The Last Conversation

Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal

Smaller Dose #16: It’s good that you came back for more.

Reading time: ~6 minutes

Length: ~1,220 words

My mother passed away six months ago, and I’ve not been the same person since then. It was Lewy Body Dementia and Parkinson’s that had finally taken her from us. And on that day, I became an orphan. I’ve yet to find a better word to describe the void that I’ve been feeling.

Mother’s Day Weekend 2023

In a span of two years, she went from living in her own home to independent living in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment, to assisted living with increasing levels of care, to memory care and then finally a nursing home for the last 10 days of her life. It was the same nursing home where my father spent the last 18 months of his life. I was there with her for most of those last few days. She passed away on a Sunday evening and was buried next to my father on Tuesday morning.

The last two weeks were the most difficult. She fell and as a precaution she was taken to the hospital to get evaluated. When asked, she knew her first name, but not her last. She didn’t know where she was. She was very weak and could barely get out more than a few words. I didn’t realize that the end was so near. Or I was in denial and didn’t want to accept what was soon to come.

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Have you ever considered that there are people in your life with whom you have had your last conversation with, and you don't even realize it?

Throughout our lives, there are many times when we have the last conversation with someone without recognizing such until much later or not at all if we never think about that person again. We leave school or a job or move to a new city and reflexively we say things like “keep in touch.” But often times, we don’t. We have friendships and relationships which transform over time. Sometimes days turn into weeks, months and years and we drift apart. We don’t consciously realize that we’ve had that last conversation with someone who was once so close to us and an important part of our daily lives.

Recently I found out about a friend from college who passed away last year. It was my roommate from our sophomore year. Our last conversation was an email exchange in 2012. When I found out he had passed away, a flood of memories came rushing back to my consciousness. We had each gone our separate ways with different goals, values, and beliefs. Yet there will always be a connection to our time together back in school. There were shared experiences and memories which live or lived within each of us.

Soon after hearing about his passing, I reached out to some of my college friends who knew him. I’m connected to many of them on LinkedIn yet haven’t had a conversation with most of them in perhaps 30 years. A few days later we had a Zoom call scheduled. Our last conversations were long forgotten and yet we picked up where we left off. We even teased each other a bit as we did when we were 18 or 19 years old. It was a good call. A bright light in what has been a dark time for me and my family.

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Perhaps right now you are thinking about the last conversation you had with a family member, a friend, a former colleague, a neighbor, or anyone else who was part of your journey through life. Maybe you can’t remember the context of that conversation. Maybe you can. Maybe it brings a smile to your face. And maybe you wished you had done or said something different or something more.

People come into your life for a variety of reasons; to teach us something, to give us a piece of the puzzle to move on to the next chapter and so on. Not everyone stays around forever. Sad as it may be to some, this is a normal part of the human experience.

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The last conversations with my mom are something vague. In those final two weeks I was able to speak with her on the phone before I arrived to be there with her in person. She didn’t have the strength to get out more than a few words. What I do remember is a conversation I had with her a week or two prior to her final chapter. She told me that she was having lunch with the Queen (obviously an association from a Hallmark movie) and that she wanted me to make sure that there was enough food for everyone. And I assured her that I would take care of everything and there was nothing for her to worry about. That seemed to bring her some peace and comfort for a fleeting moment. Even with her fading mental capacity, she still thought of others first. That is the legacy of my mom. It is one of the greatest lessons she imparted upon me.

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Anchor points. Moments in time which stay with us. There were many during those last few weeks of her life. The call from the nursing home telling me that I should come as soon as possible. The call letting me know that she had passed away, 20 minutes after I left her side. All the friends who came to visit her in those last few days. People who knew my mom for 65 or more years. My colleagues and business partners who took care of everything without me asking. The hotel staff, who were aware of my situation and went above and beyond for the duration of my stay. The list goes on.

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I’m still not the same person I was. I’m not sure I will ever be. But I am more aware of the possibility of last conversations with family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, and the like. And if I have a kind word, I don’t leave it unsaid. And that makes me smile and brings me some sense of peace.

Be well my friends.

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Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also authors short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.

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If you’re still reading and wondering about my tagline, “It’s good that you came back for more,” read Smaller Dose #1 for the origin of that phrase.

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Mother’s Day 2019 - A few gifts for mom

Books are great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared, and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone who you think could benefit. It’s only $15.24 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below.

You Don't Know What's Under The Hood

Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal

Smaller Dose #15: It’s good that you came back for more.

