a recording artist, many of his songs are best known by their cover versions. Bob Dylan included his own rendition of “Early Morning Rain” on his 1970 LP Self Portrait, and Elvis Presley covered the same song two years later. “I was really impressed with the recording,” Lightfoot said in 2015. “It was probably the most important recording that I have by another artist.”

Lightfoot developed a severe drinking problem in the late Seventies that took a tremendous toll on his personal life and career. “I was either writing, recording, touring, or doing television,” Lightfoot told Low Country Today. “I drank way too much. But I gave that up in 1982 thanks to the help of my sister and a bad breakup. I knew I had to quit too keep myself sharp and stay in the game.”

By the time he sobered up, MTV was ascendent and his album sales took a major shift downward. But he continued to tour and record heavily. He was back in the news in 1986 when he noticed that Whitney Houston’s “The Greatest Love of All” was melodically very similar to “If You Could Read My Mind.”

“The first time I heard [“The Greatest Love of All”] was on an elevator,” he told Alabama.com in 2015. “What I finally figured out was there was a total of about 24 bars that were just really, really … It was really obvious and I noticed it. So what I did was I actually initiated a lawsuit for plagiarism but three weeks later I let it go because I understood that it was affecting Whitney Houston who had an appearance coming up at the Grammy Awards and the suit wasn’t anything to do with her. The suit was against her producer (and the song’s cowriter), Michael Masser. Now they’re dragging Whitney into this and I withdrew it. I said, ‘Forget it. We’re withdrawing this.'”

In 2002, Lightfoot suffered an abdominal aortic aneurysm and spent six weeks in a coma. He eventually recovered after four surgeries. “I was ashamed at the amount of blood they went through,” he told Rolling Stone. “It would have been better off if I had died. I think it was 28 units.”

Doctors performed a tracheotomy on him during his hospital stay, causing vocal cord damage that greatly weakened his singing voice, but he was back onstage by 2004. “I wanted to recover, I wanted to sing again,” he told the State Journal-Register. “I wasn’t sure — they had to take a lot of muscles out of my stomach and I wasn’t sure if I would have the kind of breathing control that I would need. But gradually it worked back and I started practicing.”

In 2019, he was the subject of the documentary Gordon Lightfoot: If You Could Read My Mind. Around that time, he celebrated his 80th birthday with an extensive tour that wrapped up Oct. 30, 2022 at the Club Regent Casino in Winnipeg. He was due to return to the road in April 2023, but canceled at the last minute due to unspecific health problems. “We thank you for respecting his privacy,” his team wrote in a statement. “He continues to focus on his recovery.”

-Rolling Stone

Some of My Favorite Gordon Lightfoot Songs:
 
Early Morning Rain
Cold on the Shoulder
Sundown
Baby Step Back
High and Dry
Carefree Highway
The Watchman’s Game
Don Quixote
Minstrel of the Dawn
Rainy Day People
If You Could Read My Mind
Miguel
Song for a Winter’s Night
Canadian Railroad Trilogy
For Lovin’ Me/Did She Mention My Name
I’m Not Sayin’/Ribbon of Darkness
Beautiful
Summer Side of Life
Cotton Jenny
Circle of Steel
The Pony Man
Sit Down Yong Stranger
The Way I Feel
I’ll Tag Along
Affair on 8^th Avenue
The Last Time I Saw Her
Your Love’s Return
Talking in Your Sleep
The House You Live In
Seven Island Suite
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Ballad of Yarmouth Castle (Live)

The facts behind Memorial Day's controversial history by Brian Clark Howard and Sydney Combs

 

No one is sure how the holiday started, and people debate how it should be celebrated, but it still honors those who lost their lives in service of their country. For many Americans, Memorial Day signifies the start of the summer season, as well as a much-needed long weekend filled with activities like sporting events and barbecues. But that wasn’t the original purpose of the day—and its evolution over the years has been rife with controversy.

Celebrated on the last Monday in May, Memorial Day commemorates those who have lost their lives serving their country—unlike Veterans Day, on November 11, which celebrates all people who have served in the military. Since the end of the Civil War, when it was known as Decoration Day, the holiday has been marked by solemn parades and ceremonies and the placing of flowers on the graves of fallen service members.

