Good Life Project - Amy Bloom | A “Good” Death (and why we need to talk about it)

Episode Date: March 7, 2022

What does it actually mean to have a “good” death? If you’re like most people, the very question - simply by the nature of it - scares you. In fact, you may be about to tune out of this episode at this very moment. I urge you to stay with me. Because there are things we all need to think about, to feel, to know. Because, in no small way, the idea of a “good” death is an essential part of the conversation we’ve been having for the last decade about living a good life. But if we never talk about, feel into it, and have open, honest, sometimes hard, but deeply meaningful conversations around it, then we leave our final act largely to fate or the will of others. To the extent that, when the time comes, we have some level of agency, at a moment where - and this is a critical distinction - we’re of sound mind, fully-supported and well-informed, it’s important to know - what are the things to consider, what are the unknowns, and how much of any of it is really in our hands? These are the questions and the circumstances that my guest, acclaimed author, screenwriter, and teacher, Amy Bloom, were presented with when her beloved husband was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s in his 60s, and quickly made a decision that, in his words, “the long goodbye” was not for him. The time that followed was marked by no small amount of suffering, not just because of the looming loss of a beloved, but because of the landscape that confronted them when seeking to “do it their way” compounded that suffering. The experience is laid bare, in an achingly beautiful and also stunningly eye-opening way, in Amy’s new book, In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss. This is not an easy conversation, but it is an incredibly important one. And I’m grateful for Amy’s openness, vulnerability, and wisdom in both sharing her story and guiding this conversation.You can find Amy at: WebsiteIf you LOVED this episode:You’ll also love the conversations we had with Robert Thurman about how we experience our time in the most present and engaged way.Check out our offerings & partners: My New Book SparkedMy New Podcast SPARKED.Visit Our Sponsor Page For Great Resources & Discount Codes Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

You cannot disregard people's faults and you can't expect them to change. You know, we meet each other. We're kind of all pretty much cooked and you can work on your behavior, but you're not going to change your nature. And so it always seems to me that if you pick somebody and you spend the next 20 years saying be different, you know, that's on you. You pick the wrong person. As he must have said a million times, I'm going to die on my feet, not live on my knees,

which was just his nature. At Brian's memorial, this guy who played football with him in high school said to me, nobody ever knocked you down harder or put out a hand faster to pull you up. He knew who he was. So what does it actually mean to have a quote, good death? Well, if you're like most people, the very question simply by the nature of it, it scares you. In fact, you may be about to tune out to this episode at this very moment, simply because I posed it. And I'm going to urge you to stay with me because there are things we all need to think about, to feel, to know, because in no small way, the idea of a good death is an essential part of the conversation

that we have been having for the last decade about living a good life. But if we never talk about it, if we never feel into it and have open, honest, sometimes hard but deeply meaningful conversations around it, well then we leave our final act largely to fate or to the will of others. And to the extent that when it comes time, we have some level of agency at a moment where, and this is a critical distinction, we're of sound mind, fully supported and well-informed. It's important to know what are the things to consider, what are the unknowns, and how much of any of it is really in our hands. These are the questions and circumstances that my guest, acclaimed author, screenwriter, and teacher, Amy Bloom, were presented with when her beloved

husband was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's in his 60s and quickly made a decision that, in his words, the long goodbye was not for him. The time that followed, it was marked by no small amount of suffering, not just because of the looming loss of a beloved, but because the landscape that confronted them when seeking to do it their way was a bit brutalizing. The experience is laid bare in an achingly beautiful and also stunningly eye-opening way in Amy's new book, In Love, a memoir of love and loss. This is not necessarily an easy conversation, but it is an incredibly important one. And I am so grateful for Amy's openness and vulnerability and wisdom in both sharing her story and in guiding this conversation. So glad to be able

to share this conversation with you. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X. Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum.

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That's uvic.ca slash future MBA. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were gonna be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg.

You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him! We need him! Y'all need a pilot? Flight Risk. As we have this conversation, it's sort of like on the eve of this incredible new book, Hitting the World. But it's also on the eve of you living through the circumstances that led to the book, which are deep and profound. And I want to dive into that and also what it was like for you to then write about this experience. But I want to also take a step back in time, maybe a bigger step back in time. The writing for you seemed to touch

down at an early age. I know you were an editor at the underground paper, The Rat, in Great Neck North when you were in high school. So clearly you had this Jones at an early age. Nothing will tickle me more today than the reference to The Rat and my trailblazing activities. Yeah. What was it about writing? I mean, was it something where even in the earliest days, this was just, you felt called to it or was it just kind of like a fun thing then? Well, even now I don't find writing to be a fun thing, I'm afraid. It's work. But my dad was a journalist. I mean, that's how he made a living. And my mother, before she had me and my sister, was a journalist also. They had both gone to Columbia to the School of Journalism. My mother, I think, was one of two women in her class. And she was a very successful gossip columnist, none of which I knew until I was in my 40s. My parents were not,

let us tell you all about our lives so that you can appreciate. I feel like I knew barely anything about my parents' lives. What I'd like to do was read. I loved to read. And I did write. And I don't think I thought very much about writing, but I did read all the time. And then in high school, it was sort of a natural expression for me to, I mean, I think I was also maybe on the regular school paper of our high school. And then there was this, and I remember actually because the principal called my father and said, you know, Amy and her little friends are distributing this newspaper on the steps of the high school. And my father said, so? And he said, well, you need to make her stop. And my father said, I don't see it.