Reading time: ~5 minutes

Length: ~950 words

Next week would have been my parent’s 57^th wedding anniversary. Often, mom isn’t sure what day it is. When I speak with her on that day, I’ll tell her the date and ask if she remembers what is special about it. She’ll recall and perhaps think of my dad for a few moments before getting on with her day. Mom is safe and happy, yet I will never know what’s under the hood. In the case of my mom, dementia has taken its toll.

Freshman year at Purdue University

We look at people. We listen to what they say. We see smiles. And within a few moments we think we know and understand them. We make judgements based on our perceptions of who we think someone is. We put labels on people (those we know and don’t know) to categorize them into nice, neat buckets. It’s what we do as humans. These are mental shortcuts and a topic for another time.

So here we go…..

Let me tell you about my friend John.

I’ve known him for a couple of years. He moved into the neighborhood, and we met at an outdoor gathering during Covid. Outgoing personality. Funny. Someone who you talk to and get lost in conversation as there are so many topics in which he has an interest. Mostly though, he asks questions and listens to what is shared. John is a “giver” of his time and energy.

Not long ago I went to John’s home for a drink (Louis Martini Napa Cabernet is his favorite and was my gift to him on that day) and some great conversation. He wanted to hear about my trip to Buffalo for Thanksgiving to see my mom. And I wanted to support him as after 40 years with the same company, his position was “made redundant” and eliminated.

As usual, John was in good spirits. The initial shock had worn off, he had a great plan and was moving forward. Step 1 was meeting with his financial advisor. Step 2 was heading on a Caribbean vacation with friends. He was going to continue to enjoy life no matter what.

As we drank and shared about my trip and his plans, John started to open up more. We started to discuss one of my favorite topics, Anchor Points. And he shared a few with me beyond what had happened recently with his former employer. Here is what he told me:

Since 2019, the following had occurred:

·        He had a heart attack

·        He got divorced

·        His 30-year-old son passed away unexpectedly

I knew about the first two. Not the third one. You would never know any of these things without really getting to know John. And as we were talking, he said:

“You don’t know what’s under the hood.”

I made a mental note of his words and told him that there would be an article about this theme someday. And here we are.

We all have our journeys and life experiences. Some of us look at these as lessons and learn from them. Some of us hold onto a victim mentality. Some of us get bitter and angry at the world (I’ve been guilty of this more times than I wish to admit.) Some of us keep smiling and look forward to the next challenge or experience that life has to offer. Some of us share (overshare – especially on social media.) And some of us keep things inside. Some of us will only share things with those closest to us who will understand and support us. We let them into the deep dark corners of our mind and soul.

At times, it’s this sharing that brings us closer as friends or life partners. It’s risky. It makes us vulnerable to being judged. And hopefully, it’s worth it. I certainly think so. At least most of the time.

I’m not sure if my conversation with John was an Anchor Point. It was indeed a lesson and a good reminder. Each of us are not aware what’s going on or what transpired to create the person in front of you at that moment. What they are today may be different than who they were a week, month, year or longer ago.

Be present. Be mindful. Be kind. It doesn’t cost a thing. And it’s a gift that you may never be aware of that you are providing to someone. Simply be there and listen.

And try to remember, you don’t know what’s under the hood.

Cheers.

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Request to my readers: I’m almost at my goal for the year for book sales. I’d love to sell 27 more copies to meet my target. Please consider purchasing one (or more) to share with friends and loved ones. See below for more details on how to get yours.

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Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also authors short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.

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Books are great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared, and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone who you think could benefit. It’s only $15.24 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below.

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If you would like to contribute to support my work, click on the link below:

---

If you’re still reading and wondering about my tagline, “It’s good that you came back for more,” read Smaller Dose #1 for the origin of that phrase.

Stand 100 - Memory and Imagination

Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal

Smaller Dose #14: It’s good that you came back for more.

Reading time: ~10 minutes

Length: ~2,000 words

There are moments in your life, Anchor Points, which stick with you for the duration of your journey. This is a true story about my experience with the never-ending quest to find meaning. It is the desire, my desire, to make sense of something which may not have an explanation other that this is just life. And sometimes life is empty and meaningless and so we assign meaning to things to satisfy our soul which allows us to move on. That’s what I’ve attempted to do.

Memory and Imagination

So here we go…..

It was early April 1978. The calendar indicated that it was spring, yet there was still a damp chill in the air. It was a Saturday. I was nine years old. We were at home, me, my sister, and our father. It was the house I grew up in and where my parents lived together for nearly 50 years. My younger sister was napping on the couch. It was a black couch. Pleather as I recall. That plastic / leather style which was extremely popular back then. I can remember the material sticking to your skin when it was hot and humid during the summer months.

