Non-Fiction, Self-help, spiritual, healing, elderly, grief
Description
Read MoreVocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US Midwest- Chicago, Great Lakes)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
It was sunday. My granddaughter Sarah stood with Rachel and me in the bedroom facing Betsy's dresser with warm patients. They waited for me to open Betsy's drawers for the necessary calling. Feeling awkward. I confessed this is my first time doing this in all our years together. You've never been in mom's dresser? No. She always took care of her own clothes. Betsy and I respected each other's privacy, especially our private journals and personal storage spaces. I slid open the first drawer. There were enough socks to cover our entire bed. Holy bananas! I exclaimed. I never dreamed she kept so large a warehouse of socks. We settled onto the bed to gather up the pair's, sorting out the sea of socks, amazed at how different we were, even when it came down to the way we maintained our sock inventory. I was transported again into yet another recollection. In 1975 morton Kelsey and his wife. Barbara invited Betsy and me to dinner mid meal. Barbara asked, would you like to learn about your personality types and how you two are different. We immediately declared our interest and filled out the Myers Briggs type indicator. M. B. T. I. Questionnaires. Barb meticulously graded our responses using her well worn measuring templates from the results, she showed us how our respective personality types accounted for the distinctive ways we approached life as extrovert and introvert, How we perceive the same experiences differently, how we came about making decisions differently and how we organized our time and space in different ways. These insights gathered from the M. B. T. I applied to our ordinary experiences and made practical sense to us understanding and appreciating our preferred differences, neutralized many of our judgmental projections of right and wrong and good and bad. This practical framework became a tool to practice patience, praise and respect for each other remarkably for me, it offered an astonishing awakening to the reality that my most cherished perceptions were not always the whole truth regarding anyone or anything. Had I seen this sock drawer before understanding the M. B. T. I. There might have been another tense discussion between Betsy and me sitting together, sorting out pairs of socks, Sarah's and Rachel's laughter eased my sense of trespassing slowly as the day went on, the process of vacating Betsy's personal belongings became easier for me, memorable, even playful thanks to my daughter and granddaughter who made it happen so naturally showing off their mom's and grandma's clothes and stylish fashion. Among Betsy's belongings, we selected special items, sweaters, necklaces, bracelets, amulets, rings, earrings, etcetera. We arranged them on a folding table covered with one of Betsy's white linen tablecloths passed down from her mother. We placed them on the table in the living room, from which family and friends could pick their favorite item to wear or hold during the memorial service and to keep if they wished. My appreciation of M. B. T. I differences remain top of mind through the week as family and friends work together to create Betsy's memorial service. It was as if post death I was seeing our differences with new eyes E. N. F. J. That I was, I enjoyed working on my funeral service, updating it every year or so. Betsy and E. N. F. P. Never wants initiated any desire to discuss her funeral or spend any time making plans for her service. We often joked about my J. And her P. You'll already be settled in your own coffin to make sure it's comfortable and organized before you die. She jibed. I responded, Yeah. And you'll be hurrying back home minutes before they put you under attempting to achieve final funeral instructions. You've filed away somewhere in one of those awesome piles on your office desk.