You know, and, you know, I'm sure we got shut down at some point. But, you know, it was fun and it was exciting. And I did. I think for me, writing has always been a way for me to organize my thoughts, to put things more clearly, to take a little more time. I think my whole life I have lived to regret my off the cuff remarks. So I prefer to give them a little thought. Got it. It's almost like writing lets you sort of distill them and make sure that they land in the way that is both representative of you and in a way that is okay in the world. Yeah. Although certainly you're not afraid of pushing buttons with your writing. You're not afraid of just diving straight into the middle of things that you believe deeply in, things you've experienced and things that may be the center of polarizing points of view. I mean, that is not something that you ever side away from, from what I've seen in your writing.

No, I think what I say to my students sometimes when I'm teaching writing is, you know, the purpose of writing is not to get a date or to gather admirers. You know, you write because it matters to you. And there are a lot of different approaches. But my natural inclination, I think, both as a person and as a writer, is to call it a banana, not an elongated yellow fruit with a skin. And I just don't feel like that helps anybody. I'm curious also, you mentioned your mom was a writer, who eventually, from what I understand, made the transition into therapy after that. Yeah, she worked as sort of an aide and then a counselor in a psychiatric program on Long

Island and loved that work. But she had taught, she had made sort of a, you know, she had stopped doing journalism. She got a job teaching and then sort of transitioned to the mental health work, which she loved. Yeah, which is interesting also, because it's almost this when you look at your trajectory and her trajectory, it's like you are sort of like moving in opposite directions, but with similar overlapping interests and impulses. I think that that's true. I think my mother was a very kind person, a sort of naturally supportive person. I think she would have said that she didn't have it in her to push as a journalist. You know, it was the 50s. She got married. She had kids.

There was already one journalist in the family. I don't think my father would have objected as long as he still had a tuna fish sandwich waiting for him at noon, but he certainly wasn't going to be supportive. And she, I think she would have said she didn't have it in her. Interesting. To push for that career. Yeah. Your dad, I know you also learned later in life. It sounds like he's, I don't know if stoic is the right word, but just didn't really talk about the past. But at one point you discover during the World War II, he was part of the OSS. Yes, I discovered that. So we were sitting around at Thanksgiving. My dad must've been in his, maybe his mid to late eighties. And my son, who was quite close to him, says, come on, Murray,

you know, you can talk about it now. It was a long time ago. You were a spook, right? My father got absolutely purple and was like, I'm not talking about it. But, you know, eventually a few little things came out. And yeah, he was not big on oversharing or even adequate sharing. You know, these are people who kept themselves to themselves. I always think of them as sort of pre-Oprah. They did not come into the world thinking that there was value in telling your story to people who knew you or to strangers. You kept yourself to yourself and went on about your business. And that rule sounds like it applied even in the context of immediate family. Indeed.

Maybe even more so, I wonder. Well, my grandmother, you know, who came to this country in about 1910, maybe 1915, you know, so English was not her first language, right? There had been Yiddish, there had been Russian, there had been Polish, and then on top of everything else, English. So she did not have a very big English vocabulary. And there were all sorts of things I would have liked to have known. But one conversation I remember with her, I was asking her something about where she had been born or Russia or something. And she said, America is nice. Over there, not so nice. That was the big reveal.

So that kind of gave a bit of context to the dynamic that would filter down through generations at that point. Yes. I mean, they could all tell a story. They were all good conversationalists, but the past was the past. You moved on. Yeah. It's so interesting. Do you feel like that impulse, because in you, I mean, with, when you start to write, part of it is about you. Part of it is drawn from your stories are based on your own experience. And then they're like just pure novels as well. But it seems like in you, there, you developed at some point, a higher level of comfort of saying, this is my life, this is what I've experienced, or at least weaving that in very intense ways into what you offer out to the world in a very public way. DNA really runs through me. And I am actually quite a private person. But there are also things that I think matter or are worth writing about or worth saying. I remember my first novel, there's a high school girl who's the protagonist, and there's a high school teacher who's in love

with her. And I got very distressed and angry emails and letters saying, how could you condone this man's behavior? He's a pedophile. He's preying on her. What I felt was I wasn't writing to recommend it. I was writing to describe it. And it seemed to me it was the story I wanted to tell. So I feel like I tend to sort of push myself sometimes. My least favorite thing is to write about myself, which is why doing this memoir was a real struggle. But it was also because Brian so much wanted me to write about it. And I thought, I can do that. This is in my skill set.

I can do this. Writing also was not, it was a bit of a second act for you. You start into life. You come out of Wesleyan and then go to Smith, get your master's in social work, and spend a solid chunk of years, not just a year, building a practice in therapy and psychotherapy while raising a family and then starting to write on the side. You describe it as sort of like the 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift. But also you describe a certain hesitancy to sort of own that writing or let it intrude in any way, shape or form. Like there have to be like these discrete zones that don't touch each other in your life. And I would imagine that was really difficult to maintain. It was, I think. I think now, looking back at it, I didn't have to make that effort so much. I think I wanted it not to cost anybody else anything, which is why it had to happen late at night. Which is why, you know, of

