For many years, first as a nurse and then as a hospital chaplain I accompanied numerous people with all forms of cancer through treatment, and many to their deaths.  So I know there is nothing glamorous or uncomplicated about living and dying with cancer.  I also understand that many things, most of which remain unknown, contribute to or directly cause the disease.  What stands out so vividly in Pink Ribbons, Inc., movie is the shamefully small amount of progress that has been made towards uncovering the causes of breast cancer; and this despite massive publicity and never-ending fundraising.  In fact, according to the film, one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer; thirty years ago it was one in twenty-two.  Aside from the notion that 25 to 30 per-cent of women may be genetically pre-disposed to develop breast cancer, we are no further ahead in understanding the causes in the other 70 percent of cases.  It seems clear that the medical and research business “powers that be” are narrowly focussed on ‘the cure’, not prevention, and seem to ignore other relevant factors, environmental, for instance, and potential links.  The reason is this – a conflict of interest.  Many prominent businesses that engage in “pink washing” are also marketing to women, products that contain known carcinogens.

These “walks” generate a great deal of money from well-intentioned donors.  We unquestioningly think this must be ‘a good thing’.  The money raised goes into research.  (The film did not tackle the issue of the cost of mounting the walks, the percentage that actually goes to research, and who else might be benefitting from these extravaganzas.)  As a chaplain in a teaching hospital, I spent time as a member of the hospital’s Research Ethics committee.  That was an eye opener.  Even in the mid 1990’s pharmaceutical companies funded most of the research.  They wrote the research protocols, found doctors who could supply patients for studies, and paid for staff to carry out those studies.  As this applied to cancer (chemotherapy) drugs, studies were often undertaken to investigate new uses for drugs already developed (and nearing the end of their patent protection; a new use would renew that), or finding drugs for those patients who may not have responded to the preferred first course of drug treatment, or chemotherapy.  I became cynical about “medical research.”

The film mentions how most women, daily, use up to 10 products on their bodies that contain chemicals, some of which are known carcinogens.  Is anyone asking about the chemicals used in hair dyes, acrylic nails, deodorants on shaven underarms, or the cleaning products we spread around our indoor environments?  What about the food industry? Is anyone asking about the psycho-spiritual links between disease and the unacknowledged trauma and shame many women carry in relation to their body and sexuality?

The “pink ribbon” and “breast awareness month” have lulled women into thinking they are contributing and “taking responsibility” for their own health.  Responsibility goes well beyond walks, buying pink ribbon products, and having a yearly mammogram.  We need to wake up and take whatever responsibility we can for what we put on and in our bodies.  As a culture we need to push our governments towards environmental responsibility at all levels.  We need to acknowledge and tend to the inner wounds that can lock us into patterns that are not life giving.

Many walk because they feel it is the only thing they can do to support family and friends who have suffered with the disease.  A benefit of the walks is the sense of community that is formed; the film demonstrates this well.  A sense of community is always a good thing, but there are other ways of forming and finding communal support, which may be more rewarding and sustainable.  I would suggest that more of us take a stand against corporations that are manipulating us, playing on people’s feelings and fears: that we educate ourselves, and stop buying their products.

Walking, for its own sake or for a cause, is healthy, but we need to be selective when it comes to whose path we choose to follow.  There it is – my rant.

So in light of my perpetual and not-necessarily-healthy quest to “get it right”, and the default message that says I won’t, (does anyone else have this experience?) the last thing I need is the local church telling me to keep trying to find or to be this elusive “right.”  What if life, specifically my life, is all right just as it is – with all its shades of gray?

Possibly I misunderstood.  Maybe the sign is supposed to be a play on words:  “Get it right,” as opposed to “left,” in thinking, or politics perhaps?  But no, they couldn’t mean that, because this was a United Church (of Canada) sign, and haven’t they been called the NDP (New Democratic Party) at prayer?

Is a fresh calendar year really another chance?  What is the difference between my life on Dec 31 2011, and Jan 1 2012?  If you have already made those New Year’s resolutions that you think will make your life “right”, I suggest you look at Bruce Sanguin’s blog to find out why it is easier to resolve than it is to act. Suggesting that we can ever “get it right”, that there is ONE “right”, is offering not only an unrealistic expectation but also false hope.  How so?

