Caroline Flohr's Blog: Caroline Flohr, author's personal blog, page 5

exploring the spiritual journey of loss and love, hope and healing.

(A discussion presented by Caroline Flohr, author of Heaven’s Child, at Seattle University’s Search For Meaning Conference, March 2013.) The journey of loss and love, hope and healing is truly...



If it’s the small stuff that matters, the real morsels of daily life that inspire, illuminate, or transform, then this blog is for you. It’s a collection of thoughts, articles, and current issues that will give you something to think about, talk about, and explore. Guaranteed to keep you smiling and laughing...take your time...and read on. www.CarolineFlohr.com

Exploring the Spiritual Journey of Loss and Love, Hope and Healing

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(An discussion presented by Caroline Flohr, author of Heaven’s Child, at Seattle University’s Search For Meaning Conference, March 2013.)

The journey of loss and love, hope and healing is truly intimate and spiritual. I am humbled and honored to share this topic with you.

Before we begin, I need to define three terms.

Spiritual—I’m not defining “spiritual” in religious terms, but spiritual as a commitment to truth, prayer, and humility. To me, spirituality is a sense that overcomes you in those moments of silence and solitude.
Faith—Faith is the substance of hope, the conviction of things not seen, and faith accepts even that which appears unreasonable.
Losses—I consider losses to include everything on our journeys: divorces, financial ruin, sickness, death… When I was eleven, my parents divorced. I divorced when my twins were eleven and I found myself in a financial mess. (I’m not doing that again!) Grandparents and parents die. Relationships dissolve. Beloved friends and animals move on.

This is a topic that has relevance for all people.

THE BEGINNING OF MY JOURNEY:

It was August 23, 2004. Eight teenagers crammed into an SUV and took a midnight joyride. A series of poor decisions ended in a tragic accident. (Drugs and alcohol were not involved.) My 16 year-­‐old twin daughter was killed. Many families and a community were torn apart. I could never have expected the tragedy that took Sarah’s life. The thought of one of my children dying before me had never crossed my mind. That was something that happened to someone else, the neighbor several blocks away, or something I’d read about in the paper. But that night our lives changed. Sometimes change is expected, sometimes unexpected. Nothing could have prepared me for the deep pain…but nothing could have prepared me for the peace that now permeates my mind and heart. What I know now is very different than what I thought or believed when I was 40.

Five years later when I realized that we would survive as a family, I wrote a book about it all. I call it, Heaven’s Child. I wrote it for my children so that they would remember details of Sarah’s life and details of how we survived as a family. I wrote it to honor my child who now lives in my heart. A friend persuaded me to publish the story. And now, the story has taken on a life all its own.

Because our journeys are personal, there’s no way I can tell you what to think, but I hope to offer ways about how to think when we face adversities, how to open ourselves to our failings, our losses, how to find that inner strength that we all have, that resilience to take tiny steps forward, how to know more compassion and courage and hope and faith.

As I’ve said, losses come in all forms. Each loss is personal; and death, most profound. Certainly, death is the only experience as radical as birth.

When Sarah died, the shock set in. Everything moved in slow motion as if time had come to a halt, and time had halted. The days turned to weeks. Friends surrounded me, kept me busy, my mind occupied. I absorbed their kindness, accepted their help. Because of them, and for the first time in my life, I learned to be gentle with myself and eliminate expectations. I gave myself space and made room for quiet. In the early days after the accident, someone told me that there was no right way or wrong way to grieve. And I took that advice to heart. The five steps of grieving that we all read about didn’t define my process. Yes, I sought out therapy, we sought out therapy as a family, but in those early days and weeks, we weren’t ready for therapy.

