Ask More: The Power of Questions to Open Doors, Uncover Solutions, and Spark Change pdfdrive com

“Yes.”
Has it made you a more careful parent?
“I think so.”
Memories of adversity can make a family stronger. In the right context, they
can provide comfort. Then, the rabbi says, “you have turned a burden into a
blessing.”
Facing Failure
Some burdens may seem insurmountable: feelings of acute failure, a sense of a
wasted life. But legacy questions can brighten even those dark places. End-of-
life expert and author Ken Doka offers proof. A principal contributor to the
hospice training video, Doka has worked with all kinds of people, including
patients who expressed wrenching regret at the end of life—about their inability
to hold a job, stay in school, or provide for themselves or their families. But
Doka has found that even these people often can be guided to a more positive,
reassuring place. “Sometimes in framing their lives as lessons that others can
learn from, there can be meaning,” Doka says. “The story may be, ‘I made a lot
of mistakes. I didn’t learn from them, but others can.’”
He describes a young man we’ll call Martin, who had been a street hustler
since he was a kid. When he had just graduated from high school, Martin went to
jail for drug possession. After that, he never could hold a job for long. He was
estranged from his entire family, except for a brother, who had asked Martin to
be godfather to his nephew. Martin agreed, then failed to show up to the
baptism. Furious and disappointed, Martin’s brother told him he was
“worthless.”
Now, still in his twenties, Martin was dying of AIDS. He told Ken he didn’t
have much to be proud of. No family, no job, no legacy beyond the streets. He
was sorry he didn’t make it to that baptism. He cared about his nephew.
“What would you say to your nephew?” Ken asked him.
“That I have nothing to give him. That I love him,” Martin said.
Ken said, “Look, Martin, you’ve had some rough times. You’ve learned a lot
of lessons about things you shouldn’t do.” He asked:
What do you want to pass along to your nephew?
Martin thought for a minute. “Stay in school. Don’t do drugs.” He spoke

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softly and paused. Then Martin revealed his secret. He was gay. “I never felt like
I belonged while growing up. In my community it was considered a sin.”
Ken listened, then asked, “What advice do you have for your nephew?”
“Be yourself.”
Ken wrote down Martin’s words, went home, and turned them into a letter
addressed to Martin’s nephew. The next time they visited, he asked, “What do
you want me to do with it?”
“Please give it to my brother—for my nephew.”
Martin had something to pass along after all.
Ken’s questions helped Martin see value in his life story and share it with
someone he cared about. Ken believes every life has meaning, though sometimes
it takes hard work and persistent questioning to find it. He asks:
How do you put your mistakes in context?
What lessons would you share?
What high points in life would you point to?
End-of-life experts speak in terms of creating a “meaning narrative.” They
believe this kind of story makes people feel better about life and more positive
about themselves. One approach involves a “question protocol” to help patients
recall significant personalities, places, activities and experiences in their lives. In
one study by Harvey Chochinov and others, printed in the August 20, 2005,
issue of Journal of Clinical Oncology, the researchers asked terminally ill
patients to describe when they felt most alive, to recount their most important
roles and accomplishments, and to share their hopes and dreams for their loved
ones. The researchers edited the responses into a “generativity document” to be
given to a family member or friend. When the patients read their document, two-
thirds reported a “heightened sense of meaning.” Nearly half said their will to
live had increased. “Getting down on paper what I thought was a dull, boring life
really opened my eyes to how much I really have done,” a forty-nine-year-old
woman said.
In Search of Meaning
Questions of death lead to questions of life. One of the most moving assignments
I had when I worked at CNN involved Oregon’s “Death with Dignity” law. The
provision permitted people diagnosed with a terminal illness and less than six
months to live to obtain a prescription that would end their lives if they decided
that’s how they wanted to die. My story revolved around Greg Yaden, a fifty-

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nine-year-old Oregon man who was dying of leukemia.
The day before I met Greg, he had received a blood transfusion to replenish
his failing white blood cells. We met at his front door. He offered a firm
handshake and he spoke in a clear voice. Though he looked pale, his stride was
sure and strong. He’d planned an ambitious day for us and he was anxious to
begin. With camera crew in tow, we fished for trout at a stream not far from his
home, had a beer at his favorite bar, and then sat in his backyard for the
interview.
He told me he had never finished college, had worked a variety of jobs
around the country, and had been married twice. He was now living with his
girlfriend, Missy. The two had met ten years before, when he was working in
California. They had moved together to Oregon, where they both had the
“freedom to roam.”
Greg had been traveling on business when he felt pain while walking through
the airport. Arthritis, maybe, he thought. Then one day he got dizzy just walking
to the store. His head felt like it would explode. He went to the doctor, who
ordered tests. They came back with the deadly diagnosis. Intensive chemo
wasn’t enough; he would also need a stem cell transplant. Greg’s doctor’s
conducted an exhaustive search for a compatible donor, which included his
brother, without success. Between the chemo and the waiting, it was a rough
ride. Greg finally made a decision. “Gang, here’s what I’m thinking,” he told the
doctors. “The anxiety is getting a little rough on me. Sitting by the phone waiting
and waiting and waiting and getting my hopes up. I really thank you so much for
searching the world, but let’s just move on and let’s look at having a good
quality of life.” He wanted the freedom to roam. That’s how he lived and it’s
how he wanted to die.
Greg signed up for a drug cocktail that would end his life on his own terms,
if he chose. It wasn’t about pain or hastening the end, he told me. It was about
having control.