The phone rang. It was that yellow push button kitchen wall phone with a long, stretched out curly cable connecting the wall unit to the handset. The color of the phone nearly matched that of the refrigerator. Harvest Gold was the color.

1970’s Yellow Wall Phone

My dad got up to answer it. It was my mom calling from the hospital. He listened. Then my dad started to cry, which I had never seen before. And in that moment, I knew something was very wrong. I didn’t know what, and I too started to cry. He hung up the phone and told me that Papa, my mother’s father, had died.

Papa Izzy was 61. We were close. As close as a grandfather could be to his youngest grandson. He had fallen down days earlier and hit his head. He never recovered. And now he was gone. The funeral was a few days later. My parents decided it was best that I not go. I was too young, too upset. And a funeral wasn’t something that would bring closure to a nine-year-old kid. And I’ve spent all those years since seeking closure. It has never come, and I expect that it never will.

Papa Izzy has always been with me in ways which defy explanation. It’s a phantom sensation that never seems to go away. We all know that feeling. It’s like the vibration that you feel from your cell phone. You sense that it vibrated in your pocket. You take it out but there is no missed call, no missed text, nothing. It’s like that. I feel him, his presence. He isn’t there physically, but perhaps his ghost, his spirit, his soul is close by, watching over me in some way. That’s what I like to think. It brings me some kind of elusive peace and acceptance.

1972 Blue Ford Van

I have a few memories of Papa Izzy. One stands out. I was sitting on his lap, an unlit cigar in his mouth, while he was driving his work van. It was the 1970’s and safety regulations were not as they are today. But he was careful. My hands on the steering wheel with his on mine, having full control of that light blue van. Thinking about those childhood memories brings a smile to my face.

From what I’m told from those who knew him the longest and knew him best was that he was a good man, a kind man, a simple man with a good soul.

Isadore Bernhard, Broadway Market, Buffalo, New York, Year Unknown

The Broadway Market. It’s been part of Buffalo since 1888. It is the Polish Market where you can get anything from meats and fish, fruits and vegetables, flowers and ice cream and any Polish delicacy that you could possibly imagine. It was busy. Always busy. There was a time when Buffalo was the second largest Polish community outside of Warsaw. Chicago was the largest. Papa was the proprietor of “I. Bernhard Choice Fruits & Vegetables” at the Broadway Market. The location; Stand 100.

Paper Bag from the early 1970’s - This is framed and on my office wall.

I’ve been back to the Broadway Market many times over the years when I’ve visited Buffalo. It’s still busy, especially around Easter and Christmas. Yet, it isn’t the way I remember. Perhaps it was busier a lifetime ago or maybe everything was bigger and more awesome to a young child in the company of his grandfather.

Perceptions change. Memories fade. Some memories merge with others to create something which may not have even existed. The mind plays tricks on us and fills in gaps to create complete stories of what we think are vivid and perfectly recalled experiences. Our imagination is intertwined with precious memories.

Note: I remember stories of a famous man visiting Buffalo and the Broadway Market in August 1976. Karol Wojtyla. That was his birth name.

He would later become Pope John Paul II in 1978.

Anyhow, it is my perceptions, my sensations which keep me connected. It’s a good feeling most of the time. Other times my soul hurts and I long for more satisfying answers. Answers which I know will never come.

Since Papa passed away, I have always felt that he was watching over me in some way. A sensation that defies explanation. And there have been a few times that I have “experienced” him visiting me. Not in a dream, but in a physical way as I went about my day, my life. One event still rattles through my mind regularly.

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It was Winter. It was cold. Very cold. It was Chicago in late December 2006. I moved to Chicago after college and started the next phase of life in that wonderful city. I never actually lived in the city. I mostly lived in the suburbs of Cook County, and that’s where this event took place.

I was dating someone, and a family gathering was planned at a nice restaurant. I got there early, parked, and decided to get some fresh air and walk around the parking lot until everyone else arrived. Regardless of how cold it was, I had been inside so much that I wanted to walk and be outside for just a few minutes; alone with my thoughts.

It was snowing. Lightly. This was unusual as I remember, as it was so cold and not common for the weather to be both bitter cold and snowing.

I encountered another man, an older gentleman, also walking around the parking lot. It was a safe neighborhood and so I engaged him in conversation.

