Psychologist Samuel LeBaron’s book, “Ordinary Deaths” was recently published by the University of Alberta Press and in it, he examines the following truth without the drama often accompanying such writing: Death is not a heroic journey, a metaphorical “war” against fatal illness. It is, as the title states, ordinary.
Read moreFinal Path: Poems by Ron Lands
The death of a parent takes us into alien territory, a cold, silvery place we never could have imagined and a pain we never quite forget. As children, we revere our mothers and fathers; as teenagers, we loathe them, and it is only when one grows up, or becomes a parent, or goes through therapy, that a begrudging appreciation begins to form. Parents are truly the unknowable ‘other’ and the death of them startles the child in us, so much so that the adult in us is lost, with only a bewildering map of grief-behavior offered by outstretched, mostly sympathetic, hands. Inevitably, we feel as if much has been left unsaid. “Some apologies are unspeakable,” says poet Eula Biss in the essay “All Apologies” in Notes From No Man’s Land. “Like the one we owe our parents.”
Read moreA Short Life by Jim Slotnick
No work better embraces narrative medicine than A Short Life, by Jim Slotnick. This prescient memoir, written in 1983 and published in 2014, narrates a young medical student’s terminal illness from pre-diagnosis to his final days. It is a song of life’s joys, deadly shortcuts in medical practice, the necessity of listening and paying attention, and the essential value of compassion.
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