On Sunday May 13th 2012, the Seattle University Army ROTC placed 2,000 roses from the “Ten Grands” concert at gravesites at the Veterans Memorial Cemetery at Evergreen Washelli Memorial Park. The roses were a gift from The Snowman Foundation and “Ten Grands” Seattle. They were first used on stage at the 5th annual “Ten Grands” concert at Benaroya Hall on Saturday May 12th.

Individual roses were placed at the gravesites honoring veterans during a brief ceremony that began at 10 a.m. The event took place at the Doughboy statue in the Evergreen Washelli Veterans Cemetery.

The Snowman Foundation has been “giving the gift of music” since its inception in September of 1999. Its purpose is to promote the performing arts and to make them accessible to all youthful and “at risk” members of the community. Inspired by the vision of composer/pianist Michael Allen Harrison, The Snowman Foundation, Inc. (501) © (3) provides instruments, scholarships and musical programs to underserved students in the State of Washington. The Snowman Foundation has raised more than $2 million in the past ten years including both Oregon and now Washington. All funding has gone directly to helping serve the youth in our communications through music.

Evergreen Washelli thanks The Snowman Foundation for their generous donation of the roses and supports their efforts in funding music education programs and activities.

Honoring Our Fallen Heroes

The below article was originally posted on www.americanwidowproject.com. The American Widow Project is a non-profit organization dedicated to the new generation of those who have lost the heroes of yesterday, today and tomorrow, with an emphasis on healing through sharing stories, tears and laughter… Military Widow to Military Widow. Thank you to Hello Grief for sharing.

1…2…3…4…5…6…

6 boxes are all that is left of my husband. One filled with his socks, another with his uniforms, and another with every card or photo he had received. Three more contain his books, sheets, and other military effects.

I remember when the boxes arrived, I sat there so anxious to see what was left of my baby. Opening each one I had no clue what I would see. Cautiously, I lifted the lid of the hard black containers.

There are the cards I wrote him, there are the movies he’d watch every night, there are the photos of me he had hanging next to his bed………there is the only thing left of my husband’s existence while in Iraq.

I remember opening up his laptop to find an snapshot of me I never knew he liked. There was the bear that had the personal message I had recorded telling him I can’t wait to see him come home and be together again. There were all the things I had sent, all the memories on film we had captured, all the literature he adored reading, now with no reader.

I forgot all that he had accumulated over his 8 months over there. Due to that fact, many items were so heartwarming but always with an aftertaste of anger.

I remember going through his clothes and immediately putting them to my nose……detergent. ‘I’ll try another shirt or maybe his socks!’ …….detergent. The fact that they had washed all of his clothing made me so infuriated! Let me have one last breath of his smell. The smell I was unable to be without for 8 months…..and now forever.

Some of Michael’s things I pulled out right away, others are still sitting in those looming boxes sitting in my garage. Every now in then I’ll open them to get a small inhale from his pillow that they DIDN’T wash, or go for a search for some hidden letter he may have written in the case he would die.

I never found the letter, I never got my husband to come home, and all I am left with are our memories, a few items of meaning and………6 black boxes.

Learn How to Be an Alzheimer's Caregiver

We at Evergreen Washelli would like to express our utmost gratitude to those caregivers and careworkers who strive to support those individuals who benefit from their services. Caregivers enable and enrich the lives of those to whom they devote their care.

Home Instead Senior Care is offering interactive online courses for Alzheimer’s disease and other dementia.  If you or someone you know is a caregiver, check out these educational courses at no charge.

Grieving is a very personal and individual experience

By Hello Grief

When I was a child traveling with my family by car, my mom would read billboards and street signs out loud. I don’t believe she knew she was doing it. Yet whether singing Gershwin while cooking brisket, or sharing her opinion on topics ranging from troop levels in Afghanistan to the strength of the Phillies bullpen, if Mom thought it, or read it, she said it.

This was especially true of issues she felt strongly about.

A few summers ago, while my mother and I were driving to my aunt’s vacation home on Long Beach Island, Mom paused from narrating billboards long enough to mention a book she recently read about end–of-life issues.

Even though I was driving, and Mom was in good health, she pulled the book from her beach bag and asked me to read it when I had time. She said it echoed her philosophy of keeping gravely ill patients well informed of their condition, so they could make meaningful treatment decisions. My mom believed that doctors and families were often biased towards extending life, even at the expense of a person’s quality of life, and she was not interested in such compromises.

