Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: October 2021

Goodbye, Excalibur

October 31, 2021 /

This week we lost and buried another family member. Excalibur, my daughter’s leopard gecko died peacefully, surrounded by family. I know it was ‘just a lizard’ but this little guy was with us for 13 years.  As Payton came and went with her busy life, mama was left to tend to him, feed him and enjoy him.  We were told years ago that he would not live long as he refused to eat anything but dead worms.  They are like a chocolate bar the vet told us.  He must eat crickets.  But he would not. And I was ok with that as the whole non-vegetarian diet creeped me out.  I could handle putting a small dead worm on his plate and watch him gobble it up.  Easy. He loved to sit on a cushion beside you; he did not run around or away.   He reminded us very much of the gecko you find on the TV ad. He carried that much personality in his 6-ounce body!

Our pets, regardless of its type, are family members.  They experience life with us, and they become part of our routine. We have memories of shared times with them. We love them. When Excalibur passed, I packed up all his belongings and cried for two days. I would wait to hear him at night and then remember he was gone.  I would go to turn on his light and he was gone. Gone, bringing grief to the forefront.

I have been sensitive all week.  I have been unfocused and not much got done. I am aware now, with the experience of loss, that I am grieving.  And I allowed myself to do so.  I cancelled meetings and took a drive to Canmore and sat in the park.  The grief of losing Excalibur just adds to my already broken heart.

As he was a pet who lived to an old age, I will not ponder on the events and experiences he will miss out on. I will remember how he made me smile and will not burst into a flood of tears over it. I do not feel cheated as I do with the deaths of other family members. That is the complexity of grief.  With every loss, you feel it, but the intensity can be different. Grief can come in soft, more melancholy at times. I guess it depends on the circumstances.

We hosted a small memorial for Excalibur.  Just our family, with Zane watching over.   Payton somehow found a bit of peace knowing that her gecko’s spirit was now free to roam the realms with her big brother. I came home to feel his absence. And ponder how could I honor this sweet little creature that brought so much love to our family over the years.  Rest in Peace, sweet little gecko.  And know that you brought such joy to each of us.  A life well lived; you will always be in our hearts.

Preplans of our Souls

October 24, 2021 /

It is said that we arrive on earth having already chosen our family and our path as part of what we need to learn and to teach with our days here on earth.  When that is achieved, we leave.  Earth is a school of the spiritual realm.  And a very difficult one at best.

Understanding soul plans brings some peace to me.  We fret over the questions of why and what if, that allude to “how could I have controlled this from happening?”  Soul plans remind us we have no control over such.  Our power of control has only the capacity to strive towards our desires, our goals, choosing our actions and our reactions to what we meet on our path.  The big picture we had already planned.

The people who we meet, our families, our friends, even our associates, play a part in shaping us. If we are open to when these people arrive and how we feel around them we begin to understand ourselves better.  We begin to see patterns of behavior that we can reinforce or remove. Our connections, on a soul level, are to bring us enlightenment. I think that is a pretty cool concept. Who doesn’t want to be a better version of themselves?  Who doesn’t want peace and purpose?  According to soul plans, the idea to embrace what life gives you and learn from it and share this with others is why we are here.

I have had mothers ask me, if this is true, why would I choose to be a grieving mother?  To which I reply, why would your child have chosen you?

If soul plans exist, I can’t imagine how that conversation would go. This tiny spirit had an agreement with you to come here as your child, knowing they would leave first.   Who would agree to such pain? And yet, here we are.  I wonder if the mother in our soul, the caregiver we are, agreed because of love. Perhaps we knew this child would need us in the most universal way and we agreed because of love. And perhaps, just as big, we needed them. This love transcended across the realms into this life as mother and son. Love was what brought us together, to experience a multitude of emotions, learning and supporting each other’s spirit to grow.

Pondering this, I wrote a letter to Zane.

“…If what I read is true; if we as spirits make a plan before we arrive on earth as humans, we knew each other before we were mother and son.  We each had our lesson to learn, and we chose each other to come together to experience this. Your life of adventure and discovery and pushing the limits, an example to the rest of us, a reminder to live life fully. What lessons you taught us.  Thank you. And what, my sweet son, were the lessons you learned…”

We will never know if a soul plan is a real thing.  For me, I try to put the why am I in this role on a shelf.  I am not sure it will ever make sense. But the idea that I had known Zane before brings hope I will play another role with him again.