As the weeks turned to months, and my house emptied because people go on with their lives, I felt alone, drained of everything. It was hard knowing that lives continued as mine fell apart. I can remember feeling that surge of resentment and despair that sometimes overcame me. But somehow my faith, what I had believed since I was a child, carried me forth. I now define that as “God’s Grace” sweeping in and saving me from the fear. Fear I define as the devil’s hand reaching out to grab me. I knew that religion related me to something greater than myself. We each have our own beliefs. Everyone has the right to live honorably his own personal life. Did my faith falter at times? Did I lose hope? Yes. But with my faith, I found that inner strength, found that resilience within which we all have, and began taking tiny steps forward. Hope returned.

I looked to my children who lived. I noted their resilience and strength during this epic period of trauma. I let their sense of life and hope inspire me.

I began to pay attention to the synchronicity and patterns in my life. I let down my guard and let my intuition guide me. I prayed. Praying is a simple process—ask, notice, respond. Again, it doesn’t matter what you believe, there is power in prayer that cannot be denied. Prayer is the foundation of a spiritual life. And as things began to make a little sense, I began to realize that faith, hope, and love all intersected.

I let the memories flood my mind. I still do. I began to let myself laugh again, and smile. I began to share my story with others. I found that talking about what had happened helped in the healing process. When songs came on the radio that Sarah and I shared, I sang out loud. And with each small step forward, some days easier than others, I found my heart awakening to the joys that memories bring.

When people asked how many children I had, for the first few years, I said four. I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. If I said five, they asked about each child, and then the conversation turned to sadness. It was easier to respond with “four.” But inside, that killed me. I had five children.

Most important to know is that when the pain returned, and it still returns even after eight years, I learned to allow myself to go to the depths of that pain. With every milestone there is joy as well as sadness. High school graduation—one child walked the stage to receive her diploma, to graduate onto college, pursue her dreams. Great joy was felt. But in the next moment, a great sadness washed over me. And now, planning the wedding for Caiti, Sarah’s twin sister, there is great joy, but also that sadness. Sarah will be her maid of honor, represented by the shimmer of the candlelight on the altar table. That hurts. I still cry. And that’s okay. I promise, in your losses, you will be okay. You will resurface.

As time passed, I learned that yes, life had been a living nightmare, and it was okay to admit that. As the weeks and years passed, I learned to weave my loss into my daily life. Please remember that accepting the loss of a loved one is to release, but not erase, to hold, but not to hold the pain.

Eighteen months after accident, when Caiti, my twin daughter who lived was now eighteen, we attended a free adult grief class offered by Kitsap County Hospice. An older gentleman introduced himself first. He’d been married to his wife, Rose, for more than sixty years. He said he missed her. Another woman lived alone with her four cats, still grieving her mother after fourteen years. Sitting next to me was a man my age who woke but his wife never did, their two teenage daughters still asleep upstairs. It was a school day.

What I learned that first night at the Hospice grief meeting was that we weren’t alone in our journey. We can choose to walk alone, but we need not walk alone.

Please know that when someone says they “lost a child” or “lost a parent,” that term “loss” bothers me. I didn’t lose my daughter. She lives in my heart, and there is never a day that I do not think of her, and what her life meant to me.

On the other hand, when people say how hard this must be not to watch your child grow up and marry, and have grandchildren, I can now respond that I don’t think in those terms; the answer is I don’t know. I don’t know what Sarah’s life should have been. Today I realize that her soul had its own journey and its own terms with life, and this had nothing to do with me. I got to participate for a while in the journey of that soul, and for that, I am unspeakably grateful.

There are two unique powers of the human soul: understanding and loving. Understand that no one dies if they live in the love of others. Look for signs around you. Each person has an intrinsic value. Each of us is indispensible.

Then there are the “WHYs”-­‐ There is such a mystery to the smallness of our minds and the bigness of our questions.

Even today, sometimes I find myself asking “why,” even though I know our sufferings cannot be explained. But I know that we can endure great suffering if there is a “why.” And possibly, just like you, I search for meaning in my losses.

