After attending a writing festival in Possidi, Halkidiki, I returned to Athens to say some goodbyes, then boarded a flight to London.
Two days into my Watson year, I interviewed a funeral director in Athens. He was in his sixties, soft-spoken, and kept his wireless ear buds in for the entirety of our conversation. Directing funerals was not always how he’d imagined his life, but after the stress and dissatisfaction with his job in journalism proved unbearable, an ostensibly morbid career path suddenly became an attractive one.
We talked for about two hours, enough time for me to get the full rundown of burial rituals in Greece, to learn why bones are exhumed only a few years after they are buried (often due to lack of space in cemeteries), and to have discovered that he views his job as more consultatory than macabre. His main role, as he explained to me, was to listen to the families and their stories, to help them in the first few moments after a death. I imagined that providing this sort of guidance came naturally to him since earlier in our conversation he fondly recalled his time in college reading horoscopes for extra money.
Grateful to have had such a good first interview when I’d hardly been in the country long enough to overcome jet lag, I asked if he could teach me how to say ‘thank you’ in Greek. “Eυχαριστώ,” he said, and then said three more times as I poorly mimicked, my mouth struggling to make the sounds corresponding with the letter ‘χ’ (a sound with no direct English equivalent). Once I came even remotely close to something that sounded like thank you, he smiled and explained that the translation means “I am going to do something good for you.”
I’m actually not entirely sure if that translation is accurate—I’ve tried to google it to no avail—but it has nonetheless set the tone for my time in Greece (Greek friends, don’t spoil this for me if it is incorrect). As I was leaving, I asked if there was a place where I could dispose of the plastic water bottle he’d given me. Though the bottle itself was to go in the trash, the cap was to be collected and later given to an organization which, for every few thousand bottle caps that are returned, donates a wheelchair to someone in need. Then and there, I resolved to collect all of my bottle caps, promising to return them to him before I left.
That’s how I wound up carrying a plastic bag around with me for the rest of the summer, diligently collecting each of my bottle caps and incessantly bugging those with me for theirs. Even mere hours into my time in Greece, I had the feeling that by the time I left I would have the strong urge to do something good for it.
I write this post from the United Kingdom, where I arrived only two days ago. Coincidently, my first country change coincided with the beginning of the school year in the States and the first peaks of fall in many of London’s pristine parks, two evergreen markers of a summer’s pass. For me, change always catalyzes reflection, awakening a dual desire to hold onto my most fond memories from ‘the past chapter’ and also to write its last few sentences so as to begin the next.
While in Greece, I conducted interviews with individuals working in all sorts of jobs related to palliative care, witnessed a number of religious celebrations with elements related to health and illness, volunteered with refugees in Lesvos, learned just enough Greek to sheepishly make it through basic exchanges yet confidently express gratitude, felt the magic of the island Amorgos, and filled 1.5 journals recounting my experiences.
There was a period of time where I struggled to synthesize all that I was taking in, often feeling as if the things I was learning lacked a cohesive narrative. In those moments, I questioned if my lack of understanding was a result of not doing a ‘good enough’ job or not ‘doing enough’—two anxieties common to the Watson experience. Ironically, it only occurred to me on the day I walked aimlessness through Mytilene, having purposefully chosen to accept the fact that I had nothing to do that day, did I realize that the seeming lack of cohesion was not a result of my own doing, but rather a reflection of the current palliative care landscape. Greece is in the very preliminary stages of developing a national palliative care strategy, so those involved in the field are grappling with many of the same question that I am: What constitutes effective palliative care provisioning? How does serious illness impact the individual, the family, the state? How do laws and rules (both political and religious) affect medical care? What matters most at the end of life?
Though it was not intentional, beginning Watson in a country at the preliminary stages of implementing a palliative care strategy has taught me many vital lessons about doing a Watson. For one, it’s made me resolve to go low and slow this year—to, as my favorite author Barry Lopez once wrote, “take measure of the bend through experiences.”
I’ve learned to take measure equally from conversations with clinicians who voluntarily work weekends and nights to provide end of life care as I have from the traditional music that lands so well on my ears accompanied by dances that so graciously forgive my two left feet. From two-hour harborside dinners that couldn’t (and shouldn’t) be hurried by anything as from overcoming the challenges of interviewing with the bounds of a language barrier. From views outside of a train window that literally make my jaw drop. From people and places that I’ve come to love.
Greece has got my number; it has since the first moment I stepped onto the tarmac after an EasyJet flight, looked out into a sky made pink by a sun lazily disappearing behind mountains and thought, “I’m here. I am really here.”
There are a million good things I want to do for Greece, but for now I’ll have to settle with my returned bottle caps and an incredible heartfelt ευχαριστώ.
I am ‘on vacation’ this week, enjoying time with my grandparents. It is nice, albeit a bit odd, to see people I know again. I’ll be based in the UK through mid-September, attending a conference on the social context of death, dying, and disposal and learning from a hospice organization that does a fantastic job engaging the community where it is based. I leave the UK onward to India in about three weeks.