Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: June 2021

Grief and Gratitude

June 27, 2021 /

I kept a gratitude journal for over a decade.  I taught my children to do the same.  In some small way, recording five to ten things of what you were grateful for that day seems to put things into a better perspective.   When you are grieving, gratitude is difficult.

As we unpack in our tiny condo, I came across a journal of Zane’s.  The first entry, he had written, “today, one day becomes day one” and each day he had written 10 things he was grateful for.  His family, his friends were at the top of the list on many days. Some days he was grateful for a social day on a summer patio and other days his gratitude included having a home and a thick woolen blanket to snuggle in.  What I enjoyed about this journal was that he counted his blessings and his life was full of big and small experiences that brought him comfort and joy.

He had a months’ worth of writings in this journal. I pondered ripping the pages out and giving the journal away. I am trying to create more space in this small home; every item needs a place and a purpose to stay. I would keep his writings, which would take up less space than the whole journal would. And then I remembered what I am learning; if you want to see signs, you have to be open to them.

I have not been very grateful lately.  I am consumed with move, work and complicated grief.  Actually, I have become quite good at complaining.  Zane was always telling me, “you have to do with joy” and that, quite frankly, has been lost in the last years.

So I took finding this journal, specific to recording gratitude, as a sign. Here is my boy reminding me that I have a whole pile of things to be grateful for…and I better start writing them down daily to refresh my attitude.  I am picking up where his last page ended. And each day, I will list what I am grateful for.

Zane, you will always be top of my list.  Thank you.

Did you get my change of address?

June 20, 2021 /

The night before possession of our house, we gathered to say good bye. It was quiet and somber.  We walked through each room, sharing stories of favorite memories.  Tango went off into the yard, Jon and Payton went upstairs and I was left in the basement alone for a moment.

I sat on the floor of Zane’s empty bedroom.  I closed my eyes and I asked him to join me. I thought of all the conversations we had in this room; of all the plans he made to change up this room at his next birthday.  I thought of all the parties he had with friends and the many sleepless nights at his desk studying for the next exam. This was his suite we called it.  It was his place. It is the room I will miss most of all the rooms in this house.

We gathered outside, next to the tree that Zane had planted in grade 3, each of us with a shot of Jameson’s to toast our home, the memories made here and to Zane. And with that we closed the doors and went back to our new abode.

When I first found this condo, through a dream with Zane, it was to be my healing place. I am not sure what that meant; I just knew that coming here would be of value to my mourning.  Every night I would pull up the real estate listing and fantasize about living there.  I would be with the dog.  My husband was not usually a part of it; grief is a solitary journey.    I had this little place decorated in my mind.  I had each of my beloved possessions placed perfectly in its tiny spaces. It brought me comfort to play this game after a long tiring day.

Alas, here I am. Reality is that I share this space with Jon.  Reality is that many, many compromises were made and saying goodbye to several beloved pieces was not a choice. I am so grateful to my sister and daughter for ‘adopting’ the things that I could not bear depart with but had no room for here.

I listen to friends and family and I hear that they are hopeful I will heal here.  This has forced me to move Zane’s things, albeit they are still with me or in storage. The move puts me in a new place that has no reminders of all the memories I cherished at the old home. And yet those did come here with me; memories do not have a fixed address. They move easy.

I found solace in being in the place my son grew up in and knew. Grief does not live in a house; it lives in your heart.  And although I am comfortable and enjoying the reduced work that a small space brings, my grief is as big as it has always been. In fact, there is a new emotion attached to my grief; the fear that I will not have the same feelings of connection with my son that I had there. 

So I ask for signs to let me know he has my change of address.  Sitting on my new patio, in the quiet sunny afternoon, a bunny comes through the complex and hops right up to our place. It sat still, looking up at me and not moving. Even the dog noticed but stayed quiet. I whispered, “Thank you Zane, and keep the signs coming.”