course, I was on a panel once of writers, and the other two writers were saying things like, writing is more important than life itself. And the other writer was talking about how his wife worked two jobs, but always made sure there was a sandwich for him while he was writing his novels and putting them in the drawer. And I'm thinking, you know, my kids would come in and I'd like throw them a stick of gum and say, just let me just let me finish this word. And then they'd be like, we have to go to the mall. I need a red vest for school tomorrow. And I did not say I'm writing. I said, give me five minutes. And I think maybe it would have been possible to say, you're going to have to wait or you

should have told me sooner. But I really did not want the writing to sort of interfere with the rest of my family life. And I think I could have been maybe a tiny bit more protective of the writing than I was. I might have gotten my first collection of stories done in less than six years. And I'm a slow writer anyway. So. Yeah. It's interesting though, because there's, there does seem to be sort of like the school of writers who hold the process and the craft preciously. And then others who are just kind of bang it out and they sort of like, they move in and out of it without a whole

lot of, you know, like drama. And I wonder sometimes if certain people are just wired in a particular way, where for them to go to that place, they have to have a certain structure around it. And I understand that. I don't think there's a good or a bad way to do it. There are outliners, as they say, and seat of your pantsers. And there are people who are both, which is probably more me. And I did know that what I needed was some peace and quiet to be able to write. And if you have three kids and a full-time job and a family, then late at night is probably your best bet

because morning came fairly early with everybody tumbling around. So I think that part made sense to me. I just think my dad was a great model, actually, but it wasn't a model I could make any use of until I was older. My dad worked at home. He had a little office and it was like, you don't knock on that door unless there is actual blood on the actual floor. It's not a feeling. It's not you're not happy. It's nothing. If you are bleeding, you can knock on the door. And that wasn't really my style as a parent, but I did come to appreciate it and admire it as I got older. Yeah. I mean, I wonder if one of the other things that you sort of observed through him or learned, not through direct teaching, but just by seeing is that you can in fact build a living around this thing called writing. Although at the same time, for you, there was a long window of time where you were sort of juggling multiple, you know, like your full-time psychotherapy practice, your writing, like the late night shift, teaching starts to come into that mix as well.

So was there also something in mind that said, I've seen the model of my dad, like earning a family worthy living, doing this thing, but until I can actually prove that I can do that myself, I can't let go of these other things. Absolutely. I remember watching somebody give a talk and it was televised and it was sort of about when you want to make a career transition, you don't just throw over your career. You do that in stages. So, you know, you have your day job and then you build your other job. And that was very persuasive to me. I was like, OK, let's keep doing this. Let's keep doing both. And then I got a teaching job.

And so I cut back on my therapy practice, but I didn't abandon it. And then I thought, okay, I don't think I can actually do three jobs full time. I think I can do two, but I can't do three. And so then I taught more and cut way back on my practice and for about 10 years, didn't practice at all. And then went back to it a little bit. When you make that decision to cut back on your practice, I'm always curious about sort of transition points. And you say, okay, so I'm going to see my last client or patient. And in your mind, maybe that's saying like permanently, like I'm basically shutting it down. When you see that last person and they walk out the door, I'm curious about that moment.

Well, I think partially because I'm a very old-fashioned therapist, it was a process even going up to that last goodbye for the last client. Because mostly I just let people end therapy. I didn't terminate with anybody unless they were ready to terminate. So I'm sure the last person I saw was somebody who had said to me, this has been so helpful. I think we're ready to wrap up. Or I had said, seems like maybe you're ready to wrap up since we're spending a lot of time talking about your chihuahua. Maybe you're ready to end therapy. And I think I felt like I was ready to do that. And I was comfortable doing that. And then for that subsequent 10 years, I was doing a lot of writing and I was teaching. And that seemed like a really good balance. And then, honestly, and then in part, we needed the money. Brian had retired early. And I thought, you know what, this is something I'm good at and I love. I will pick up a few clients. I have to imagine there's a really interesting

overlap in everything that you're doing also. I mean, going down to the fundamental training in psychotherapy, which at its root is the art of observation, right? Which as a teacher, as a writer, serves as such a profound foundation. Observation and empathy. That's what you got. And so for me with writing, it's observation, empathy, and language. And the rest of it is observation and empathy. That's what you got. When you start submitting or you start writing, I know the first thing that you really dove into was actually a mystery that had an interesting history to it. Because I think people first saw publicly you were sharing short stories, which got some really nice attention and started to build. People knew who you were and the community, the literary community was really paying attention. And then as part of a deal with Harper a little bit down the road, this mystery that you had started into and. I don't feel ashamed of it. I just, I was learning how to write. And I think I chose a mystery because I understood, even if I wasn't very good at following the mean, I sort of at least understood the concepts. And after HarperCollins had bought my short story collection and bought The Mystery, which I thought was very kind of them, I read it again and I thought, oh, I don't want to unleash this on an unsuspecting and blameless world. I should make this better. And so I bought it back from them. Has that book ever seen the light of day? It hasn't, has it? No, but it will. I need it a bit. It will. I tend to it periodically, sort of like a

sort of struggling ficus or something. It's It's, it's much better than it was. I actually think it's in quite good shape now, but I, I, I am so behind in my other kinds of novel writing that it has to take a little bit of a back bench, but you know, it will, it will appear. Well, I, I look forward to that day. I don't count the days, but it will appear. I'm just going to assume sometime in the future. Yes. It will make itself known. Along the way, you end up meeting Ari Emanuel, who is legendary in the world of Hollywood, right? Yeah.

