Customer Reviews

In Lieu of Flowers: A Conversation for the Living

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I found the galley for this book in my office and was struck by the title; reminiscient of words my mother used before she died.

I read the book in one sitting; sun bathing on the roof while being reminded of images I had cast away of my parents death some 12 years apart.

The chapter entitled, "Macaroni and Butterflies" hit home with such intentesity, tears and instant recognition that the visiting, playful butterfly that lingered at my fingertips like none before and none since, at the then unknown hour of may father's death, was in fact not him saying goodbye but my mother gleefully letting me know he was with her. Thank you for offering such a warm way to talk about life, loss and loved ones.

I see the book as a gift for friends facing death and loss and a potential way to have them think about how to begin acceptance and the final conversation.

The final line in Nancy Cobb's "In Lieu of Flower" is "It is a benediction, really, a reassurance that we are able to emerge from sufferring--and be changed" describes the feeling I was left with after reading this book. Cobb writes about dying as a process. Her prose is luxurious, her perspective deeply spitual, beautifully hopeful while clearly realistic. She relates her personal experiences with death and how she grew through the sadness,pain and depression and moved into a place of peace, a long and difficult journey. She encourages us to see death a piece of life, to not fear the process as we watch it or as we live it. Cobb relates stories from friends and aqcuaintances that so touched me as to even raise the hairs on my neck. Sighting a butterfly will never mean the same to me again. It becomes apparent that our cultural biases on death are great. We are asked here to view death as a piece of life that involves the living as well as the dying, to view it as a time to grow and learn rather than to run and hide. When I finished this book, I felt as though my soul had been sipping on a soothing cup of chamomile tea. Then I ordered 3 copies to give as gifts.

At last a book that deals with death with humor, compassion and understanding. The conversational style captured my attention and held it much longer than previous and more academic books I had read on the subject. Halfway through the book I copied a quote and sent it to my minister. As I continued reading I realized I would have to send the whole book to him, since I knew that he would appreciate its refreshing and enlightening style and views. He surely would find much of the material useful to him in his work. I will always be grateful I found this book, if for no other reason than because now I know that soul and butterfly are one and the same in the ancient Greek language. How wonderful it is to always have that feeling of hope, wonder and joy whenever I see a butterfly. Thank you, Ms. Cobb, for that.

I really liked ths book overall. It has, in fact, made me realize the importance of each and every day, and I am not yet actually dealing with the death of a loved one. It made me cry many times but also laugh. The most well-written part of the book is the snippets from other sources. The author did a good job of finding appropriate and compellinig text to quote.

My only complaint is that the author alienated me by the "name-dropping" and almost constant presence of "sucessful" people. Nearly everyone is a successful writer, artisist, etc. It's tough because it's not overtly an attempt to impress but rather perhaps just a part of the author's life honestly. I just wish that, for example, when the architect son finally gains recogntion from his dying father(yet another successful artist), Cobb had left out the part that the home had appeared in a national magazine. You know? Just kind of alienates you.

Aside from that ever present irritation, it was a good book that was quite thoughtful.

This book was very well-written, to the point, sensitive without being maudlin, funny, and makes an excellent gift for people who have everything---the subject matter is universal. It is also not a fad book and I think it will endure as a classic.

A beautifully written, unusual memoir that offers solace, understanding, and honesty about death and dying. The Author's own experience as an only child, losing both her parents to Alzheimer's disease, is described with compassion and grace. A heartfelt and uplifting book that offers undertanding and healing words about loss and recovery.

I really hadn't had much experience with death, until one of my closest friends died unexpectedly. Not long after that, my mother died, and a couple of years later, my father. It felt as though a train had hit me. I was devistated for quite a while, and found Nancy Cobb's book to be very comforting. She writes with empathy, humor and understanding - like talking with a good friend. It's about life as much as it is about death, and I highly reccommend it.

Shortly after my son died, a friend gave me In Lieu of Flowers. "It might be too soon," she said. "It's spiritual." But the introduction caught my interest, and far from being too soon, the book taught me about grieving. Lesson number one: do not tell the mourner it will get better. Forget closure. As Cobb says, "When a person dies, a relationship does not end--it changes and continues, just as the living do." But how will I continue that relationship, I wondered? She goes on. "If we take the time to stop and talk about it, to bring the dead to life, even momentarily... the shared memories will remain. Like the dead, we will carry them with us for the rest of our lives."

Nancy Cobb dwells on the universals of death, the last conversations, the unfinished lives, the final moments. She explains how she, too, has suffered from grief, not from the death of a child, but from both parents and dear friends. As an only child, she felt each parent's death intensely, independently, with no siblings to share decisions or stories. She was afraid of being orphaned, of being the final repository of her family history. She relates the moment of discovering that her mother, dying of Alzheimer's, wants to let go: her mother refuses to eat. She is unable to read, converse, or comprehend. She is reduced to "a fleeting chiaroscuro glimpse of the woman I had known." She is moved to the Connecticut Hospice for the last nine days of her life. Her final words reveal the relief of being allowed to die: "I am...so...happy." Nancy's acknowledgement, capping a five-year journey toward acceptance: "I love you, Mom. Dad's waiting. Give him my love...Tell him we're fine. Tell him...to take you dancing." They breathe together, cheek to cheek. They connect until the end.

Cobb's major point is to "open the conversation," before and after death. Lesson number two: before death, don't neglect the stage of acceptance. Most of us are in denial and would prefer to stay there, but if the final conversations on love, meaning, and letting go are avoided, there is no second chance. Regrets and guilt will haunt the mourners even more than usual. The term unfinished will take on heightened meaning. It will expand the complexity of grief and dwarf other sorrows. Do not wait or be afraid to enter a realm which cannot be avoided.

She's not saying it's easy, but you'll be sorry if you don't. Her father committed suicide while she was having lunch with a friend two thousand miles away. She knows what she's talking about. She made me realize that was one of the hard parts of my son's death. It was sudden, it was farther away, I did not say good-bye, and I will never recover from all the things I should have said. I didn't get to have the final conversation. My son left this earth without knowing how much I loved him or would miss him. Maybe because of this futile need to tell him and not being able to, I leapt with support for lesson number three: keep the conversation going. People die, but their place in our lives does not. Start a new "tribe," a spiritual club of those who are in pain and need to share it. For only by sharing do we find meaning, do we honor the dead, and do we keep them in our lives. I read somewhere in my library of grief books that joy is shared and grief isolates. Let's share grief, too, Cobb is saying. Let's learn from the Hospice professionals, especially the one who took care of her mother and "can't imagine doing anything else." People need to be comfortable before they die. Let's treat them as we would want to be treated ourselves. It's hard to be dignified about death, but in the end dignity is all we have. And when we're gone, let's be discussed, let's be shared, and let's be revived In Lieu of Flowers.

Nancy Cobb's book is a most beautifully written manuscript that I have given, again and again, to family and friends who are experiencing a loss in their lives. I keep several on my bookshelf always, which is what prompts this review today -- I need to reorder. It should also be noted that the cover of In Lieu of Flowers is absolutely exquisite. I often put a care package together for someone, placing this book on top in a basket, because of the emotion/sentiment it provides from me to the person in mourning.

I read IN LIU OF FLOWERS shortly after my father died. A year later, I'm still feeling its positive effects. The book helped me put the loss of this beautiful person -- who was also my best friend -- in perspective. Nancy Cobb is a narrator who approaches a tough subject with love, humor and wisdom. The result is a life-affirming, and life-changing, book.