Viktor Frankl, the Holocaust survivor, wrote a most inspirational memoir, Man’s Search For Meaning. I’m sure most of you have read it. Sarah’s death has brought intense meaning to my life. Blessed with a family rooted in Catholicism, and those roots are mine, Catholicism gives me a solid foundation, steeped in tradition. I cannot deny that my faith has been a huge factor in how I understand my daughter’s death, and life. Today I can say that her death is the greatest gift she has ever given me.

But when Sarah was killed, wrapping myself around the accident, knowing that I would never physically “holding” her again, nothing made any sense and I did question. Always in the back of my mind was “why.”

As that “why” lingered in my head, I began examining the oddities that kept happening, the coincidences that occurred early on…and continue to happen. I am an engineer at heart. I build houses. I love math and science. My strengths are more logical and reasonable than philosophical. I believe that reason can prove the existence of God but not the details, and I believe that reason can prove the existence of life after death but not the details.

I want to share something I found most intriguing.

Seven years after Sarah’s accident, I joined a gym on Bainbridge. My son, Christopher, got a membership just a few weeks later. When I joined, I didn’t know that the owner was the volunteer firefighter who had worked around Sarah’s dead body the night of the accident. Three months after joining he spoke up and explained that the Tolo Road accident had been the most significant event in his life until just recently when he was married. He’d grown up on the streets of NYC; his mother had left him; he had a substance abuse issue. It’s fair to say that he’d seen it all at too young of an age. He asked if he could come to our house, he wanted to talk about that night and had a box of things that he wanted to share with me. When he left our home, he said, “I’ve always felt a connection with you and your family since the accident. If there is ever anything I can do for you, I am here to serve you.” I didn’t know quite what to think.

The next day, absorbed by his last statement, I emailed this question:

Is it possible that as you worked that night at the scene of the accident…is it possible that you absorbed some of Sarah’s energy as her body shut down?

 

His response: What I can tell you is that I do not “disbelieve” in anything. I can’t tell you I ever thought about it that way until you said it but it is very possible. Honestly, from the moment I got there, I felt a deep connection to your family. I don’t know why, it was just so. It was like I had nothing to do with it. In the weeks after the accident, I went to Tolo Road several times. I would just sit there in my car, I would go out and stand there, I would sit on the ground. Sometimes I just felt compelled to go there. Sometimes I would cry, sometimes not. Even though Ricky was my patient that night and I knew Francis, I didn’t feel connected to them in any way. I didn’t dislike them, just indifferent.

Shortly thereafter, I emailed the Dean of Theology at Seattle University. I never expected a response but several weeks later a response did come. This is what his email said:

Here’s a bit of a response. High energy physicists, to my knowledge, agree that matter and energy are in a constant sense of transitioning. Energy is never fully lost, in the sense of disappearing, it transforms into something else. So, when a life force leaves a human body, or any other creature, there is a profound mystery as to where that energy goes. It is a matter of our faith that it returns to the source of all energy.

Several people trying to build bridges across the chasm of faith and science have tried to describe love as an energy force or energy field. Since it is energy and it transforms into something else, it gets out of the expertise of science to determine what happens in this transformation. However, our love for each other obviously leaves an indelible mark on those we love. Does something of the core of their being and identity reside with us in death -­‐-­‐ almost certainly. Is it a piece of the person’s soul? Medieval theology would say, no, because it was believed that spirit is not divisible -­‐-­‐ it exists whole and intact and is made in the image of God. However, there is a soul imprint that I think we make on each other -­‐-­‐ much the imprint that is left on warm wax. Wherever a person’s spirit goes after death, I would think that this spirit is still able to connect to others through this soul imprint. The Catholic community would speak of this theologically in terms of the communion of saints, with whom we can communicate in private prayer and the liturgy.

The two responses have convinced me that the possibility exists, that another human could absorb Sarah’s energy, her energy lives on. I certainly know that she lives in my heart. I find her energy, her love all around me.

The question “Do you believe in a life after this one?” is a separate discussion. But it’s important to share a few thoughts because belief in life after death can play a large role in our healing, and certainly a large role in how we live our lives.