And get connected with Greer Shepard. And you go from writing short stories and novels into this sort of bizarro alternate universe of TV writing. Yes. I'm curious about that experience. I really had a very good time. And I think I had a good time in part because I made, I don't think I was thought of it this way, but I made a self-limiting decision, which was I didn't move to LA. I continued to live on the East coast and I continued to see myself as a writer, but not primarily a TV writer. And I had some wonderful opportunities. I wrote a ton of pilots, most of which got bought.

Ari was a very early supporter, which I really appreciated. And Greer was and is a dream to work with. I could never ask for a better producer or a more supportive one or a smarter one or a more thoughtful one or one who one or a more thoughtful one or one who, like me, really believed in observation and empathy. So it was a lot of fun. And, you know, sometimes things work out, sometimes they don't. I think for me, also because I wasn't a kid, I mean, I didn't get published till I was 40. And so it was nice to sort of be pretty grounded. I wasn't under the impression that I was going to be J.J. Abrams or even Shonda Rhimes. I understood that I had a

skill set that I could apply to television scripts. And I love the fact that it was collaborative. I mean, that was the most fun, you know, to, I mean, to write the way that I write, you know, sit in the room and bang your head against a wall. So to have people to talk to, people to share the responsibility and somebody put out donuts that I didn't have to make or buy, I was like, oh my God, this is a fantastic job. The perfect writing job. I wonder though how it lands because in that world, and it sounds like this was your experience as well, so often you write stuff that never actually sees the light of day, even if it's greenlit, even if it's saying we're going to do this, it actually never happens. And I wonder if over time that grinds on you at all,

or if you just kind of say, well, this is the business I'm getting paid to write. I'm good. More of the latter. I think, I mean, sometimes you're disappointed. I mean, there were some shows that came very close and we were on the schedule and they were like, yeah, but now we have another show that's similar and the producer and star are a lot bigger deal than you are. So no, thank you. And that's disappointing, but it's not heartbreaking. It's just disappointing. Yeah. Whether you're in your running era, Pilates era, or yoga era, dive into Peloton workouts that work with you. From meditating at your kid's game to mastering

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Don't shoot him! We need him! Y'all need a pilot? Flight Risk. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping.

And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you 8 hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Speaking of heartbreaking and heart-opening, along the way as you're building your career and deepening into writing and teaching and the occasional psychotherapy client here and there, your first marriage comes to an end and you fall in love with this guy named Brian. I guess around 2005. Yeah, 2006. It sounds like it was an instant connection, but then it took a little bit of time for it to happen.

Well, he was a big personality and I don't think we were an obvious match. I mean, he was this big ex-football player, you know, kind of a very privileged life in lots of ways. And, you know, it took him a while to sort of recognize how privileged and lucky he was. But he really did get that idea. He really did understand. And, you know, he was kind of arrogant, sort of did what he wanted to do, didn't worry too much about what other people thought, but I did really like his energy. And my favorite quality about him was his ability to sort of follow his own path with great determination and not be terribly unsettled by what other people thought.

And also that he was game. You know, if I had said to Brian, oh, there's the drag queen mermaid parade in Coney Island. It starts in three hours. Let's go. He'd be like, great. Let me get my hat. And that quality was really wonderful. Very little fazed him. You referenced that he was a former football player, which certainly comes back later. He was also a little bit of football royalty. His dad, from what I understand, won the Heisman at the University of Wisconsin and played pro ball. So this was something that was like, he wasn't just a guy who played football for a little bit. It was like in his DNA. Oh, absolutely. No, he played football from the time he was seven until he was 22. And I am pretty sure that he was always the captain, except at Yale, because he didn't want the responsibility. So when you connect, it's a little bit later in life. He's in the world of architecture. Very different, but it's interesting. You wrote in reflecting on the situation, actually it was a piece in The Guardian in 2018, you write, it's wise to marry people for their faults, not despite them. You have to choose what is wrong with them. Everyone has something wrong. Talk to me more about this notion. It is what I think.

I think that, you know, of course, I mean, I was drawn to the fact that he was game and he was determined, which, by the way, also meant that he tended to be fearless and stubborn. And so I had to prefer that fault to something else. But and I did, I preferred to be with somebody who was going to be a hard man to stop than somebody who I had to encourage to step off the curve and cross the street. And that's a function of my personality. But you cannot disregard people's faults, I think, and you can't expect them to change. You know, we meet each other, we're kind of all pretty much cooked, and you can't expect them to change. We meet each other, we're kind of all pretty much cooked and you can work on your behavior, but you're not going to change your nature.

And so it always seems to me that if you pick somebody and you spend the next 20 years saying, be different, that's on you. You picked the wrong person. You can't say to somebody, be taller. You got to either be happy with their height or you got to find somebody else. It's interesting when you zoom the lens out from that notion, just in the context of, you know, who you pick or who you have a relationship with. A friend of mine, Mark Manson, actually has written that sort of like this alternative, but related notion on just how to live a good life which is you know like rather than asking what do you want which is not unimportant also ask what am i willing to

suffer yeah um because those are the things that can be more determinative like what suffering am i open to saying yes to knowing that it may never change yeah well in fact it should you should anticipate that it's not going to change. I mean, unless you're marrying somebody who's six years old, the chances are pretty good. They are who they are and they're going to go on being who they are. And if there are difficulties between you and you're lucky, you've married somebody who's willing to work on their behavior, but they're not going to become somebody different. They're not going to not have that initial response, which they might learn out of love and evolution to change the

nature of the response on the outside, but there's still going to be that little thing that happens on the inside, and that's who they are. The way that you describe Brian, on the one hand, sounds tough as nails. But on the other hand, you also described, I mean, what sounds like a really deeply emotionally tuned in and empathic person. He was, I think, very much emotionally tuned in. I think empathy came kind of late to him because he was the oldest son of a large Italian family in which empathy was not really the number one quality, but because he himself was willing to be vulnerable and to really spend a lot of time sort of exploring his childhood and his own drives. And I remember his coming home from therapy once and said to me, you know why I get angry? And I said, no.

