Credo

After three years writing here, it’s time I took stock of what is taking shape on this blog. Just who is writing these posts, you might wonder. After 80 essays, I’m still anonymous.

I’m a Chicago born, suburban raised, Catholic boy from a large family and many neighbors. Sustained interests in religion, psychology and poetry carried me through my formative years as a reader haunting bookstores for hours, looking for that right title or the perfect choice among too many to fit my meager means. With a growing library — and giving away most of my books three times over on separate decades — despite the jobs, families, marriages, and moves, one constant remains and that is reading. The joy of a well-constructed sentence and a clear thought that opens the imagination is my heaven on earth. These moments become part of a shared awakening during our lifetime: our common purpose. To struggle through some of these discoveries with you is the joyful magic of internet community, my mission here.

I happen to be a hospice nurse now, hitting my stride professionally and personally, so I make this job the constructive or organizing form around these posts. It’s incidental what I and you do and also that we die, but our mortality is also significant beyond comprehension and that which gives meaning to our lives. Until we actually go through with dying — and then it’s ordinary again. So few seem to know what they’re doing when dying happens, thinking: It’s a test, for God’s sake; or Where is my bucket list now; or Where is that social worker’s check list of Necessary Tasks to be done during this significant time. So that’s another reason to talk about living and dying.

This blog is not a nuts-and-bolts version of hospice nursing. There will be no poetry of the Hallmark stamp, no fecking sunsets, hand-holding, butterflies or lavender. I don’t tell detailed personal stories or give away identities here. Most of the sick, dying, and dead are ordinary people with whom we can identify, even the famous ones who sicken and die like the rest of us (although monied jerks usually live longer). I’m not a tourist (and try to understand more than exploit those I witness), and neither should you be one. Don’t read here for what you might expect but for what you don’t expect — if you like the writing — because life and death is full of the unexpected. I’m rife with contradictions, blind spots, prejudices, and trapped within a lived but limited experience of relative privilege that I’ll try to observe and be honest about. That’s some of my credo, aesthetic, and ethics. 

My dear wife hears the above, then asks me, “Okay, but what about love, and why are you still anonymous?” The good parts that remain here are because of her.

I hope you enjoy what you read.

I’m a Chicago born, suburban raised, Catholic boy from a large family and many neighbors. Sustained interests in religion, psychology and poetry carried me through my formative years as a reader haunting bookstores for hours, looking for that right title or the perfect choice among too many to fit my meager means. With a growing library — and giving away most of my books three times over on separate decades — despite the jobs, families, marriages, and moves, one constant remains and that is reading. The joy of a well-constructed sentence and a clear thought that opens the imagination is my heaven on earth. These moments become part of a shared awakening during our lifetime: our common purpose. To struggle through some of these discoveries with you is the joyful magic of community.I happen to be hitting my stride professionally and personally as a nurse specialist of terminal illnesses, so make this job the constructive or organizing form around these posts. It’s incidental what I and you do and also that we die, but our mortality is also significant beyond comprehension and that which gives meaning to our lives. Until we actually go through with dying — and then it’s ordinary again. So few seem to know what they’re doing when dying happens, thinking: It’s a test, for God’s sake; or Where is my bucket list now; or Where is that social worker’s check list of Necessary Tasks to be done during this significant time. So that’s another reason to talk about living and dying.This blog is not always a nuts-and-bolts version of hospice nursing. I promise there will be no poetry of the Hallmark stamp, no fecking sunsets, hand-holding, butterflies or lavender. I don’t tell detailed personal stories or give away identities here. Most of the sick, dying, and dead are ordinary people with whom we can identify, even the famous ones who sicken and die like the rest of us (although monied jerks usually live longer). Am I a tourist? I try to understand more than exploit others for stories. I don’t encourage that you read for the exotic slant. Don’t read here for what you might expect but for what you don’t expect — if you like the writing — because life and death is full of the unexpected. I’m rife with contradictions, blind spots, prejudices, and trapped within a lived but limited experience of relative privilege that I’ll try to observe and be honest about. That’s some of my credo, aesthetic, and ethics.