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the e-ME tiMEs 
This site has been created to keep you in-the-know,
up-to-date, and on-the-hook (sometimes quite literally)
regarding Dale's ups & downs, ins & outs, and backs & forths.
Keep checking back for semi-regular updates.
Journal
Friday, December 31, 2004 2:23 AM CST
See Dale's full obituary in the Star-Trib, Pioneer Press, and Waterloo Courier dated January 1 or 2, 2005 or look for the January 1 (click here) obituary at Star-Tribune.com.
CHECK OUT KIM ODE'S COLUMN IN THE JAN. 15, 2005 STAR-TRIB ABOUT THE IMPACT OF DALE'S UNIQUE OBITUARY. (Link inactive- text posted at the end of this page)
How To Donate to Dale's Charities:
Drake University
Dale Ann Wolf Endowed Scholarship
2507 University Ave.
Des Moines, IA 50311
Park Nicollet Foundation
Park Nicollet Cancer Center
(or allocate to cancer center or cancer care)
6500 Excelsior Blvd.
St. Louis Park, MN 55426
Caring Bridge
1995 Rahn Cliff Court, Ste 200
Eagan, MN 55122
http://www.caringbridge.org/donate
Komen for the Cure
Minnesota Affiliate
Mall of America
301 South Avenue
Bloomington, MN 55425
http://www.active.com/donate/komentwincities
* * * *
Can you believe it? I figured out how to send emails from the great beyond! It’s pretty easy…don’t know why more people don’t do it.
Since most people are not comfortable discussing death, particularly the specific death of someone you know and are probably very fond of (i.e., ME) I thought I’d do it now. I gotta love the one-sidedness of email, which affords me the opportunity to go on and on and on about whatever I want!
So, where was I? Oh yeah, that death thing. If you were wondering, I wasn’t afraid to die. While I have all along feared the journey, and it’s likely that it DID leave a bit to be desired, the ultimate destination was not frightening to me. Though my viewpoint was more based on “hope” than “knowledge,” it still comforted me. And for you people who thought “the truth”—or should I say “your truth”—is the only way, I now know you were wrong! I’ve believed for awhile that — beautiful things and joyous moments aside — there are too many horrendous things that happen in this world to think that our lives on earth (my past, your current) is the “ultimate” destination.
My “light bulb” moment was in July1999, a year after my initial cancer diagnosis and almost a year before my recurrence. I was volunteering for the Minnesota to Wisconsin AIDS Ride at the Minneapolis Convention Center. Sandwich boards with inspirational quotations were placed around the large room where the bicyclists checked in. One sign near the area where I was working read: “We are not human beings on a spiritual journey; we are spiritual beings on a human journey.” It wasn’t like a lightening bolt hit me, but it just seemed so darned logical. Why SHOULD our human journey be THE journey? The only justification to me for all the suffering on earth (and I’m not talking about mine) is that there is someplace better than this; that there’s a “next place” where we leave misery and pain behind.
But like I already said, this belief is based on hope, not knowledge, so it’s also occurred to me that I might be wrong. None of us really truly know what happens to us next. But I am experiencing a bit of glee that I found out before you did! I have to make everything a competition, don’t I?
I’ve been trying to remember my childhood…how I thought my life would turn out. I can’t really recall that I had specific hopes and dreams. I can’t say whether or not things turned out as expected, because I don’t really know what I expected. But for those of you whose life turned out just as you planned…I hope you appreciate how lucky you are. Give thanks every day for what you have. Cut out the whining. If you aren’t whining, don’t start! When I started writing this email I didn’t have a long list of lessons I wanted you all to take to heart now that I’m gone. But as my treatments lingered on and my cancer remained stable, I spent a lot of timing thinking about the “imprint” I would leave behind. What began as a list of one lesson, has blossomed to several.
The first one I’ve been trying to teach to people for a long time now, and it’s not working very well. I’m going to try one last time via email from the great (I do hope great) beyond. I say “via email,” because if I have the opportunity to haunt you, I will.
My last lesson is the “Dale” version of “don’t sweat the small stuff.” Put things in perspective. Think about what’s really important, and stop worrying and whining about the rest. Here are some things that in the big scheme of things are not that important:
You don’t like your boss. You don’t like your job. Stop complaining. Do something to change things. Realize that there are people just like you at other companies complaining about the exact same things.
A friend hasn’t returned your phone call. Get over it. Call them back. Calling friends shouldn’t be a game that involves scorekeeping.
And speaking of scorekeeping…don’t. It’s not about whose turn it is. Life ain’t fair.
Stop complaining about how busy or not busy you are. Accept that your life is probably the way it is due to choices you’ve made, Acknowledge this or make new choices.
There are worse things than being 10 pounds overweight.
People don’t pay as close attention to you as you think they do.
If the dog eats the strudel, it’s not a real crisis. It’s only strudel.
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We love you Dale and thank you for letting us be part of your journey.
********
Kim Ode's Jan. 15 column:
Her Obit Offered A Gift Of Fun
Dale Ann Wolf's obituary has, if you'll excuse the expression,
taken on a life of its own.