And he said, because I'm afraid. I said, no. And he said, because I'm afraid. I said, yes. And he took it to heart. I mean, it was not for him a sort of casual insight that you could sort of trot out. He understood that and he really worked on the fear. As you're building a life together with him, doing your own things independently and building your life together, at some point along the way, you start to notice changes in the way that he is in the world. Yeah. I mean, they just, you know, sometimes it's a little hard to tell.

I think for those of us, as you're getting older, you have your quirks. Is this a symptom or is it just a quirk? Is it a passing mood or is it a symptom? And I'm a pretty good judge. I think I have a lot of clinical training and I'm a pretty good observer and nothing is more interesting to me than people sort of whatever, whatever hat I'm wearing, but they were very specific. You know, he was suddenly much more irritable. He also really began to struggle dramatically with appointments and his phone and scheduling. And it was probably more the frustration that he caused him that it caused him that I noticed in particular because his whole life, I mean, he always said

to me, I never make a meeting before 1030 in the morning. I don't like to get up that early. But that's how he had arranged his professional life and it had worked out okay. But suddenly, appointments or scheduling, it was all very frustrating. It was all very irritating to him. He felt really put upon. And I think that that was because that part of his cognitive functioning was beginning to fray. And so it was harder to remember, harder to put in his calendar, harder to keep track of. And then when he did not keep track of it, it felt very bad to him. So that was a lot of the beginning of that. And also just, I mean, I think all of it was around the frustration and fear of his cognitive decline, which he was experiencing, but of course not understanding. I mean, he didn't know why, I didn't know why, but we both saw, me probably a little more clearly than he did, how frustrated he was about so many things. And then that extended into his work life. And then it became a bigger thing.

Yeah. When this is happening, are you having conversations around this in an open way? Or is there, I'm curious whether there's something almost like a thought bubble building up in your mind saying, okay, based on my experience and my clinical experience and what I see, there's this thing that this might be, but that is a heavy conversation. And I don't want to just have it right now. Or were you just open about sort of like what was unfolding in real time? I don't think I could have been. I mean, I would have been open about it if I could have been. But I think even internally for myself, when I would say things like, honey, what's wrong? Or this seems to be bothering you. Or he would complain. I mean, really at a sort of very intense level about something, an email about his book club. And I would sort of say, well, you don't have to go. It was like, it's just crazy. These people are ridiculous. There are these emails flying back and forth and none of them make any sense. And I would say, oh,

well, what do you mean? And so he might show me or he might not show me. And I would just see like an email exchange in which some guy said, let's meet at 7.30 instead of 7. And Brian would have been really thrown by it. But I think it was just all the processing was hard for him. And I think there were things that other people saw as well. I mean, I certainly saw them, but I think none of us wanted to say, oh, is this an illness? It was sort of like, well, he's in his 60s, maybe it's this, maybe it's that, maybe he's a little depressed because of the job. But for me, when he couldn't continue with his job, I certainly was like, something is wrong. But I didn't know if it was sort of in a mental health category or a neurological category. And then as things progressed, I really did find myself thinking more and more like, what is this? And then he was willing to go and visit a neurologist and get assessed. And that was the beginning of that. But I, we could have done it two years before. And the symptoms probably still would have been there. And they wouldn't have been as marked as

they were by the time he finally went. But lots of those things were still there. Yeah. I know he ends up having hip surgery, which sounds like it also is kind of this moment where like that with memory issues opens a certain willingness to say, okay, it's time to figure out what this is when you get a diagnosis of Alzheimer's. At that point, and I guess also, you know, this would be early to mid 60s. So I don't know how you sort of like think about, well, when does the onset of that normally, quote, normally happen in people? But I think a lot of folks would imagine, well, it tends to happen maybe later in life, like 70s, 80s. So in the early 60s, I would imagine it wasn't necessarily also the thing that you were sort of like looking for because it's not as common at that age.

Oh, not at all. I mean, it's, you know, it's called early onset Alzheimer's. And I think the cutoff for that is like before you're 65, you know, and he had certainly had symptoms before he was 65. No, I wasn't looking for it. And also, you know, he was a stubborn man in his 60s who liked to have his own way and didn't like to do what he didn't like to do. So sometimes it was a little hard to tell the difference between I don't wanna and I don't remember, or I no longer know how to do this. So it was a little hard to assess, but as the

symptoms progressed, I could just see more and more of it. But no, I had not been expecting it. He hadn't been expecting it. I mean, Brian's dad died when he was 55, when his father was 55. And, you know, for Brian, that was all he had hoped to accomplish was to live past being 55. And neither of us were looking for anything else. And in fact, he was in better health in lots of ways physically than he had been. He was working out. But the difficulties, you know, between 64 and 66 with his professional life were really marked. And it wasn't that everything had always gone beautifully for him in his professional life, but it had not been this difficult for him. And it was also clear to me that the things were difficult were not design, which he never really lost a handle on, but things like how to work the printer. And although he wasn't a high-tech guy, he did know how to work a printer, and then he just