I admit that sometimes I feel forced to believe in life after death because if I’m ever going to see my child again, I have to believe that there is something more than life as we know it on earth.

All of the greatest spiritual traditions of the world have clearly told us that death is not the end. They have handed down a vision of some sort of life to come, which infuses this life that we are leading now with sacred meaning. But despite their teachings, modern society is largely a spiritual desert where the majority of people imagine that this life is all that there is. If this life is all there is, then what gives life purpose, and ultimate meaning?

It’s sad to think that most of us only begin to appreciate our life when we are on the point of dying, when death comes so close that we can touch it. A great Buddhist master said, “Those who believe they have plenty of time get ready only at the time of death.” Most people die unprepared for death, as they have lived, unprepared for life.

We cram our lives with compulsive activity, so that there is no time at all to confront the real issues. The pace of our lives is so hectic that the last thing we have time to think of is death. Our lives seem to live us. We do ask, “ What am I doing with my life?” But our lives drift on unless a serious illness or tragedy shakes us out of our stupor. And that is what happened to me.

A close encounter with death can bring a real awakening, a transformation in our whole approach to life. A striking number of those who survive near-­‐fatal accidents or near-­‐death experiences describe a “panoramic life review.” Whatever we have done with our lives makes us what we are when we die. And everything, absolutely everything, counts, because when we die we leave everything behind except truth and love, or if you are Buddhist, wisdom and compassion. The only thing we really have is now.

This is an interesting tidbit:

There are 15M people in US who have had near death experiences and they return to life changed. They all agree to these four points:

All believe in life after death.
They do not fear death.
They all know that they were sent back for a reason—which givespurpose to life.
All have a new set of values.

Perhaps it is only those who understand just how fragile life is who know how precious life is.

We must take life, and death, seriously.

I see death and each loss as a beginning of another chapter of life. Death is a mirror in which the entire meaning of life is reflected. The purpose of reflecting on death is to make a real change in the depths of your heart. Don’t you notice that there are particular moments when you are naturally moved to introspection? These are the moments when you go through a powerful experience, and your whole worldview can change quickly.

There are two things we can say about death. It is absolutely certain that we will die. It’s uncertain when or how we will die. So why are we afraid of death?

Perhaps the deepest reason why we are afraid of death is because we do not know who we are. When all is taken away at death, will we have any idea of whom we really are?

If people believe in a life after this one, their whole outlook on life will be different. They will have a distinct sense of personal responsibility and morality.

When we accept death, transform our attitude toward life, and discover the fundamental connection between life and death, a dramatic possibility for healing can occur. When we accept our losses, when we can learn to weave them into our lives, our lives expand in the present, enrich. We will know a life greater than before.

Losses and tragedies are inevitable in a lifetime. I have learned five things from my deepest tragedy.

Deeper meaning: Through the death of someone so important, you will be changed. The question is how you will be changed. Will you grow, or become diminished?


New, often richer, connections with others: Just as life brings together community and the connections that enrich us, so do our losses, so does death. The ways in which family members, friends, and even people who were previously strangers respond change how we experience our lives and our understanding of each other. We may mourn our losses or the person who is gone, but the connections left behind are very much alive, and a lasting gift.


Celebrate life: (This pertains to death.) When the bereaved are able to look at the life of a person who has passed and see more beauty than pain, they should rejoice. The reality of a person’s absence will always have an element of sadness, but the joy of memories is even more powerful. When loved ones leave this Earth, graces are given to those relationships left behind. These are gifts. When we can acknowledge them, our lives can expand in the present.






Ready for anything, Resilience: Once you’ve experienced the worst and pulled through, you know you will be able to weather just about any adversity. Maya Angelou wrote, ‘“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.” Have faith in that inner strength we all harbor.


Appreciate what you have: Life as we know it will come to an end. This includes everyone we know, love and care about; it’s a fact that we often forget, and it’s as startling to remember, as it is true. Come good or bad, we do not know what the future will bring, which means we should take every opportunity to fully embrace the present, and our loved ones.