Since this wasn’t the breezy summer conversation I was expecting, I nodded politely and reached for the radio. But before I touched the power button, Mom grabbed my hand, turned to face me directly, and said, “Cheryl, if I am ever in that situation I want you to promise me two things: first, that you will be honest with me no matter what.”

“And,” still holding my hand, “That you will pluck the hairs on my chin if I can’t do it myself.”

Never more eager for her to resume narrating billboards, I quickly assured her that I would follow her wishes, never imagining that a little more than two years later I would be called to honor them.

My mother was a healthy, vibrant, non-smoking, 67 years old when she was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer.  Only six-and-a-half months later she was dead.

It is still impossible to know whether it was the cancer, its treatment, or the side effects, that contributed to her swift, merciless decline. Because she fought so hard from the get-go, striving with all her might to make it two more years to celebrate her 50th wedding anniversary and her grandson’s Bar Mitzvah, Mom didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on death.

The moment I learned about her cancer, I vowed to myself to accompany her on this rocky march into mountainous territory in a way that allowed her to feel emotionally supported, physically cared for, and loved. And of course, to keep the promises I made just a few years earlier.

About two months into her treatment, I noticed that one of the steroids Mom was taking increased the growth of her facial hair. I agonized about mentioning something as seemingly insignificant as propagating chin hairs; after all, by this time she was too weak to walk to the bathroom, so I doubted she had looked in the mirror in weeks, and the thought of giving her even a moment’s worth of additional discomfort made me cringe. Yet I also knew Mom’s only two vanities were maintaining her Candy Apple Red fingernails, and fuzz-free chin.

So because I had those promises to keep, I went to the nursing home the following Sunday afternoon when I knew no one else would be visiting. I fed her a Wendy’s Chocolate Frosty – her favorite icy indulgence. Afterwards, I massaged her hands and feet with the Crabtree and Evelyn rose-scented lotion a friend had brought, and listened to her sensical and nonsensical musings with equal levels of interest.

Then I took a deep breath and asked,

“Mom, do you remember asking me to pluck your chin hairs if there was ever a time you couldn’t do it for yourself?”

Yes, she replied. And before I could utter another word, she pleaded with me to pull them out.

So I reached in my purse for the tweezers I packed that morning, just as she offered up her chin – reminding me of my 15-year-old cat when she presents her whiskered face hoping for a scratch.

My hand trembled as I grabbed hold of the first hair, then counted “one…two…three” out loud, closed my eyes, and pulled. I felt as nervous as a novice heart surgeon. But compared with the battering and bruising Mom had already endured, this was as benign as brushing her teeth.

In fact, she quickly began cheering me on, insisting that I wasn’t hurting her, and imploring me to get every last unwelcome hair.

My hesitancy turned to determination. And with Mom’s confidence, and my mighty Tweezerman, we worked as a team to remove every last hair. Just as importantly, we achieved a momentary yet satisfying victory over the indignity of cancer.

The next promise was more difficult to keep.

Three months later, my dad and I met with the oncologist to discuss my mother’s condition. She had not responded well to her recent treatment, and we were concerned both about her steep decline and whether she was strong enough to endure a second round of chemotherapy.

The doctor, who at our first appointment, proclaimed, “I’m-in-it-to-win-it,” looked at mom’s recent test results, and conceded that further treatment would not be possible. He estimated she had between two and four weeks to live.

Silently, my dad and I retreated to his car to absorb the un-absorbable. Dad began crying, and I began biting the inside of my cheek so as not to cry; one of the unilateral rules I had made for myself was that I wouldn’t cry if he was crying.

A few minutes later, I said we should go tell Mom this news. Until now, my parents and I had consistently agreed on next steps, so I was unprepared when my father said, “No. We can’t tell Mom. It’s better if she doesn’t know.”

And I, thinking of what Mom asked of me just two summers before, inhaled deeply and said, “We have to tell her – it’s what she wants.”

After a long, staggering silence, my dad put his head in his hands and said, “Cheryl, I couldn’t live with myself if I told her.”