Maybe it is this: Do we imagine that if we “get it right” then, as if by some magic, we will avoid the most awful things that are ‘out there’, that we can prevent or protect ourselves from the pain and suffering that is part of life?  If it is the ego that wants to “get it right”, it is the soul that knows this to be impossible.  How so?

The final chapter of James Hollis’ book Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life is titled: The Healing of the Soul.[1]  He defines the soul as “our intuited sense of a presence that is other than the ego . . . and sometimes in conflict with the ego . . . and summons ego consciousness to an accounting.”  How does one identify one’s soul?  He writes:  “When we ask the meaning of a mood, reflect upon our history, inquire into the dynamics of a physical symptom, ponder a dream, we are in dialogue with soul. When we are wrung by life, flung into dismal depths, then lifted higher than we thought possible, transformed from what we were to what we become, we are in the presence of soul.  Be we are always in the presence of soul, whether consciousness reflects upon it or not.”

My billboard reads:  “Happy Near Year – another chance to remember that we are in the presence of soul.”  As John Lennon famously wrote, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.   Don’t miss out on yours by trying to “get it right.”  Simply show up – to all there is!

Two days later I was facilitating another monthly spirituality group and we watched a fifteen- minute video featuring author Brené Brown title “The Price of Invulnerability”  In this video and also her book The Gifts of Imperfection, she states that we are losing our tolerance for vulnerability.  She writes: “Vulnerability is at the core of fear, anxiety and shame, but it is also the birthplace of love, joy, belonging, creativity, and faith.”  While she is American and specifically speaking to her culture, what she says also pertains to Canadians when she says we are the most “numbing” people in the history of civilization.  We are loosing our capacity, individually and as a society, to be vulnerable.  She states “faith minus vulnerability equals extremism; spirituality is inherently vulnerable.  In vulnerability we find what gives life purpose and meaning.”

I resisted writing this blog because I fear – my prayer poem tells what I fear.  In The Gifts of Imperfection Brown writes that courage is one of the most important qualities that wholehearted people have in common.  Courage originally meant “To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.”[ii]  I invite you to take Merton’s poem or any other that speaks to you and write your own.  Here is mine.

Holy one,
I have no idea where I am going.
I’ve been here before.
It is just as painful as the first time.
I cry out – nothing!

Why did I think it had happened for the last time?
Why do I think You are not here this time?
Why is my trust so weak and my doubt so strong?
Why am I so, so human?
Did Mary, Jesus, Joseph and Abraham have such doubts?

I’m tired.
I’m tired of feeling I have to justify my existence.
I’m tired of being dependent on the approval of others.
I’m tired of taking my worth from what I do and not from you.

Do you love me despite my crazy self-doubt and deep insecurity?
Or do you love me because of them?

Oh me of so little faith.
Holy One, could I have a little more?

Lastly, this morning I read these lines from Richard Rohr:  “God hides, and is found, precisely in the depths of everything, even and maybe especially in the deep fathoming of our fallings and failures.”[iii]  As you move into and through the darkest and often difficult time of the year, don’t be afraid of your fallings and failures.  You might be vulnerable enough to fall into moments of peace and joy.

____________
[i] The Merton Prayer In Thoughts in Solitude, Part Two, Chapter II consists of fifteen lines that have become known as “the Merton Prayer.”

This was just one of many conversations heard as cyclists stopped at their collective destination – the spot where pregnant wife and mother Jenna Morrison lost her life having been thrown from her bike to the underside of a dump truck.  Jenna was meters from her home and just blocks from the school where her five-year-old son waited to be picked up.

Less than a Year ago (Dec. 1 2010) Rob Ford newly elected mayor of Toronto declared an “end to the ‘war on cars.’”   Can we look at statistics to help us ascertain who are the real victims of these so-called vehicle wars?  From 2005 – 2010, 14 people died in cycling collisions with vehicles in the city.  A further 6,094 were injured during the same time period.  There were a further 883 reported collisions where no injuries were sustained.  Significantly, but not surprising, most collisions happen between 4 – 6 pm.  Pedestrians fare as poorly as cyclists.  In a pedestrian/motor vehicle collisions study on 2002-3 mishaps, 4,775 such pedestrians were killed or injured.

A search on motor vehicle drivers injured or killed by either pedestrians or cyclist revealed no results.  A serious Internet search for statistics of pedestrian’s collisions with bicycles resulted in no findings.