Caroline Flohr

Author of a true story, Heaven’s Child www.HeavensChild.com

Print edition at Amazon, B & N, and local bookstores eBook on Kindle and Nook

206.300.9832

P.O. Box 4625, Rolling Bay, WA 98061

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a simple poem by sarah anne gillette, age 12.

Today the apple blossoms sprung forth. Spring has arrived in the Pacific Northwest. Every spring my daughter, Sarah, painted the cherry blossoms in the back field. The paintings, each from a...



If it’s the small stuff that matters, the real morsels of daily life that inspire, illuminate, or transform, then this blog is for you. It’s a collection of thoughts, articles, and current issues that will give you something to think about, talk about, and explore. Guaranteed to keep you smiling and laughing...take your time...and read on. www.CarolineFlohr.com

a simple poem by sarah anne gillette, age 12

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a spring day at the beach, Point No Point, Kingston, Washington

Today the apple blossoms sprung forth. Spring has arrived in the Pacific Northwest.

Every spring my daughter, Sarah, painted the cherry blossoms in the back field. The paintings, each from a different perspective, detail her growth as an artist and as a young girl into the young woman she was when her life stopped short at age sixteen. They capture her spirit and thoughts in strokes brushed vividly across a white canvas.

Sitting in the field, she’d also compress those thoughts into poems. This is one of Sarah’s poem that always brings me back to my roots when spring erupts.

Life is but a Test

Life is but a test to see

what we can do, to see what

we can give. Life is what we

do, Love is what we give.

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the forgotten griever.

Two weeks after my 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, died, I found a newsletter from my local Compassionate Friends Chapter in my mailbox. Before Sarah’s accident, I didn’t know who...



If it’s the small stuff that matters, the real morsels of daily life that inspire, illuminate, or transform, then this blog is for you. It’s a collection of thoughts, articles, and current issues that will give you something to think about, talk about, and explore. Guaranteed to keep you smiling and laughing...take your time...and read on. www.CarolineFlohr.com

The Forgotten Griever

Two weeks after my 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, died, I found a newsletter from my local Compassionate Friends Chapter in my mailbox. Before Sarah’s accident, I didn’t know who Compassionate Friends were. Eight years later, I know them well. So when the request came to speak to a local chapter about “The Forgotten Griever,” siblings who grieve the death of a sibling, that was a topic near to my heart. I had overlooked my son’s grief when his sister died. Fortunately, not too much time had passed. I put pen to paper and began writing…

The sibling bond is often overlooked when a sibling dies…and siblings do have a very special relationship. When considering grief, it’s the familial relationship least studied. It’s most unfortunate because our children who live often become the “forgotten griever.” And yet, just like us, their lives are not the same because relationships change when a child dies.

Losing a sibling has a special grief all its own. It’s as if they’ve lost part of their past and their future. When one child dies, the surviving sibling must grow up faster than anyone should, losing the innocence of childhood. Most often they find themselves in a new role—taking care of others, and their identity is gone. Sometimes they feel they’ve lost their parents to the overwhelming grief because we, as parents, do not function as before our child died. And watching us grieve can be harder than their own grief.

Unbeknownst to us, fear sets in and consumes their thoughts. Will someone else they love die? Loneliness can overwhelm with the realization that there is no shared future, only memories to recall. And often times, friends do not know how to respond. When an important event occurs, the grief gets reprocessed. It comes back in waves. Anxiety, panic attacks, sleeping issues, and depression are common. Medication and sleeping aids can help. Sleep is very important in the healing process. Suicidal thoughts are not far away. Isolation from the lack of attention and support can also lead surviving siblings down this path. They may want to be with their sibling again. Some will attempt suicide at least once. But thankfully, lingering in the back of minds is the hurt it would inflict on parents and others they love. Professional therapy can help, if the sibling is open and willing. Sometimes the surviving sibling just needs someone to talk to. Sometimes the therapist can offer insight that their feelings are normal. Sometimes therapy isn’t productive. And that’s okay. Or maybe the child who

lives believes that Heaven awaits them, where their sibling now is. In either case, hopefully the attachment to immediate family awakens and strengthens with more appreciation, openness and love.