didn't. And every time he approached that machine, it was just a new and baffling problem for him. So he's going through this from the inside out and you're participating in this from the outside in. Along with the diagnosis also comes a prognosis. Yes. And there's really only one prognosis, you know, one of the hardest things I think with Alzheimer's and other diseases like it is that it's terminal, but it's not fast and it's just going to keep rolling downhill. Yeah. You described as, I don't know whether this was his language or your language or both as, as the long goodbye. That's his language. That's what he said. He said, I'm not doing the long goodbye. When it becomes clear that this is the prognosis

and that there's a certain future that awaits, he makes a decision that within a matter of days, it sounds like, about how he wants to claim whatever time he has remaining. I'm wondering what that week is like for him and you. That week was about a decade long and about a minute long. And I said to him, I will take care of you. I will be there for you. I will protect you.

You don't have to do it this way. And he was like, I want to do it this way. As he must have said a million times, I'm going to die on my feet, not live on my knees, which was just his nature. At Brian's memorial, this guy who played football with him in high school said to me, nobody ever knocked you down harder or put out a hand faster to pull you up. He knew who he was. When he makes the decision that rather than just letting this disease take its course, that he wants to choose the when and the where, and the when and the where is fairly soon. I mean, that decision alone is profound and difficult. It sets in motion a whole lot of different chains of dominoes that have to tumble. And I want to explore that a little bit because it's incredibly eye-opening to learn what the system does and does not actually support in this country and globally. is much more deeply personal than sort of the logistics and the culture and the society and the laws, and that is the family. When you make a decision like this and you have kids and you

have grandkids and extended family, how do you share this with them? Well, I suppose it depends on your family. For us, I would say we were careful and we were mindful. And it was probably in some ways a little easier for us because Brian didn't have children from his previous relationship. And he was very close to my children, but it was also different. You know, this was not their dad. And we sort of took it piece by piece. And in the end, you know, as I write, my mother-in-law, a devout Catholic, is extremely supportive because her best friend had Alzheimer's. And she saw the really the fairly striking downhill progression for her friend. And that was terrible for her. And we were close to her friend and we saw it and she saw it and she would talk about it. And, you know, my kids were all very supportive. And, you know,

Brian, not unusually, I think for a man his age, did not have a lot of close friends and his close friends tended to be his fishing buddies. But by and large, everybody came through with a lot of support. And also Brian was really able to say to people, I'm only interested in support. Like, you want to call me and talk to me about this decision and be supportive? Great. You want to tell me your own concerns and what you don't like about it and what you would do? I don't need to have that conversation. Yeah, he created the container. Yeah, I know he, that's why I said earlier, I think that he was somebody with a lot of emotional awareness, but empathy was probably not at the very, very top of his skill set. And in some ways that really served him later around these difficult decisions, because he really focused on what he needed to do. And he didn't

want to cause anybody pain, but he was not going to change his mind. Yeah. It's interesting, you know, in this country, I think in particular, and even in the context of this conversation, But he was not going to change his mind. hesitant as a culture to consider, does having a good death have a place in the conversation about living a good life? And if so, what does that even mean? Right. I mean, I hope so. I think, you know, I was with both my parents right up until the time of their death. They were both able to die at home, which was very important to them and therefore very important to me. And I think, I hope for people that a good death

would be possible as part of their good life. And certainly thinking about it and talking about it and understanding your own wishes and your own conflicted wishes. I mean, as Brian said, I don't want to leave. He said, but either way, I'm going to be leaving you. So I would rather leave the way I want to leave.

Because either way, I will be gone, which was correct. Once the decision is made and you're having the conversations with family and close friends, then the focus is, okay, how does this actually happen? And that's where you step into what sounds like just the most complex, confusing, and often unsupporting and irrational world when it comes to people trying to make intentional, well-informed, supported decisions at this moment in time. Yes. Moving into that particular universe, that matrix did make the sort of, you know, you see what you see more clearly. And some people were enormously supportive regardless

of their professional backgrounds, and some people were less so, regardless of their professional backgrounds. And there's no guidelines. There's no real help. I mean, people can make, you know, intelligent remarks. But it's not a thing that anybody's going to help you do, period, in this country. And, you know, when I began to do the research, because, you know, Brian was like, we'll just go to Vermont, which would be a very sort of Brian-like approach, big hand wave. Honey, let's just go to Vermont. I'm like, okay. And then I would look up Vermont's right to die laws and go like, that is not going to help us at all. And then you look up everybody's right to die laws in the United States, you go like, oh, that is not going to help us at all. And then you look up everybody's right to die laws in the United States and you go like, oh, that is not going to help us at all because the window

is so small. You know, it's terminally ill with six months to live in which you have to be able to sort of engage in interviews and write a statement and take whatever kind of end of life medication there will be. This is a very small group of people that can hit check all those boxes and intentionally so. So, and plus, you know, you're not chatting about it casually with people. So it was difficult and finding Dignitas, I, you know, I'm just glad I'm a pretty good researcher, you know? And, you know, Brian read the website. I read the website. He was like, this is the way to go. I was like, okay. He was like, this is good. Let's do this. I'm like, okay. You know? And then there was like another big hand wave and like, look into it, honey. I'm like, okay. And so we discussed all those things together. I mean, it wasn't me gathering information and setting it in motion. I would gather information, we would talk it over. He would sort of make some decisions about how he wanted to pursue things or didn't want to pursue things. And we did very much move through it together.