Dear Mayor Ford, with all due respect, inciting war between pedestrians, cyclist and motorists is not helpful or what anyone elected you to accomplish.  What we all want is to get around the city safely.   Designated bike lanes separated from traffic by a barrier will protect cyclists and pedestrians.   This could be your most significant contribution during your time as mayor.  Consider this!

Sacred Spin4 Acrylic 20X20 2011 SOLD

It seems I’m in good company.  The Ontario Art Gallery currently has a Marc Chagall exhibit.  It includes a movie about his life, in which the famous Russian artist expresses the self-doubt he felt when commissioned, at age 75, to paint the new ceiling for the Paris Opera House. I was greatly comforted by his statement.

Jungian Psychologist, James Hollis writes:  “To move into unfamiliar territory activates anxiety as our constant comrade.  Clearly, psychological or spiritual development always requires a greater capacity in us for the toleration of anxiety and ambiguity.  The capacity to accept this troubled state, abide it, and commit to life, is the moral measure of our maturity.”[1]

Whatever made me think that growing up entailed eliminating anxiety and self-doubt?  I have a quote on my bulletin board that reads: “Each age of life is new to us.  No matter how old we are, we still troubled by inexperience.”[2]  Maybe “anonymous” felt silly, even ashamed talking about the reality that most of us experience as we move through life – trying new things creates anxiety.  Not trying them, however according to Hollis, is worse and leads to depression.

By the age of about 8, I had internalized the notion that I could not draw or do “art.”  Like many, I carried that belief well into adulthood.  As I approached the age of fifty I found myself stopping in front of art, and a little voice inside said:  “I want to do this.”  I took the most basic of art courses through the Toronto School Board evening program.  I discovered and I truly believe this:  ANYONE can LEARN to do art.  Am I a natural born Chagall?  No.  It doesn’t matter.  Do I still feel anxious at the beginning of new explorations?  Yes?  Am I anxious and full of self-doubt hanging the current show?  Yes.

Tomorrow is the opening reception for “Play On… Colour,” My second art show at Rosedale United Church with my photographer husband Bruce Bennett.   Drop by if you can…

Or have a look at the images on my Gallery page.

I was already feeling an undercurrent of “gay bashing” from a recent event in which a deceased relative was mocked because of his life-long “strangeness;” he too was gay.

The second news item was an interview on CBC radio’s “The Current”, today, Friday October 28^th.  The father and stepmother of one of serial killer Robert Picton’s victims were being interviewed.  I was astounded to hear that this stepmother knew Picton’s name and the location of his now notorious farm fully three years before police arrested him.  I was struck by her description of the treatment she and friends of the missing women received at the hands of the authorities.  The disappearances were not a high priority; it was as if the missing women had no value because of how they were forced to make a living: Picton’s victims were sex-trade workers.

These two stories come together for me in this way:  Our society treats those who do not fit the norm sexually not only differently, but lesser than.  There is a systemic discrimination, not the first by any means, and it is embedded in the culture.  As Mercer said, it is time for this to stop.  Easier said than done, as the vestiges of fear of and judgment toward those who may be seen as ‘outside the mainstream’ are not easily put aside.

The roots of this prejudice are clearly evident in the Abrahamic religious traditions, which viewed a woman as a lesser creature than a man, and where sexuality (especially homosexuality) was linked to shame, which is only a short slippery slide away from sin.

My “Christian” upbringing supported the notion that both homosexuality and prostitution were inherently “sinful.”  There is an excellent body of biblical scholarship that clearly demonstrates, and can help us to understand, that Scripture does not as easily support these notions, as some would have us to believe.[1]  That scholarship and education changed my head understanding, but it is the understanding of the heart that also needs transformation.  That transformation for me, happened this way:

In the mid 1980’s I served as chaplain in the downtown Toronto Hospital that was in the heart of the gay community and thus was receiving AIDS patients before we even knew what we were dealing with.  I had the privilege of walking alongside many gay couples and their families.  Not only did it break my heart to see gifted, bright, mostly young men ravaged by the disease, but also to see how fear and prejudice had torn families apart.  Since then I have worked with gay colleagues, officiated at gay weddings, and I have close friends who are gay.

