A Blog About Living & Dying
The Scale We’re Not Using (But Could Be)
While casually hanging out in a light blue paper gown, waiting for the dermatologist’s knock, I noticed two posters on the wall.
Well, I didn’t so much notice them as they commanded my attention.
These double-hung, window sized posters were—full color and impossible to ignore. They showed all the common lesions and disorders of the skin including skin cancer—and which ones, if left untreated, could kill you.
They were equal parts fascinating and unsettling. I tried to look away (seriously, it was a bit gnarly), then reminded myself, “Good grief, you’re at the dermatologist’s office being proactive with the largest organ in your body (a full 20 square feet of surface area!). Now’s not the time to be squeamish.”
So I pushed past my discomfort, got up, and took a closer look. The posters were easy to read, informative and left little to interpretation. Did I mention they were in full color—with photos, not illustrations? Again, incredibly helpful…albeit not something I’d want to stare at all day.
Room to Grow, So Others Don’t Groan
Spring has a way of inviting movement. Windows open. Light shifts. And suddenly, the things around us feel more visible.
So this month, we’re giving you a slightly bigger—but still manageable—container:
a room, a closet, or a collection.
Because here’s the truth:
The things we’re holding onto did their job. They brought us joy, meaning, comfort, identity. And while it’s tempting to believe others will feel the same, that might be a stretch.
When we die, finding homes for important possessions often is more like a job for our loved ones—one they don’t have the bandwidth or inclination to take on in a way only you could.
Consider this your Spring-fling down memory lane.
Four Doorways
This SMALL STEP isn’t about doing one more thing for someone else. It’s about offering yourself a quieter kind of gift. It was prompted by the holiday season—and by the way this time of year can bring people we’ve lost closer to the surface.
Sometimes with warmth. Sometimes with complexity. Sometimes with a mix of feelings that don’t need fixing or polishing, just a little room to breathe.
If someone in your life has died—recently or long ago—and thinking about them brings up stuff, this invitation is for you. Not to gloss over anything. Not to tidy the story. Just to notice what might help you feel a little more settled in your own corner of the world.
If you want forward motion, here’s permission. If you want connection, here’s a way to give. If you want closure, here are some doorways. If you want containment, here’s a box.