Yeah, I mean, along the way also, you know, because what he was dealing with was neurological degeneration, that has to layer in something which is even more complex because in order to make these decisions, whether it's in the US or whether it's in Switzerland where you eventually find this place, you know, there are a series of conversations and interviews and examinations that have to happen in a particular order. And the person, understandably, needs to be able to have lucid, present conversations during the moment of the conversation. But with Alzheimer's,

you don't necessarily know when that's going to be. Well, and that was why Brian wanted to move quickly. I mean, he understood that Brian was a very smart guy. I mean, he had a high IQ and he understood that that gave him a little bit of an advantage because he had more cells that he could lose and still make decisions and still determine things and still understand things and still have judgment and discernment than if he had not started out with such a high IQ. But he immediately understood that he had to beat the clock, that he had to act fairly quick, sooner than he would have liked, sooner than I would have liked, so that he could meet the criteria for making these choices. And he completely, I mean, I think some of that really was his football training, like understanding that you only have so long and you got to act.

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Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg.

You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight risk. I know you described part of the process as a series of two meetings with therapists before you get the quote green light. And 70% of people who actually get the green light never come back.

Right. Right. You know, they have maybe a phone interview, a couple of phone interviews, but they find it reassuring and they don't return, which also sounds great. And at Dignitas, the drum that they beat is, if at any time you change your mind or have a hesitation, please express that. We will put on the brakes. You can do it again some other time. You never need to go forward if you have any hesitation at all. Yeah. Which feels like they're setting you up to make that choice that we talked about. At every point of the way, you have agency in this process. A hundred percent. You need to be present and aware and never feeling like just because you felt this way yesterday, you have to do it in this moment in time. I mean, they were in fact adamant about saying things like, and if tomorrow you feel differently, or at the end of this conversation you feel differently, or in a couple of hours you feel differently, please be assured that we will be happy, you know, if you change your mind.

We will support that 100% if you change your mind. I mean, it's interesting because so often there's so many layers of morality that get folded into every moment, every conversation, every step when somebody makes this decision. And it seems like what this process was designed to do is really strip out all the external morality, leave in a process that says we are going to try and create as much intelligence and thoughtfulness and give you the opportunity to have control as possible. And it's not our place to say what is or isn't appropriate. And if your mind, this is the prognosis that you have, and your rational decision is, this is the choice that I want to make. This is the way that I want to come to an end. We support that. And if you decide at the last moment, no, then we support that as well. But morality, extramorality kind of doesn't play a role in the process at that point. That's interesting, because I would say that in fact, from the Dignitas point of view, they see it as a very moral act. They feel that it is

morally incumbent upon somebody to support people in this difficult process. And their slogan is, is life with dignity, death with dignity. So I think that they actually see this as a very moral stance, that this is part of a human right to be engaged in self-determination. And there are things that are required of you, like discernment, like judgment, and that's why they keep asking if it's what you want to do. So judgment, discernment, and agency. And I think that they feel that they are morally obliged to offer that to people. Yeah. I guess the morality there is in creating the option, but not within influencing the decision.

Oh, 100%. Yeah. I mean, they could not be more careful about that or more repetitive about it. Yeah. When the time is coming closer, a friend of yours actually mentions the possibility of psychedelics for Brian. And there is some really interesting research focused around actually cancer patients who are terminal and how it profoundly changes the way that they experience their prognosis, you eventually present that to him and he says, no, you know, saying, I'm actually not afraid of this. I'm wondering if you yourself considered psychedelics in

almost as a means to explore how a sense of anticipatory grief was landing in you. I think now that I could have, I mean, you know, when I describe myself sort of dragging my feet on presenting the option to him, in fairness to myself, it was only about four hours. It wasn't like a week. I was like, she suggested about two in the afternoon. I think I told him at about six. Got it. But I'm not a big foot dragger. But I don't think it occurred to me then. Now I think, oh, that might have been very helpful. And also, I felt that so much of my own therapy was understanding the anticipatory grief and also understanding the grief I had been carrying for a couple of years, you know, because, you know, to see your partner, especially if you've been lucky enough to have an intimate and happy marriage, just remove himself and become less and less available and less and less interested in the project of the marriage, you know, was a loss right then and there. That was not anticipatory grief. That was happening right then. But I appreciate that that can be very helpful for

people, that the way you see the world, the way you see yourself as part of the world, the way you understand at the end of life, all of those things, you know, strike me as helpful and interesting. I also think that for Brian, because he had tripped a little bit in college, he was like, nah, I'm good. That was good, but I'm fine now. where he goes through the process. You're with him side by side as his life passes. And you describe it in deeply emotional. I mean, the way that you write about it is just heartbreaking, heart-opening, heartwarming, tender, and impossible to read your words without weeping along with them. And I can't even imagine being in the room during that moment. And at the same time, you also write, I worry sometimes that a better wife, certainly a

different wife, would have said no. Well, yeah. I mean, I don't think I said no at the beginning, but I certainly said, consider the alternative, please. You know, you could do something else. We could do this, which I certainly felt I could. But by the time I was sitting with him, I knew that this is what he wanted to do. And this is, his whole self was committed to doing and that it was right. And he expressed that so many times when he would say, I'm sorry, I have to go so soon, but I'm ready to go.