However, some critics have complained that the holiday has drifted too far toward frivolous fun and should be restored to a more respectful observance. Here’s how the holiday got started and why it has sparked debate throughout its history.

DISPUTED ORIGINS

Even the origins of Memorial Day remain debated—and controversial. Some scholars have noted that the practice of decorating graves with flowers on specific days in spring is an ancient custom, and may thus represent the true roots of the holiday. However, most say that the holiday began in the bloody wake of the nation’s most divided time: the Civil War.

The U.S. Civil War was devastating for families on both sides of the conflict—nearly 500,000 men died, or about two percent of the U.S. population at the time. During the battle of Gettysburg, the Union and Confederacy lost more than 7,000 people.

The conflict ended in April 1865 and in subsequent years women, especially in the South, began tending to the graves of fallen soldiers, often regardless of which side they fought for. Their willingness to overlook past divisions was lauded in newspapers in the North. Their kindness was viewed as an olive branch to many, including northerner Francis Miles Finch, who in 1867 wrote the popular poem “The Blue and The Grey” praising those efforts.

The specific event that sparked the first Memorial Day remains a matter of debate.  Some say the first Memorial Day took place on May 1, 1865, when a large group of recently freed African Americans held a parade in Charleston, South Carolina, to honor fallen Union soldiers. Dozens of other cities around the country claim the title, too, for their early Civil War remembrance ceremonies. Still other observers have pointed to President Abraham Lincoln’s commemoration of the dead at Gettysburg in 1863 as a possible origin of the holiday.

President Lyndon B. Johnson would later weigh in on the lingering question in 1966, when he officially recognized Waterloo, New York’s ceremony on May 5, 1866, as the “birthplace” of Memorial Day. Waterloo’s supporters argued that event was deserving of the notice because it was formal and city wide, and included closing of local businesses.

FROM DECORATION DAY TO MEMORIAL DAY

After years of local celebrations, the holiday was first celebrated nationwide in May 1868, when former Civil War General John A. Logan led a commemoration at Arlington National Cemetery. He issued a proclamation calling for "Decoration Day" to be observed each May 30 across the country.

Logan, who would eventually run for vice president, called it Decoration Day because he said the fallen should be honored by "strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating, the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion." The month of May was likely chosen due to an abundance of spring flowers.

After World War I, in which America lost more than 100,000 soldiers, Decoration Day was expanded to honor all those who had died while fighting—not just those from the Civil War. The name of the holiday also gradually shifted, with Memorial Day becoming more popular in the 20th century.

Congress made Memorial Day an official national holiday in 1971. Instead of May 30, however, the day was pegged to the last Monday in May to create a long weekend. In the years since, Memorial Day evolved into a three-day weekend filled with barbecues, sports, and store discounts, which often overshadow the day's more somber origins.

HOW MEMORIAL DAY IS CELEBRATED

The American Legion has called for a return to a more serious observance of Memorial Day. In 2010, the organization wrote a resolution that called for ending the long weekend and restoring Memorial Day to May 30, noting, "The majority of Americans view Memorial Day as a time for relaxation and leisure recreation rather than as a solemn occasion and a time to reflect and pay tribute to the American servicemen and women who sacrificed their lives in defense of our Nation."

The late Hawaii Senator Daniel Inouye, a World War II veteran and Congressional Medal of Honor recipient who served in the Senate from 1963 to 2012, introduced legislation to move Memorial Day back to May 30 several times, without success. Some communities continue to host Memorial Day events on May 30 as well.

Many solemn observances of the day remain, however. Since 2000, people across the country have been asked to join in a moment of remembrance at 3:00 p.m. local time. Bells are tolled and NASCAR races are put on hold. Flags are flown at half-mast until noon, to signify a day of mourning.

Over Memorial Day weekend, more than 135,000 people visit Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. Traditionally, the president or vice president lays a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. More than 280,000 flags are placed at headstones for all those who have laid down their lives for their country.  

-National Geographic

Editor's note: This story was originally published on May 24, 2019. It has been updated.