“Hello.” I said. “What are we doing out here in this weather?”

He chuckled. “It’s not as cold as where I’m from.” He said.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Buffalo, New York.” He responded.

I just looked at him. Stared into his eyes. I’m not sure how long I waited before I responded back.

“I’m from Buffalo too. I grew up there.” I shared with this stranger who I seemed to have a connection to in some small way.

“I left a long time ago.” He said. “I had a stand at the Broadway Market many years ago. Have you heard of it?” He asked.

I paused. I was silent. I don’t know for how long. Time seemed to stand still.

“My grandfather had a stand there, Stand 100, from the 1950’s to the 1970’s. He sold fruits and vegetables.” I responded.

No other words were spoken. He said nothing else, and I was at a loss, mentally unable to process what was occurring in that moment.

The more I looked at the man the more I was reminded of my grandfather.

Was this really happening?

My cell phone started ringing. I looked and it was my girlfriend calling. I said, “excuse me for a moment” to this “stranger” and turned away to answer the phone. I was on for less than 20 seconds. She was calling to tell me that they were pulling into the parking lot and would see me soon. I hung up and turned back around.

The man was gone.

There was no other store this “stranger” could have gone to in the moments of my distraction. There was a fence between the lot where I was parked and the next lot. I looked around for a few minutes and the man was nowhere to be found. He had vanished.

To this day I can remember his face, his words, his hat, his mustache, his eyes, his voice, how he appeared out of nowhere and disappeared in the same way. Did I imagine the entire incident? Did Papa Izzy come to visit me from some other place? Do I want to believe that he came to see me? And is this a story that I have told myself to satisfy my soul? I simply don’t know.

I finally gave up looking and met my girlfriend and her family at the restaurant entrance. She could tell something was off about me. I insisted that I was fine and that I would tell her later that evening.

I wasn’t fine.

This was unlike anything I had experienced before. Maybe I was overthinking the entire event. Maybe it was simply a statistical probability that someday I would meet someone from Buffalo who had a stand at the Broadway Market.

I had a few more drinks than usual at dinner. I was quieter than I normally would be at a festive gathering. My mind was elsewhere and would remain there for the next several days as I tried to reconcile what I thought I experienced with what I wanted it to be.

I came to no explanation that was satisfactory. And that is why that event on that cold winter day in the northwest suburbs of Chicago still rattles around in my head and probably will for the rest of my life.

Jerry and Papa Izzy (note the drool on the right sleeve)

I first considered writing this story in January of 2021 as I was contemplating Anchor Points in our lives. I completed a first draft in August 2021. I told a few people about it. Life happens. Plans change. People come in to and leave your life for a variety of reasons. Friendships fade. Circumstances change. Illness changes our priorities. People pass away. The last two years have been filled with anchor points which have left many impressions, altered my course, and changed my plans.

And now is the time for me to share my story about Papa Izzy and Stand 100. Memories and Imagination interwoven into something which brings some satisfaction to my soul.

If anyone has a similar story to share, I’d love to hear about it.

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Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also writes short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.

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Books make great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared, and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone who you think could benefit. It’s only $15.24 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below. You’ll thank me later.

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If you would like to make a contribution to support my work, click on the link below:

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As The Good Book Says

Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal

Smaller Dose #13: It’s good that you came back for more.

Reading time: ~2 minutes

Length: ~450 words

So here we go…..

“Fiddler On the Roof” is one of my favorite stories. In the Pale of Settlement of Imperial Russia around 1905, a Jewish peasant with traditional values contends with marrying off his daughters while growing anti-Semitic sentiment threatens his village. If you haven’t seen the movie, I highly recommend it.

There are many life lessons that one can take away from the story, some of which are highly relevant at this time in our history. At several points throughout the story, Tevye (a simple dairyman and the main character), quotes (actually misquotes) “The Good Book.”

Here is one exchange:

Tevye:
As the good book says, when a poor man eats a chicken, one of them is sick.

Mendel:
Where does the book say that?

Tevye:
Well, it doesn't say that exactly, but somewhere there is something about a chicken.

And one of my favorites:

“As the Good Book says, good news will stay. And bad news will refuse to leave.”

These are Tevye’s attempts at making a point by assigning authority regardless of the source and perhaps showing his wit and quick tongue. And oftentimes we find that these attributions linger and stick with us for a bit longer. Some of these phrases have stayed with me for many years.

Why?

The element of credibility comes to mind. When we state something and then attribute it to a trusted source, it sticks. It has the illusion of credibility. But did we actually take the time to authenticate the source and check for validity or truthfulness? Most likely, not. Who has time for that?