But because of the promises I made, I whispered, “Dad, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

My mom was a first-rate planner. It was as predictable as it was comical that on our way home from visiting my brother in Georgia for Thanksgiving, she would start discussing where we would gather next year, and who would begin scouting hotels and air fares. Still, nothing could have prepared me for what happened when my dad and I visited that afternoon, both still rattled from our earlier conversation.

We arrived to find my mom’s older sister Sandy sitting at the end of the bed. Mom quickly greeted us, and announced, “Good, we’re all together. There are some things I want to discuss.” And without the slightest hesitation, began talking as if she had been in the doctor’s office with us that very morning.

I prayed that my Dad would not change the subject to something – anything – more tolerable. And to his credit, he listened intently and began gently stroking Mom’s arm.

She began raising previously taboo questions: How will I know I’m dying? What do I do when it’s time to die? Will you be here with me at the moment of my death?

Next, she dictated a list of the lists she wanted made: Who will make meals for Dad when I am gone? Which caregivers should I write thank-you notes to? Who can I ask to speak at my memorial service? Who should receive specific pieces of my jewelry? And what phone numbers will Dad need to help him take care of the house?

Mom was the most lucid she had been in weeks, and the most lucid she would be again.

Dumbfounded and horrified that we were actually having this conversation, I forced myself to stay composed and address each of her questions and concerns with all the honesty and clarity that I could muster. Just as I promised.

At one point, when I realized I was holding my breath, I reached for my Aunt’s hand, and wiped away some of my long-denied tears. It was impossible to believe this was actually happening. My mom was fervently yet gently telling us she was ready to turn her fierce fight for life into a conscious surrender to death.

This was my mother’s last conscious gift of care-giving. Mom knew, perhaps before we did – perhaps even before the doctor did – that she was dying. The signs were as clear to her as the billboards she read on our road trips.

She also knew Dad and I would need each other in unprecedented ways after she died. So she stepped in and resolved the conflict that just hours before had threatened our trouble-free alliance.

Clearly, Mom too, had promises to keep.

Rose Placement April 2nd, 2011

On Sunday May 13th 2012, the Seattle University Army ROTC will be placing 2,000 roses from the “Ten Grands” concert at gravesites at the Veterans Memorial Cemetery at Evergreen Washelli Memorial Park. The roses are a gift from The Snowman Foundation and “Ten Grands” Seattle. They will first be used on stage at the 5th annual “Ten Grands” concert at Benaroya Hall the previous evening.

Individual roses will be placed at the gravesites honoring veterans during a brief ceremony starting at 10 a.m. and will take approximately one hour to complete. The public is invited to observe this notable event. The event will take place at the Doughboy statue in the Evergreen Washelli Veterans Cemetery.

The Snowman Foundation has been “giving the gift of music” since its inception in September of 1999. Its purpose is to promote the performing arts and to make them accessible to all youthful and “at risk” members of the community. Inspired by the vision of composer/pianist Michael Allen Harrison, The Snowman Foundation, Inc. (501) © (3) provides instruments, scholarships and musical programs to underserved students in the State of Washington. The Snowman Foundation has raised more than $2 million in the past ten years including both Oregon and now Washington. All funding has gone directly to helping serve the youth in our communications through music.

2000 Roses to Honor Veterans

Seattle University ROTC Honored Veterans in 2011

“Ten Grands” presented by RBC Wealth Management is a benefit for The Snowman Foundation, a concert whose proceeds will enable the funding of several music programs, supporting targeted groups where music would make a positive difference in the lives of many children. On May 13th, 2012, the “Ten Grands” concert will be held at Benaroya Hall in Seattle, beginning at 7pm. The “something for everyone” concert includes classical, jazz, blues, gospel, boogie woogie, pop, and contemporary music (including some original compositions). The musicians will play simultaneously, as soloists, in duets, quartets and other combinations. Tickets for this worthy cause are available at the Benaroya Hall Ticket Office.

Evergreen Washelli thanks The Snowman Foundation for their generous donation of the roses and supports their efforts in funding music education programs and activities.

Below is a Komo 4 News video documenting last year’s rose placement event.

Anger can be part of the grieving process

Thank you to HelloGrief.org for this article

Anger can be unattractive, there’s no question about it. It’s messy and unpredictable, sometimes loud and violent. And in a world where we like things to make sense, it’s often unacceptable. But never more than when you’re grieving. There’s a long list of people we can be angry with:

The person who died: why didn’t they take better care of themselves? Why did they take such a stupid chance? What were they thinking?