And I'm not afraid. And so it didn't seem to me, I mean, I respected that, you know, I respected that process and having sort of him having a final interview with, with a psychiatrist to sort of continue to do the assessment of his cognitive functioning. And so the psychiatrist was like, he a hundred percent understands what he's doing. He can articulate it. He can express, you know, his vision for it. I remember when we had the interview in Switzerland and the doctor who's interviewing him, again, just to make sure about his discernment and his judgment and his understanding says, well, I see you don't really believe in anything. And Brian laughed and he said, I believe in a lot of things. It just doesn't include the afterlife. You know, And it was always that struggle, certainly between,

oh, do we have to go yet? Is it so soon? And Brian always being very clear, like, yes, because we don't know what's going to happen in six months. These things can move quickly or slowly. And there was not a single person who could tell us when the cutoff point would be. And it wasn't because they didn't want to, it's because nobody knows. You, in the beginning of the book, in one of the opening pages, there's this little line that says, Brian said, you have to write about this. Yeah. But for that request from him, do you think you would have actually

written about this? Probably not. When you sit down to actually write, how was that experience for you? Well, some of it was rushing off to my office for a little break. He was safe at home watching Rachel Maddow, or I had taken him to the gym so he could work out, and I might make some notes on my phone. Thank you, modern world, I got to make notes on my phone. I mean, some of it, I already had to make notes regardless of whether or not I wanted to write a book because I was just trying to keep track of so many things, the neurologist appointment, the psychiatrist appointment, the MRI appointment, all of the process. I had to make notes anyhow so I could keep track of everything.

And so that ended up being very useful because I had a lot of notes. And I'm a good note taker. You know, when I was in high school, my parents feared that I was not going to go to college. And so they made me take a Catherine Gibbs secretarial course. It's where you learn shorthand and using a dictaphone, super handy in the modern world. But I'm a good note taker. what had happened or what had been said or what we had tried to do or something that had come up. And so I had the notes already, which was really, as I say, more part of the process we were going through than notes for an intended book. But he did feel really strongly about it. And as he said, if I could write a book, he said, I'd write a book. I'm not a book writer. You're the book writer. And people should talk about these issues. And people should understand, you know, that there are maybe slightly more possibilities than they

think that there are. And people should talk about this stuff. And he had always felt that way. I mean, I know, really, even in his 20s, he cared a lot about sort of autonomy and agency and self-determination. When the book comes to an end, the book doesn't end with you sitting side by side with him in Switzerland as he moves on. The book actually ends with you reflecting back to the day that you got married in a really, really beautiful and heartwarming moment in where you share what he said and what you said. I was curious as a writer about the decision to bring the story home by taking everybody back to that moment. I really have to credit my friend, the wonderful novelist, Kate Wolbert, because Kate had read an early draft and she said, I think you have to take

us back to before, like when everything was just great. And I said, I can do that. You know, I had a really very clear memory of my wedding day. And there it was. And I, it was a joy to, I mean, it was a joy. It was a joy to write. Also, I was sobbing the whole time. But you know, you're in a room by yourself. It's okay to sob. I can type and wipe my eyes at the same time, which is a good thing. And I loved being able to write that. I mean, it makes me cry now. It made me cry then, but I loved being able to write that. Yeah. It was as a reader and somebody who's sort of like following along with you, it was a beautiful way to sort of experience the end of the story a little bit differently

than was expected by taking you back to that moment, which feels like a good place for us to come full circle in our conversation as well. So sitting here in this container of Good Life Project, if I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up? I think to me, to live a good life, you know, purpose and joy. That's how I think of it for myself. Thank you. You're welcome.

Thank you. Hey, before you leave, if you love this episode, safe bet you will also love the conversation we had with Robert Thurman about how we experience our time in the most present and engaged way. You'll find a link to his episode in the show notes. And of course, if you haven't already done so, go ahead and follow Good Life Project in your favorite listening app. And if you appreciate the work that we've been doing here on Good Life Project, go check out my new book, Sparked. It'll reveal some incredibly eye-opening things about maybe one of your favorite subjects, you, and then show you how to tap these insights to reimagine and reinvent work as a source of meaning, purpose, and joy. You'll find a link

in the show notes, or you can also find it at your favorite bookseller now. Until next time, I'm Jonathan Fields, signing off for Good Life Project. If you're at a point in life when you're ready to lead with purpose, we can get you there. The University of Victoria's MBA in Sustainable Innovation is not like other MBA programs. It's for true changemakers who want to think differently and solve the world's most pressing challenges. From healthcare and the environment to energy, government, and technology, it's your path to meaningful leadership in all sectors. For details, visit uvic.ca slash future MBA. That's uvic.ca slash future MBA. Whether you're in your running era, Pilates era, or yoga era, dive into Peloton workouts that work with you. From meditating at your kid's game to mastering

a strength program, they've got everything you need to keep knocking down your goals. No pressure to be who you're not. Just workouts and classes to strengthen who you are. So no matter your era, make it your best with Peloton. Find your push. Find your power. Peloton.

Visit Peloton at onepeloton.ca. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes.

The Apple Watch Series 10. Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required. Charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. On January 24th.

Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight Risk.