This is where we find so many of us guilty of quoting or misquoting something to serve a purpose and make a point. True or not, when we quote or misquote something, even when there is positive intent, we are putting our credibility at risk.

Here's an example:

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.” – Abraham Lincoln (16th President of The United States, 1809 – 1861)

A harmless example. A good point. A great life lesson. But obviously not stated by someone who died more than a century before the internet was in the realm of possibilities.

So, consider this:

Where are you repeating things, you’ve heard or read?

Where in your life are you making claims without verifying first?

What is the risk of sharing and spreading information that may or may not be true or accurate?

And where can you be more like Mendel in the dialogue above, and ask good questions and appropriately challenge “The Good Book” or any other source?

In closing, I’ll channel my inner Tevye:

As the Good Book says, “Trust, but verify.”

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Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also writes short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.

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Still looking for ideas for stocking stuffers and simple gifts for friends and colleagues? The holiday season here. Books make great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. My book might even reduce the amount of tension and family arguments this year and beyond. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone on your list. Only $14.99 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below. You’ll thank me later.

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If you would like to make a contribution to support my work, click on the link below:

All Hat, No Cattle

Smaller Doses of Life, Leadership and Anchor Points by Jerry Rosenthal

Smaller Dose #12: It’s good that you came back for more.

Reading time: ~4 minutes

Length: ~700 words

So here we go…..

I bought a used guitar when I was in college. I thought it would be a great way to meet some new people, make some new friends, get some dates, and make me look cool. I took piano lessons at an early age and played for more than ten years. I thought it would be easy to translate those skills into a new instrument. I was wrong.

A few guitar lessons and some practice over a few weeks were the next steps. And that was the end of the guitar experiment. It was too hard. That was the story I told myself. I wanted faster results. I was impatient and was not willing to make the small recurring investments of time required to practice and become a real guitar player.

There wasn’t much risk in the investment of a used guitar. Actually, it wasn’t an investment. It was a waste of $100. I didn’t hold myself accountable and no one else held me to my personal commitment. I simply put the guitar away and moved on to the next “experience.”

I was All Hat and No Cattle.

I was looking good with my used guitar. I told people about my guitar, it became a talking point and part of my identity for a brief time. Yet I had not made good on my commitment to my intention. I was all show, all talk, and no action. And as I recall, I was teased about that guitar by my friends for the next semester or two. Probably even longer.

There have been countless times during my life when I had the best of intentions to do something. Something small. Something big. Something for others. Something self-serving. Something for a greater cause. And often, those intentions dissipated after a few hours, days, or weeks. The feeling of excitement transformed into one of reality where the actions required became more than I was willing to complete. Even the smallest of steps to get started seemed like too much. All were good ideas in the moment, but which became less so as the clock ticked forward, and the commitment became more real. It’s easy to commit. It’s harder to keep those commitments.

I’m not alone. This experience is part of the human condition for many of us.

Why?

There are many reasons. It’s easy to commit to doing something when it is far in advance, and we think we will have ample time to get it done. And as the window of time gets smaller and smaller, the excitement, desire, and willingness to execute becomes more difficult. Bailing on the original commitment, especially when it is low risk or there are minimal consequences, is easy for us. Sometimes the impact is small and insignificant and at other times, we let people down.

Consider this:

Where in your life have you been All Hat and No Cattle?

What impact did it have on your life as you reflect back on that event or commitment?

How about the impact on others? Do you feel like you let someone down?

If so, what did you do about it?

As a friend once asked me, “Are you a player or are you in the stands?”

These are questions I think about often. Sometimes the answers come easily. Most of the time they do not. Yet I always value reflection and consider how I can do better next time.

The Lesson: Don’t be All Hat and No Cattle.

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Jerry is the author of “Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice,” a book which contains 18 thought pieces about the intersection of Process Improvement, Leadership and Life. Jerry also writes short stories about life experiences (Anchor Points) and the profound lessons that can be learned from before and after those moments.

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The holiday season here. Books make great gifts that can be enjoyed, shared and promote discussion and the exchange of thoughts and ideas. My book might even reduce the amount of tension and family arguments this year and beyond. Consider purchasing my book, Small Doses: Common Sense to Common Practice as a gift for anyone on your list. Only $14.99 for paperback and $9.99 for the Kindle version. Get yours today by using the link below. You’ll thank me later.

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If you would like to make a contribution to support my work, click on the link below:

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