In the early days, if possible, focus on your children who live. Children are often more resilient than us. As I found my daughter, Sarah, alive within, I discovered more grace to confront my own grief. And as I watched my surviving children navigate their days with more depth and return to the joys and pleasures of life before their sibling’s death, then my daily routine became more manageable.

Just as we find ourselves struck with denial, anger, guilt, and regrets, so do our children who live.

I learned from my children who live that these three actions were most important to them when grief set in.

• LISTEN…because I will hear.

• BE PHYSICALLY PRESENT and PATIENT.

I cannot eliminate their pain. But my presence and my caring response let them know that they are not alone. I schedule one-­‐‑on-­‐‑one time with each of my children just as I schedule a date with a friend. I am learning to truly embrace their unique qualities.

• SAY THE NAME OF THE DECEASED SIBLING frequently. I weave Sarah’s name into everyday conversation. It lets my family know that Sarah is not forgotten. We share stories and memories. I am learning to keep communication open. I ask my children to be open to signs from their sister. Those signs offer great comfort.

Each of us grieves, and each griever must find his own way. Grief doesn’t necessarily coincide with any stages. We must honor the uniqueness of grief. It’s a life-­‐‑long process of jumping back and forth and every place in between. And when in our darkest moments, look to the love and spirit of our children who live. I have found that the love and resilience of my four children who live heals and strengthens me in ways I’d never known before my daughter, Sarah, died. Today we all walk together.

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moving through the grief of losing a child.

GalTime.com, an online magazine that helps women stay more informed and connected by covering a variety of subjects including love and sex, beauty and fashion, family and parenting, food and recipes,...



If it’s the small stuff that matters, the real morsels of daily life that inspire, illuminate, or transform, then this blog is for you. It’s a collection of thoughts, articles, and current issues that will give you something to think about, talk about, and explore. Guaranteed to keep you smiling and laughing...take your time...and read on. www.CarolineFlohr.com

Moving through the grief of losing a child

GalTime.com, an online magazine that helps women stay more informed and connected by covering a variety of subjects including love and sex, beauty and fashion, family and parenting, food and recipes, health and fitness, money and finance, entertainment and living, recently posted this exclusive content of mine.

[image error]Moving Through The Grief Of Losing a Child 

I was a woman like many others; focused on my five children and family, living a quiet life on Bainbridge Island in the state of Washington. And then, in August 2004, our lives changed. That night, eight teenagers piled into an SUV and took a midnight joyride. My 16-year-old twin daughter, Sarah, was killed.

The thought of losing a child–if “losing” is the correct verb–had never crossed my mind. Tragedies, as such, were something that happened to someone else, something you read about in the paper or heard from a neighbor. Nothing could have prepared me for the deep pain…but nothing could have prepared me for the peace that now permeates my mind and heart.

The shock sets in; everything moves in slow motion as if time comes to a halt, and time has halted.

An acquaintance delivers a candle on day six with a card inscribed, “Place this candle in your kitchen. Each night while you prepare the family meal know that the shimmering of the candlelight reflects the child who now lives within you.” A lovely thought. Eight years later, I still light a candle on my kitchen windowsill. My child lives within me now.

The days turn to weeks. Friends surround you, keeping you busy, your mind occupied. Absorb their kindness. Accept their help. Eliminate expectations. Learn to be gentle with yourself. Give yourself space. Make room for quiet. Always remember that grief is personal, as is death. There is no right way or wrong way to grieve.

Seek out therapy. You may be ready. Share your story and connect with others. Surround yourself with those who will listen, not necessarily those who will offer advice. For it is when others listen that we can sort out our thoughts and settle our mind.