Our government and religious institutions have realized that as a community we can no longer deny institutional discrimination, once common, based on race.  We are attempting to atone for the damage done to native persons.  We need to do the same, that is, ask forgiveness of those who have been discriminated against, for whatever reason, because of our flawed theology and its hurtful practices.  For those attempting to follow Jesus, we need to remember that his primary actions of acceptance and compassion occurred among those most disenfranchised by their culture.

One more thing: the concept and functioning of projection.  Projection is a psychological defense mechanism.  It leaps into action to assist one to deny one’s own attributes, thoughts, or feelings, and ascribes them to another.   Is the cultural tendency toward vilifying the ‘different’ really about our discomfort and anxiety about our own bodies and sexuality?  Are we still so adolescent in our cultural understandings and expression of sexuality that our discomfort gets projected onto those who fall outside the (our personal) acceptable norm?  All I know is this: it is time to grow up, and to stop fearing those who are not just like me, to stop blaming and victimizing those who are not just ‘like us’ because mainstream culture and some immature religious understandings are uncomfortable with who they are!  This is me stepping up to the plate.

That is partly what I want to talk about.  But also this: at one point in the interview, Anna Maria who had already mentioned that they were long time journalist friends, said to Janine:  “All those years I envied you.  Your life seemed so glamorous.”

How often do we look at others, behind their protective façade of “things are fine” and think we would prefer their life over our own? How easy it is to look only at the surface and think that another has it “all together”, and got there without struggle.  It was an interesting moment in the interview.  Janine made herself vulnerable by telling the truth of the pain and suffering in her own life.  It allowed Anna-Maria to be vulnerable in return – ‘on air’.  Did my estimation of her go down?  No.  It went up.  She was being real.  She was being honest.  And I think she was saying what so many of us feel when we look at others, especially when things in our own life are not going the way we had planned.

The truth is that all lives have pain and suffering no matter what the external façade suggests.  Every life has personal ‘demons’ to deal with – from past and often current personal and professional relationships, as well as other life situations.  What if we were to be not only a little more gentle with ourselves, but also with others?  Even the stranger who “looses it” in the grocery line; the clerk who is short with us; the bus driver who scowls as we get on the bus; the driver who cuts us off in traffic – what might these others be dealing with in their lives?

My brother’s recent death, which I spoke of in my last post, has reminded me of how fragile life is.  That event and the substance of this radio interview also remind me, and this is pretty simple when I remember to let it in, that the people I encounter in my daily life possibly, probably, carry burdens of which I know nothing. How can I be more present to the other, even if only in silent regard, as I move through my day?  In one of Joan Chittister’s books she suggests a practice of silently blessing the stranger as we pass them on the street: saying silently: “I wish you happiness today, whatever that would mean for you.”  On my better days I sometimes remember to do this.  One thing I know for sure: it can’t hurt me or the other.  It might even help to make our world a better place.  I invite you to try it.

Yes, my older brother died unexpectedly.  After a conversation in early July with his wife, I did say to my husband through tears: “David could die.”  However, the summer progressed and he seemed to be occupied with his usual activities.

There is much I could say about grief and how we deal with death in our culture but for now I just want to make a few comments.  In the days that followed David’s death I often heard the phrases:  “We never expected this to happen”,   “It’s such a shock”, or  “We were not prepared.”  What I did not hear much of, except of course from my own mouth, were the words ‘death’, ‘dying’  ‘dead’, or ‘died’.  We have so many ways of talking about death that attempt to take the sting out of it – really, if we are honest, to completely avoid what is really  going on –  such euphemisms as:  “He’s gone,”  “He’s passed on,”  “He’s gone home.”

In my many years as a nurse and then hospital chaplain I witnessed this denial of death over and over again even among professional medical staff.  I remember an incident in which a doctor stood outside the room of a patient who was in the Intensive Care Unit, and tried to tell the family that the patient was not ‘going to make it’. He could not say ‘die’, but could only couch the event in medical jargon; and the family was not getting the message. I finally said:  “Your father is dying.  Get in there.”  They did, and just managed to see their loved one taking his last breaths.  In my teaching to professionals in this area I often say: “Don’t be afraid of the “D” word.”

