1: “Our conversations started out funny and just got funnier,” Diane Button writes in her wonderful book What Matters Most: Lessons the Dying Teach Us About Living.
Diane and Franck Battelli, both end-of-life doulas, were meeting with Greg, 53, who was dying from ALS.
Before proceeding, Greg wanted to make sure it would be a good fit.
“He let us know in a very serious tone of voice that he had a few questions for us,” Diane recounts. “Being used to my clients having lots of questions, I went right into business mode, inviting Greg to ask me anything at all.”
“What’s your favorite ice cream?” he asked firmly.
Franck answered right away. “Honey lavender vanilla bean.” He then described his favorite ice cream shop.
It was obvious. Greg was impressed, Diane writes.
“Then it was my turn. I couldn’t think of anything exciting, so I chose maple cashew from Swenson’s, the neighborhood ice cream parlor from my childhood.”
“Hmmm,” Greg said. He clearly found her response a bit boring.
“OK, next question. What’s your favorite alcoholic beverage?”
“Scotch, specifically a peated single malt like Ardbeg or Laphroaig,” Franck said, then shared details that sparked another spirited discussion about their mutual love of fine whiskey.
Greg turned to look at Diane. She paused and then said, “Chardonnay over ice.”
Greg looked at Franck, laughed, and said he wasn’t sure about a doula who watered down her wine.
“Thankfully,” Diane writes, “Franck immediately advocated for my sense of humor, told him I was a fantastic and qualified doula, and promised I would make up for these egregious shortcomings in other ways.”
2: “Humor is a big part of this work,” she notes, “and sometimes it’s the glue that keeps everyone connected and aware that my client is still very much alive. . .
“Humor connects us, helps us cope, alleviates tension, normalizes difficult situations, and keeps us in the present moment,” she notes. “So why wouldn’t we laugh?”
One client asked Diane to “short sheet” her husband’s bed after she died, “just like she used to do when they were newlyweds,” Diane writes. “She meticulously taught me how to fold the sheet back just so, so that when her husband got into bed that night, his legs would get stuck in the sheets, and she would be able to make him laugh one last time.”
Diane describes Greg as “one of my most hilarious clients. . . I was in awe that someone could face death with such grace and hold the emotions of love, fear, anticipatory grief, peace, and more all simultaneously.”
She asked him several times whether he was concerned or anxious about anything, or if he was holding anything inside.
“He always said no,” Diane writes, “and I knew why. He had his partner Priscilla. She was his rock and his safe space to work through whatever came up for him.”
They loved each other in a “raw and pure way,” Diane observes. “They had a wonderful life together, filled with exciting careers, travel, and plenty of good friends. Greg enjoyed his life, from bike riding in the mornings to sipping some whiskey from his collection at night. They were living the good life, until it all fell apart with the ALS diagnosis that seemed to come from nowhere.” Despite the diagnosis, “they cherished their days and nights together, trying to have the ‘normal’ experiences of home-cooked meals and a movie after dinner.
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Monday through Thursday, we explore ideas from authors, thought leaders, and exemplary organizations. At the end of each week, we are exploring some of the life lessons from Diane’s book What Matters Most.
In time, Greg was confined to bed. He “had to let go of many things he loved, one by one,” she writes. “But through it all, he never lost his sense of humor.”
On the day of Greg’s passing, Diane and Franck arrived at his and Priscilla’s beautiful loft.
“As I walked in, I noticed bright orange gift bags that read ‘Bon Voyage’ on the table,” she recalls. “I had no idea what was inside, and with Greg’s lively personality, I knew better than to try to guess.”
Inside was a hilarious letter from Greg, full of jokes and gratitude, a small bottle of tequila, fancy chocolates—”because life is sweeter with chocolates”—and a rainbow-colored, penis-shaped lollipop —”because sometimes life just sucks.”
Diane writes: “It amazes me to this day that Greg spent several of his final hours on earth creating gift bags to give to all of us, but Priscilla told me they had so much fun putting them together, and that they, of course, laughed the entire time.
“Greg reminded me that laughter truly is the best medicine. We shouldn’t ever forget about that, even during hard times. He loved hard, and he laughed hard. We can all benefit from doing that in our own lives.
“Greg’s journey with ALS was not funny,” Diane observes. “It was long, sad, painful, scary, hard, unpredictable, and ruthless.
“But Greg…now he was funny.”
More next week.
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Reflection: When life feels heavy or I’m walking with someone through deep suffering, do I give myself permission to laugh with them?
Action: Think of one hard situation I’m facing (or walking through with someone else), and this week intentionally introduce a moment of shared lightness—a funny story, a small prank, a playful gift, or a silly text—honoring that laughter, too, can be holy medicine.
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