Living with the Dot

June 13, 2021 /

When we ignore our grief, when we distract ourselves or refuse to acknowledge it, the invisible pain of these actions create havoc worse than facing it in the first place.  At least that’s what the experts tell us.

My therapist drew a dot, in the middle of a piece of paper.  She said this is your grief, the first moment your grief arrived.  As she said this she kept pen on paper continuing to press in the shape of the dot until it bore a hole through the paper.  I liked her analogy.  Yes, my grief has ripped a hole in my being.

Then she drew a small circle from this centre, explaining this is time, the days that go on.  She said; “when something happens, a memory or just breathing, you are drawn back to the centre”.  She drew the line back to the dot. She continued drawing circles around the dot, each circle of time extending a little further away from the dot but with lines going back to the dot.  This illustrated that triggers never quit but, with time, it takes longer for the line from that outward circle to reach back to the dot. I think it was to be a map of realistic hope. If I believed this, then yes, I would always have grief, I would always have triggers bringing me right back to that centre of pain but with time it would lessen.

I have had moms who have lost a child decades ago tell me ‘the pain never goes away but it does get softer’.  When you are new in your grief this sounds impossible.  Even now, 2 ½ years later, there is no sign of fewer triggers or the intensity of them. Grief teaches you patience.

This is where ‘embrace the pain’ comes in. If we don’t face this centre dot, this boiling point of grief, if we don’t mourn, we become stuck in ‘the dot’.  If we are stuck, then we are unable to experience the lighter moments that occur in the lines circling our grief. And that is where we need to be to live our lives and fill our purpose; with grief as a part of which we are now but new things brought in to give us moments that are (hopefully) less painful.

How this looks and how fast this happens is an individual thing. The point is to strive towards this. Good mourning is learning to live with ‘the dot’.

When Graduation is Taken Away

June 6, 2021 /

Last year, and again this year, high school graduation is different.  Mothers rant about how their child is ‘ripped off’ of a graduation that was to be a gathering of classmates and friends to celebrate.  This grates on the nerves of some fellow grief warriors; the retort is at least their child is here to graduate. Death robbed us of this. 

Zane took University in stride.  He wanted to ensure he had a life balance so planned his courses accordingly stretching a 4 year degree into 7. He purposely chose to have all his favorite electives completed in the last year to finish with a slow and enjoyable end.  He was to graduate in June of 2019. He was killed in August of 2018.

It was the first action I took in honor of my son. He was just a few electives short of getting his degree.  A letter came from the President of the University that included his condolences and recognizing that our son was on the Dean’s list for his efforts.  He mentioned a posthumous degree and included the name of the staff member that could give me more information.  I called her right away. 

It was no easy feat; in fact it took months of trips to Court and the University to make this happen.  I was relentless and would not give up which included a meltdown in the Court bathroom (after application rejection number two) and the support of Nicole, the University staff member who pulled me back on to the ledge several times with extended deadlines and reassuring phone calls.  She was one of my Angels.

In the end, I gave the honor of crossing the stage to my husband.  It was a Father’s Day gift. Our family sat front row, watching Jon step onto the stage and shake hands, and accept Zane’s degree. We took pictures there of us and of Ryan, his friend and study-buddy; they were supposed to graduate together.  And in a sense they did. Then we came home to share a quiet, reflective drink in my boys’ honor.

So, I get the frustration of any graduate who is entitled but can’t be in a collective group and shout to the heavens “we did it”.  Graduation is a rite of passage that was earned from years of stress, late nights and hard work. How we envision it should be and how sometimes it actually is can be sad.  It can be downright heart-wrenching.  This is the only time that this graduation will happen and the graduates are robbed of it due to something out of their control. It is a loss.

This understanding brings a bit of compassion for the mothers who share on social media the angst of their child not being able to celebrate in a fashion they had expected. They are reacting to loss. And as one mother who has experienced the biggest loss of all, oh, how I get it.

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