We need to hold an awareness of death: just as the sun will rise each day, one of those days will be the last one, for each of us.  Not in a morbid sense, but in a way that constantly reminds us of the preciousness of life, the life that is in us, and that surrounds us.  When I manage, fleetingly it seems, to tap into that awareness it brings peace, not fear.  I’m not able to hold it for long and most of the time I live my life and negotiate relationships as thought they will be here forever.  They will not, and I will not!  When I can remember this, I live my life more deeply and am grateful.

]]> http://www.annesimmonds.ca/2011/09/20/not-afraid-to-say-die/feed/ 18 http://www.annesimmonds.ca/2011/09/08/hard-hitting-lessons-from-the-rainforest-and-beyond/ http://www.annesimmonds.ca/2011/09/08/hard-hitting-lessons-from-the-rainforest-and-beyond/#comments Thu, 08 Sep 2011 04:54:52 +0000 Anne Simmonds http://www.annesimmonds.ca/?p=423 Continue reading →]]>

entwined

As the kids roared down the hill, the adults above called out to stop running lest they trip and fall.  A chorus came from the group of 9ish year old boys who kept running:  “If we want to trip, we’ll trip.”  I wondered if I should adopt a version of this as my motto:  “If I want to run into things and fall, I will.”  That is what I seem to do and it has happened twice in two days.  I thought I learned my lesson again with the first event, but apparently not.

So it is hard to write this and admit that I am such a slow learner of some pretty basic life lessons – like:  Look where you are going!  Pay attention!

We are in the final two days of a trip to New Zealand.  The first incident happened in a wonderful walk along the Pororari River that runs into the Tasman Sea.  The path was through thick rainforest that climbed up the sides of the huge gorge.  Walking in I managed to navigate the path with some unusual overhangs of rock and trees, which required bending down and walking through with care.

I have been in rainforest before, but this one was showing me something different.  I am thankful to live in a part of the world where the seasons are so remarkably different that their passage reminds me of the process of transformation evident in the natural world around us.  Our own ups and downs mirror what is in nature – cycles of death and rebirth.  In this rainforest, it struck me that this same process of death and rebirth is all mixed in together – all happening in various stages at the same time.  Old rotted trees give way to new shoots of life.  New growth of tree or vine wraps itself around some old growth.  Huge pieces of rock that been dislodged from the high cliff above give a toehold, and nutrition, to young plants.

It was one such rock that literally hit me over the head.  No, I cannot claim anything as startling as having it fall with me underneath!  Thankfully for that, but this is more embarrassing.  On our way out, a repeat of the walk in on a well-used trail, we were five minutes from the end; I had my head down looking at the path.  Even though the day was cloudy, my hat was in place and obstructed the view just above my head.  Smack.  I walked right into a rock that was overhanging the path.  I had managed to get underneath it walking in, but this time did not see it.  It forced me to my knees and I cried, as much from my stupidity as the pain.

I have often said that I am a slow learner and Spirit or the Divine has to “hit me over the head” metaphorically before I truly “get” things about myself and my live.  Well this was just a little too hard-hitting.  Fortunately, no major injury seems apparent– only a large bump on the top of my head, a sore neck, and a bruised ego.  So my inner conversation became the familiar one of my needing to be even more careful than ever.  I can’t take my health and body for granted.  I know accidents can happen very quickly.  Is this what I needed to remember?

Then today we went on a forest walk to the peak of a high hill that offered an amazing view of the valley in which lies Hanmer Springs, the small town we are visiting.  It was on that walk down the hill that the kids called out their line to possibly tempt either fate or the wrath of their parents and teachers.

We were safely back on the town street.  My husband pointed out some interesting vehicles on the other side of the street that I looked at and kept walking –straight into a large wooden post on the sidewalk.  Again, no real damage, although I may end up with a bit of a black eye, but a hugely damaged… what?  Maybe it is my perception of myself that is damaged.  Maybe I need to accept that I am on the accident-prone side, be grateful that in all my mishaps, the worst results were loosing my two front teeth and needing a couple of stitches.  I know it could be worse, and I really am trying to pay attention and be fully in the present moment.  But can I cut myself a little slack here?

When I turned the computer on after the walk a note from yoga teacher Trixie Montanile had the following at the bottom of her message:  “Being a Yogi is not about asana performance or spiritual attainment, it is the beautiful embrace of your own unique reality.”