Byline: Kim Ode; Staff Writer
Paper: STAR TRIBUNE (Mpls.-St. Paul) Newspaper of the Twin Cities
Date: 01/15/05
The notice of her death ran on New Year's Day, opening with this
grabber: "Dale Ann, 44, ended her 6 1/2-year playful romp with
breast cancer." Total strangers kept on reading, intrigued by this sassy variation on the more typical "courageous battle."
"Her stellar working career started as a Baskin-Robbins ice cream scooper after her failed childhood endeavor selling rocks
door-to-door." Why, this obit was kind of funny.
Then came the wry accounting of her life, then lists of helpful
friends, then kind words for doctors and nurses. Why, this obit was kind of long.
Then this: "Hey, I'm dead. . . . To heck with cost considerations. I'm sure the sale of my condo - with its stunningly remodeled kitchen - will cover the cost of this announcement."
And there it was. The funny, long-winded writer was Dale herself. By the time she got around to thanking Al Gore for inventing the Internet, many readers were charmed, stunned and inspired by a woman they'd never met, nor ever would. "It's amazing to me the impact her obit had," said her sister, Marna Orren, of Eagan. "And it's been so comforting to me to hear all these strangers with their kind words."
Her new admirers made themselves known in various ways, among
them through the Guestbook section of Dale's online obituary.
"Anyone who can write their own obituary, and do it with humor,
earns my respect," wrote one. "As a fellow traveler on the breast
cancer journey, I can only hope my obituary is as funny."
From another: "Yesterday my wife handed me the paper and said,
`When I die, this is the kind of obit I want.' "
And: "I didn't know Dale, but I must say I have never read an obituary and laughed out loud before." Typical, said Marna. "Dale loved the limelight, so she'd be loving this," she said, taking a break from cleaning out Dale's condo in downtown Minneapolis. It was no small task. Dale had saved papers dating back to elementary school. She had saved every security badge, every driver's license. She'd written music and newsletters, notably "the ME tiMEs," devoted to articles about, well, Dale. A wall sculpture spells out her motto: "It's all about me." You could call the place Daledale.
The masthead of "the ME tiMEs" requires some explanation. She had taken to capitalizing Ms and Es when they appeared in the same word, a joke about her apparent self-absorption. What an amazing knack she must have had, to pull off something like this without being insufferable.
"Well . . . " her sister said with a sigh. "I wouldn't exactly say that." A sister can get away with this. You begin to glimpse a family trait, a dry wit from the firstborn of three girls, who observes that while the middle child now has become the youngest,
"I'm still the oldest." You begin to glimpse the strength granted
by a sense of humor.
Dale's breast cancer was detected in July 1998, when she was 37. It was already raging, a fibrous, fingery growth that had invaded her lymph nodes. Yet she decided to fight. "She put out fires," said Marna. "Anytime another tumor popped up, she'd zap it with radiation, or cut it out, or do some experimental treatment. As long as it wasn't in her vital organs, she survived." Then, just before Christmas, a vital organ surrendered. Her liver began to fail. For those who read the obit and imagined this tower of wise-cracking strength, it's important to know that Dale was as human as any of us. For several years, she'd kept a journal on CaringBridge, a free online service that helps patients keep in touch with loved ones. On Dec. 21, at 1 a.m., her entry began: "The fun has stopped. "Though I thought I was ready for bad news, it feels like I've been caught in an unexpected combo hailstorm/ tornado/ typhoon and any other big storms you can think of. . . . Tonight I've teetered back and forth between a sobbing mess and denial." The end, when it came, was quick and peaceful. When, in her trapeze's flying arc between pugnaciousness and sobs, did she write her obituary? "That's a very good question," Marna said. "I suspect it was about a year ago, and then edited throughout." Not everyone could, or should, write their own obituary. But Dale had a way with words. She had a degree in journalism from Drake University, and a career in marketing communications, most recently with Ceridian Corp. "She was her last client," Marna said, with
half a smile.
Dale, she continued, kept in touch with seemingly everyone she'd ever known. Her e-mail address book contained hundreds of names. Her first landlord came to the funeral, for heaven's sake. "I think her friends were grateful for her sense of humor. It helped them to gravitate toward her because she didn't bring them down."
So it makes sense that her humor also raised some up. One of the Guestbook entries was from Terri Crane of Burnsville, who was grieving the death of her mother, Phoebe Marie Cummiskey. "My mom was kind of a card, too," Crane told me. But that part of her personality hadn't come through in the solemn funeral. "I thought, `Hey, you can be honest about this.' "
How we laughed may be our last, best memory of someone.
And so Crane wrote: "The day after my mother's funeral I had the morbid idea to read the obituaries. I am so glad I found Dale's. I shared it with my family and we all were thoroughly entertained. Thank you for sharing a slice of what had to be a fabulous life. I wish I had known her. And I hope her and Mom run into each other - I'm sure they'll have some laughs."
Kim Ode's column runs Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. Write to her at kimode@startribune.com or 425 Portland Av. S. Minneapolis MN 55488. For past columns, go to http:// www. startribune.com/ode.
Read Journal History
Links: http://www2.soncom.com/keithm/dale/smile.mp3 Please refer to the Dec. 7 journal entry for information on working with/listening to these music files. This is Smile.
http://www2.soncom.com/keithm/dale/daybyday.mp3 Day by Day.
http://www2.soncom.com/keithm/dale/themoreiseeyou.mp3 The More I See You.
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