Your inner strength seeks you out, sometimes sooner in the process, sometimes later. That strength moves you forward–tiny steps in this process.

Let the memories fill your mind. Let yourself laugh again. Smile. Sing out when a favorite song you shared plays on the radio. Let your heart awaken to the joys memories bring.

Pay attention to the synchronicity and patterns in your life. Pay attention to your intuition. And pray. It doesn’t matter what you believe. Just ask, notice, and respond. Faith, hope and love all intersect. Maybe things will begin to make a little sense, just maybe.

Look to your children who live. Note their resilience and strength during this epic period of trauma. Let their sense of life and hope inspire you.

When the pain returns, and it will, allow yourself to go to the depths of that pain. Cry. I promise, you will be okay when you resurface.

And as you move towards years four and five, you will learn that yes, life has been a living nightmare, and it is okay to admit that. Realize that as the years pass, you will learn to weave your loss into your daily life. Accepting the loss of a loved one is to release, but not erase. To hold. But not to hold the pain.

As year five turns towards eight, my hope is that you can slowly wrap yourself around the idea that you can celebrate life and celebrate death. Death and gratitude can go hand in hand. Just possibly, it is those who have passed before us who are our greatest teachers. Remember always that you never walk alone because the life of someone who passes lives on in the love you shared.

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university of washington freshman orientation 2012: common books.

Our middle child begins college this fall. A two-day orientation for incoming freshmen at the University of Washington is mandatory for class registration. Parent orientation on the second day was...



If it’s the small stuff that matters, the real morsels of daily life that inspire, illuminate, or transform, then this blog is for you. It’s a collection of thoughts, articles, and current issues that will give you something to think about, talk about, and explore. Guaranteed to keep you smiling and laughing...take your time...and read on. www.CarolineFlohr.com

University of Washington Freshman Orientation 2012: Common Books

Our middle child begins college this fall. A two-day orientation for incoming freshmen at the University of Washington is mandatory for class registration. Parent orientation on the second day was optional. I was a curious parent so I went. After a brief introduction first thing in the morning that Tuesday at 8 AM, the day’s facilitator holds up a book titled “Respect: An Exploration” and says, “If your student came home with this book last night, then you know he or she stayed for the entire first day of orientation.” I jotted down the title.

Several days later I saw the book on my son’s desk. I was pleased. At least I knew that he hadn’t skipped out early on that first day’s events. But it was obvious that he hadn’t cracked the cover. I took the book and began reading.

“Respect: An Exploration” examines the single most powerful ingredient in any relationship. Respect is something we all seek and give. It inspires us to think beyond ourselves, invites us to examine who we are, and opens us to new ideas and relationships. The story examines the lives of six ordinary but remarkable people.

Several days later in town, I ran into one of my son’s friends who will be attending the UW also and asked if he’d opened the book. “Nope, but my dad picked it up and is reading,” the friend responded. I began to wonder how many parents versus incoming freshmen were reading this common book.

I needed to know more. After several transfers through the University of Washington call system, I discovered that for the past seven years the school has welcomed all incoming freshmen with one book that speaks to the tradition of discovery and transformation. That book is referred to as the Common Book. I got the list of Common Books distributed over the past seven years. I plan to read all seven.

Here’s the list. I invite you to read one. Read the next. Then read another.

COMMON BOOKS

University of Washington

2007-2008 Field Notes from a Catastrophe: Man, Nature, and Climate by Elizabeth Kolbert

2008-2009 The Devil’s Highway: A True Story by Luis Alberto Urrea

2009-2010 Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance by Barack Obama

2010-2011 You Are Never Where You Are: A Collection of Poetry by UW Common Book

2011-2012 The Meaning of It All: Thoughts of a Citizen- Scientist by Richard P. Feyman

2012-2013 Respect: An Exploration by Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot

For more information visit the UW Common Book on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/UWCommonBook

 

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