Isn’t this what I have articulated as my “mission?”   To help others embrace their own God-given or divinely inspired reality?  Maybe this is part of mine.  I am accident-prone; I am not always careful.  There I said it.  I’m not recommending it for those who are not.  However, what is one thing about yourself that is true but hard for you to accept?  Together, let’s be more gentle with ourselves and laugh at the things that are not life-threatening to ourselves or others.

That most couples choose to live together before they marry is fine with me; I rather suspect it helps clarify very quickly whether or not they might wish to spend the rest of their lives together.  It is always better to find that out sooner rather than later.  As someone who performs a small number of weddings, I would say that most of the ceremonies where I have officiated in the last twenty years have married couples that were already living together.  I become involved when they decide they want to acknowledge the commitment they have made in their hearts and make it “legal”.

I’m thinking a lot about weddings, as I have just experienced my daughter’s wedding.  I think I would say that it was truly the happiest, most joyful day of my life.  Even more so than either of my two weddings, which were overlaid with feelings and pressures that were absent with this one.  The birth-days my two children were also high points, but they were also not without significant physical pain!  So yes, this was tops in the sheer joy department.

As one of the guests was leaving the wedding, he said:  “I’ll be interested in the wedding blog.”  I had no intention of writing one until I saw the funeral article title on my desktop this morning, and that crystallized for me what it is that makes the wedding day so significant.  And it is this:  as individuals and in community we have the need to mark those moments of ‘major passage’ in our lives – to acknowledge them publicly, but also to receive the support of the larger community as we travel through life’s events, both the joyous, and the sorrowful.  We will all have an assortment of both.

At my daughter’s wedding I was able to see her in a new way.  Even though she is an accomplished, professional woman, I still saw her through the motherly lens as the little girl, and then the young woman that she became. She grew into an amazing woman while I was still hanging on to an earlier version.  Not only that; I love the woman she has become, and to see her committed to her partner now as “the dearest person in her life,” I realize my responsibility to nurture and launch her is well and truly over.  I can relax, enjoy, and let go of any angst that came with the responsibility of parenting.

At the wedding, I experienced the blessing that comes from relationships that span decades.  The marriage ceremony was conducted by my friend of forty-five years.  All but one of my friends who attended have known her since before my daughter was born; they loved and supported me through my years of  “parenting”.  My daughter’s large contingent of friends from both school days and her professional life, allowed me the joy of meeting all these bright and accomplished young men and women.  Talking to them about their lives and their passions brought me great hope for the future where they will be leaders. She and her husband are already well supported.  My friends become more important with the passage of time and I know this will be true for them as well.

The various extended families brought together by this union bring their share of broken relationships.  One of the reasons people give for avoiding the wedding or funeral is relations who don’t get along and god-forbid we ask them to be in the same room!  I experienced not just the generosity of everyone to make this day about the bride and groom, but I also heard stories of unexpected reconciliation among formerly-estranged guests. These events can be healing of past hurts because they remind us of what is truly important.

As the ceremony progressed, I noticed that not only was I holding my husband’s hand, but also the bride’s dad and his wife were holding hands on one side of me, and on the other so were my son and his partner.  We all need these public ceremonies of commitment to remind us of the importance of our own.  The bride and groom have not made their vows in a vacuum.  They have publically committed themselves in a way that leaves them supported by a large cloud of witnesses, both living and maybe also dead.

Speeches were to be short and sweet and for the most part there were.  But they were so rich – all of them.  I saw a side of my daughter and her husband that I did not know.  The things that needed to be said were said.  All the people that had a part in “parenting” them, whether alive or dead, were acknowledged and thanked.   Everything felt so real and authentic.  No pretence.  Words did not hide scars but demonstrated that wounds cannot only heal but be turned into wisdom.

Lastly, this wedding took place in a church that has special significance in my life.  In such a place, I believe, we can be more readily reminded of a power – a divine presence that surrounds and permeates our lives.  It is to that profound mystery that I spontaneously offer gratitude on days such as this.

Oh yes, and just in case you read the “what you put on your feet” blog, those fancy high heels shoes never made it to the dancing floor, but these feet in little pink dancing slippers pulled other guests on to the floor and we danced the night away!  It was sheer fun, sheer joy, that will bring happy tears to my eyes in memory forever.  Thank you my beautiful daughter and your handsome husband for the opportunity of a lifetime.