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Duncan Trussell recorded this conversation with his mother while she was facing terminal cancer. What you’re hearing isn’t scripted. It isn’t performed. It’s a son sitting with his dying mother trying to hold onto every word before the words run out. And she, the one facing the end, is...

5,526,057 次观看 • 4 天前 •via X (Twitter)

9 条评论

MoragsRepublic 的头像
MoragsRepublic4 天前

Such a shame with Duncan, really loved Midnight Gospel. Hard to see it now with his current mindset but if theres one dude with the capability for honesty and compassion to open his mind again, its him.

🧬Maxpein🧬 的头像
🧬Maxpein🧬4 天前

A gentle perspective is that people can evolve in unexpected directions, and minds can change again too. What matters is leaving room for growth without losing compassion or discernment. Sometimes the people who have explored the depths are also capable of finding their way back to a wider perspective.

Plato 的头像
Plato4 天前

Some of the deepest wisdom comes from people who have faced the end and still chose love over fear. These conversations remind us how precious every moment with the people we love truly is. ❤️‍🩹

🧬Maxpein🧬 的头像
🧬Maxpein🧬4 天前

Absolutely. Sometimes those who have looked directly at mortality understand most deeply that love is what truly matters. Every conversation, every embrace, every ordinary moment with the people we cherish is a gift.

Sanas 3 Racing 的头像
Sanas 3 Racing3 天前

Fuck cancer

Stan Lee 的头像
Stan Lee3 天前

I can't finish your tweet, this hit too close too home.

⬣DREW⬣ 的头像
⬣DREW⬣3 天前

One of the best shows ive ever watched. Changed my perspective on so many things for the better❤️

DAVID KASSIR - Wealth Management Coast to Coast 的头像
DAVID KASSIR - Wealth Management Coast to Coast3 天前

This was so beautiful thank you for sharing

SoonerSaiyan 的头像
SoonerSaiyan3 天前

This is a beautiful episode also the podcast version is even better. Duncan Trussell Family Hour.

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Live Action

10,235 次观看 • 2 个月前

My Mother Will Live 100 Years More People will continue to speak the name of a woman who gave kindness freely and inspired their strength By Charlie LeDuff Charlie LeDuff Mother's life was not one of accolades or prizes or financial riches. Mother was a handsome woman who lived a normal life. But when cancer came to claim her face, it exposed a beauty previously unseen by me. “That’s the thing about growing old,” she said of the affliction that had stolen her eyes and taken the bridge of her nose and left her in darkness. “Eventually God punishes every woman for her vanity.” Even so, Mother continued to wear a wristwatch so she might document the hour when her eyesight would return. Of course, it never did. She was 81. Evangeline Baldis (née Steele) was born in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, the daughter of a truck driver and waitress. In her life, Mother was many things. A factory girl, a florist, a painter, a gourmet, a theologian. She was a wife to three men. Mother to five children. Grandmother of 10. Great-grandmother of three. She also offered sanctuary to many children lost in the blizzard of drugs and divorce known as The Eighties. There was always a warm meal at her table. At that time, men were packing their bags and walking out the door and women were left to go out to earn the bread. Naturally, children ran wild—including her own. On more than one occasion, Mother presented herself in an old fur coat at the threshold of a disreputable door demanding her child be returned to her. “There is a word for that,” her sister Joann said at the hour of her death. “Flair. Your mother had flair.” Weeks earlier, Mother asked: “Why does God keep me around? What does he want from me? I’m ready.” “One last great lesson, Ma,” I supposed. “I think He wants you to teach us how to die with dignity. How not to be afraid.” She nodded. And then she asked for a cigarette. And then she asked for a chocolate. And then she asked for a spritz of Oscar de la Renta. At the foot of her bed, a great-grandchild clutched at the post attempting to right herself. Mother knew the baby by the sound of her gurglings. The baby carries her name. Evangeline. The bringer of good news. The scent of lilac and sage wafted in from the garden along with the dang-dong of the wind chime. Mother had been floating in the morphine clouds for sometime. As the day grew nearer, and the dosage grew higher, I expected strange things to bubble from her haze. I did not know what exactly. Rantings perhaps. Bitterness maybe. Medicine is a truth serum, and cancer is a monster. But strange words never came. She was the same woman in death’s shadow as she was in life’s light. She was more handsome than I had ever known. One evening, in the darkened room, she asked, “Why me, Lord? “What’s that, Ma?” “Kris Kristofferson,” she said. “Why me, Lord?” It wasn’t a question. It was a request. “Why Me?” is Kristofferson’s gospel song of humility and grace; of feeling unworthy of God’s blessings. I remembered it from boyhood. I played it for her. Try me, Lord If you think there's a way I can try to repay All I've taken from you Maybe, Lord I can show someone else What I've been through myself On my way back to you She sang along in a rasping, labored voice. And then she went to sleep. Mother died today, or yesterday. But not really. It is said that a woman dies twice. Once when her heart stops. And once when her name is spoken for the last time. Considering the people she touched, the kindness she freely gave, the strength she offered, I am quite sure Mother will live 100 years more. At least.

Michigan Enjoyer

13,004 次观看 • 3 个月前