The medical community: why didn’t the doctor force them to take better care of their health? Why didn’t the paramedics get there sooner? Why hasn’t someone discovered a cure for cancer, etc.?

God: why did you make a good person suffer? Why did you leave those children without a parent? Why them? Why now? Why not someone else? Why not me?

The family: why didn’t they make him go to the doctor? Why did they let her live alone?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Death is, after all, the great unknown. Despite stories of white lights and visions of deceased relatives, no one’s come back from any extended time in the afterlife. We don’t know what awaits us.

And we REALLY don’t know why people die when they do. We say “it was just their time,” and obviously, it was. As a friend, that sense of helplessness can create even deeper anger.

Many times when I’ve grieved I’ve been angry, although I rarely shared those feelings. Despite being one of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ famous stages of grief, it’s probably the least acknowledged.

Anger can be useful, but when turned inward, is more likely referred to as depression. That’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about white-hot, body-shaking, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs anger.

You’ve already realized that the grief you feel for your friend is being devalued because you’re not family. And that can add to the anger you already feel.

Even those who are also grieving are unlikely to accept your anger. Think of Sally Field melting down in the cemetery in Steel Magnolias, and the shock on her friends’ faces. The minister in The Big Chill – “I’m angry, and I don’t know what to do with my anger” – is much calmer about it, but the look in his eyes is anything but.

The problem with suppressing the absolutely justified anger we feel when a friend dies is that it will bubble up eventually. It will present itself suddenly and loudly and often in a completely unrelated situation. And that presents its own complications. Screaming at a barista who doesn’t know you won’t bring back your friend.

So, if you’re angry that cancer treatments and cures came too late for your friend…

If you’re angry that your friend’s family dismissed her threats of suicide…

If you’re angry that your friend drove drunk…

If you’re angry that an evil person chose your friend at random to kill…

Embrace that anger: accept it and embrace it. You’re angry because of the pain that your friend’s death has caused. That’s, dare I say it, normal. Frankly, it would be strange if you weren’t angry. You’re angry because you loved them and wanted them to stay close to you always. Selfish maybe, but normal and human.

So, as long as you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else, you have my permission to be angry. Then you can work on channeling your anger into positive action, to keep your friend’s memory alive every day of your life.

Join Us for Historical Summer Tours at Evergreen Washelli

The beautiful grounds of Evergreen Washelli Memorial Park serve as the final resting place for some of Seattle’s most influential and memorable figures, including the Denny party who arrived on Alki beach over 150 years ago. You’ll join Brenda Spicer, Cemetery Manager of Evergreen Washelli, Vanessa Shook and Allison Brundage to explore the lives of pioneers, activists, soldiers, and entrepreneurs who helped shape the diverse history and culture of the Puget Sound region.

Meet at: Memorial park entrance at 11111 Aurora Ave. North, on the east side of Aurora Avenue North, Seattle. Participants will be directed to parking upon entering the park.

The tour will be held from 10am-12pm on Saturday July 14th, Saturday August 25th, and Wednesday August 29th.

Tickets are $5. To purchase tickets, please call (206) 362-5200 or email us

David Bloch at Washelli's Medal of Honor Ceremony July 2011

Following the Memorial Day Commemorative Service, we invite you to attend a guided tour of the Veterans Memorial Cemetery and learn about the remarkable lives of the Medal of Honor recipients in our care.

Our guide this year will be David Bloch, son of the Medal of Honor recipient Orville Emil Bloch. We are extremely honored and excited to have him as our tour guide.

David will guide us through the history of the Veterans Memorial Cemetery, as well as teach us about the stories of Private William C. Horton, PFC Lewis Albanese, PFC William Kenzo Nakamura, 2nd LT Robert Ronald Leisy, Coxswain Harry Delmar Fadden, and of course Colonel Orville Emil Bloch.

Kindly meet us at the Doughboy Statue in the Veterans Memorial Cemetery at 3:15 pm. We ask for a $5.00 suggested donation for attendance, which will go to the purchase of flags for the Avenue of Flags. For more information, and to reserve a spot, please call us at (206)362-5200 or email tours@washelli.com.