I have never been ready for death. Even in the most gentle, expected situation, death feels like a blow, a stumble, a hard left turn. This came home to me clearly on the death of a dear friend and neighbor, Fred Lanphear, two-weeks ago. For the past three years, Fred had journeyed with a terminal disease, ALS, as his traveling companion. Learning of his prognosis, Fred decided that he wanted “…to make this final journey as meaningful as possible. The Universe was giving me the gift of knowing when I was going to die … how would I best utilize this gift?”

True to a life of intentional giving, Fred and Nancy chose to give this ‘gift’ away; to share the journey of his dying with their cohousing community at Songaia. They asked us to walk with them on their journey and envision it as part of the life and work of our community.

At first, I imagined this meant supporting Fred and Nancy during this progressively debilitating illness. Like other members of the community, I was glad to help: doing chores Fred could no longer manage, visiting regularly to encourage and support them, helping feed Fred at community meals, reading to him now and then, and helping put him to bed once a week or so. Fred and Nancy appreciated all of this and told us often of their gratitude. But I have discovered that this was only a part of their invitation to walk the journey with them. I didn’t really understand the nature of the gift until Fred had gone.

The morning after he died, I saw the community gather together with Fred and Nancy’s family to tell the stories of his life and hold each other in the grief of our loss, and the joy of Fred’s life. I saw the kids of the community move naturally between mourning and playing as they realized Fred was gone and life went on. I saw friends, family, and neighbors gather flowers, plants, and vegetables from the garden Fred loved to lay on his chest and at his bedside. I saw my almost-twelve year old son lead me gently forward to view Fred’s body at his home, full of compassion for my grief.

In the weeks since his death, I see how his passing continues encouraging me to be gentle with others in the work of building community, and regularly nudges me not to withhold any small act of loving kindness I might give away on my journey. What is my work if not this? For of course, all our paths eventually make the same turn. Death holds open the door that swallows our life, and yet Life continues.

I see more clearly now what Fred and Nancy may have meant to share: that our connection with each other is what gives meaning to life’s journey, and that caring for these connections is what transforms us and the world. I suspect that it is the only thing that has the power to do so.

In loving remembrance of Fred

It has been an amazing summer!  Visits from colleagues, family and friends continue to provide stimulation and enrichment to my daily life.  Total dependency on others for basic needs has increased.  Most recently, community or family members “serve” me my meals as I can no longer use my arms and hands.  Body work, hugs and other forms of touch are ever more significant,  forming deeper relationships with those I encounter.

It has been an amazing summer!  I look forward to each new day with its greater challenges of total dependency along with the new insights that come.  I am hungry to learn something new.  Due to my immobility, I find myself watching many nature documentaries with their captivating insight into the intricacies of the web of life.  I realize that I am an integral part of this very web.

Truly, we live in a sacred universe.



The daytime discomforts are best alleviated by engaging in dialogue with the continual flow of visitors. Some read to me, others do bodywork, sometime we just talk. I look forward to these regular visits, sometimes weekly, every two weeks or monthly. I enjoy participating in a monthly dialogue group and more recently a study group focused on Thomas Berry’s writings and a friend’s elder initiation.

My vital functions, like breathing, have not greatly changed over the past five months. So when I am asked, “How am I doing?”, my reply is “I am still singing.” My legs are totally immobile and my arms are somewhat functional. I can barely move my left arm but still have some use of my right arm and hand. I can operate the wheelchair by myself using my right hand. I am no longer able to feed myself and require help at every meal.

I am so grateful for the love and care I receive daily. The number of people that are needed to care for me continues to expand but someone is always available. This includes three of the community children who like to participate in my care, especially in the evenings when we share ice cream.  I have discovered that others are grateful for the opportunity of caring for me assuring me that I am not a burden even though I often feel that way.

The limited time I have been given to live has allowed me to prioritize the use of time with a sense of urgency and finality. One priority has been documenting the journey of the Songaia community I helped bring into being and that now supports me. I am pleased that the narrative I have been writing is done so that I can focus on integrating the various stories other community members have provided. Compiling this community autobiography has been a pure delight.

Thanks, Gordon and Ray. It’s always great to see what happens after something has been started.

“Strength through diversity” has become a popular concept.  I see this every day at first hand.  What does it mean, exactly?   If you bring people together, you’ve got diversity.  When moving into a community, each of us brings our baggage as well as our strengths, our gifts. Our gifts don’t show up equally. Some people put in a lot of physical labor — and they may find it unfair that others aren’t willing, able, or motivated to do the same. But those others may bring different energies.  Whether we value those differences or not, the diversity of our gifts contributes to the wholeness of the community.

One of the major lessons that we at Songaia had to learn — and are still learning — relates to how we get along with each other, how we respect each other.  Many of us believe that we should be able to resolve our differences, and that if we’re not able to do so, we’ve got a serious problem.  Part of my expectation is that there will be times that we don’t resolve differences. People will be unhappy, maybe felt unheard.  I don’t see that as a crisis. Some do, and that’s a difference between my view and theirs — I’m not saying who’s right, but we will tend to use different approaches. I can tolerate a certain level of dissent without going into panic mode.  Some would say I’m too laid back.  For example, when I find myself getting into a situation that looks like it could become very explosive, I’ll back off and give it time — that’s my personal leadership style.  I don’t believe that we always have to “deal with this thing now.”  I think sometimes it’s best to let things cool down, give people time to think — or adapt to an irritation.  For me, if living in community is all about personal growth, it’s important to allow for the reality that growth takes time.

During meetings, we sometimes take a quick visual poll of community members using a living sociogram.  We ask people to physically move around in the room and line up in response to a question: e.g., in dealing with a particular issue do they want more or less process; do they want to deal with communication issues or not, and so forth. The result is almost always a broad range of differences. You will see a similarly diverse response if you ask people to line up according the standard cleanliness they require in the Common House.  After seeing this process a few times, it’s impossible not to acknowledge that we all have different values and perspectives.  The question is not whether someone’s a good or a bad communitarian — the challenge of community is being able to flex, being able to embrace our diversity.

One of our members, who to my mind exemplifies the values of good communitarian, is not a house cleaner.  You can’t count on him to do clean-up in the common house; it’s not a priority. He gives other tasks much more value. So if we were grading people on the basis of their cleaning performance, he’d get a pretty low mark.  But he contributes to the community in many other important ways. This is not unlike the way things often are within families.  To me the community’s just a larger manifestation of what it means to be family.

Excerpted from forthcoming book Songaia  – An Unfolding Dream