Choosing Your Tribe

October 17, 2021 /

Recently, with the madness of today, I have found myself in a position where, because of my personal health choice, I am not welcome in many places. Including the home of some of my very best friends. We have spent a lifetime together.  We raised our children, buried family members, traveled, got hired, got fired, faced cancer and health scares of all sorts and always over a glass of wine. Until now.

Defending my choice or debating the issue is futile. Their beliefs and perspectives are different.  Although we have had differences before, on this issue, they have told me there is no room for compromise.  This leaves me to just feel what I feel. I have lost my tribe.

Friends or family who have shared decades with you suddenly don’t get you. They don’t understand what you are thinking and why. They are uncomfortable with your choices. Whatever their reason, we find ourselves having to spend less time or no time with such relationships. This complicates our grief because loss is loss.

As in life, with grief, we are taught to choose our tribe. We need to be surrounded by those who are accepting and who understand us. The people needed in your life; family, friends, colleagues are easily identified by who shows up that does not pass judgement or criticize the means to which you live and grieve. Finding a group of supportive people to surround you may change as you do. We must review who shows up for us that we feel energized by and not condemned by.

Our insight of this, opens the Universe and our time to bring new friends into our lives.  New, but more aligned with the path we are on. That doesn’t mean it has to be a fellow grief warrior; no, it is a person who understands and supports your emotions. All your emotions.

I have found new connections through on-line and face-to-face support groups. These people have become like family.  I have stronger connections with friends who I would see casually but now relish in their company as their aligned outlook brings me hope and inspiration. And there may come a crossroad in the future where my long-time friends will be and our differences, behind us, we can enjoy a glass of wine together again. I have faith.  

Thanks for Giving

October 10, 2021 /

“Well, first of the holidays, Thanksgiving, without your contribution of mashed potatoes and gravy.  Some of your friends dropped by including Kat who came with a bunch of bananas! I had told her I couldn’t buy them yet because they were what I bought for you, for your smoothies.  It was cool she thought of me.  I cried…  I am thankful this year for family and friends. And Zane, thankful to you for the countless times we shared.  You are my sunshine.”

The above was a letter I wrote to Zane on the first Thanksgiving after the crash. Three years later, we nestle, following the restrictions, in our tiny home to celebrate the first event of the upcoming holiday season.  Everything is in order.  Turkey, stuffing, treats.  The table set. The dog has his bone. Everything looks like a Norman Rockwell poster. The ‘empty chair’ is the elephant in the room.  Time does not help heal the holidays.

These are the occasions where you need to practice extra selfcare.  We tend to overdo, overeat, overdrink. All things that increase grief. We also notice families, social media happy posts, that remind us of what we are missing. Even if everything else is in place and you are surrounded by family and friends, your broken heart hurts more at these times.

I think it does one good to schedule a portion of the day to remove yourself from the activities.  For a short time, find yourself alone, in a park or a room or a walk around the block. Feel the big picture.  Look up to the skies. Listen to the wind, or the birds, or the water if nearby. Call out to your loved one.  Whisper you miss them and that you invite them to come to the dinner table. Have a cry. A good, soul cleansing cry if you can.

Then, at the dinner table, share some of their favorite things about the holiday. Share memories of holidays past. Laugh.  Laugh, knowing that your loved one is with you.  Their spirit shines.

I am thankful that I am healthy enough to work and to give back to my community.

I give thanks to my friends that give me time and understanding and love. I give thanks to my family who surround me and give me space when I need it.

I am thankful every day of the year, for Zane. For the signs he brings to me that he is near. I am grateful for the many memories I carry in my heart of my sweet boy and the times we shared on earth. I am grateful for the new ways that I am learning to ‘be with my son’ while we are realms apart.

This year, I give thanks for the things that give me hope.

The Armor We Wear

October 3, 2021 /

A year ago, my friend shared the news that her 32-year-old daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer.  This past month, she and her husband walked their baby girl down the aisle, cancer free, to be married to the love of her life.  A truly joyous time.

I watched the video.  Her fiancé looked much like Zane, similar style of dress, shoes, colors.  His groomsmen came up the aisle one at a time and kissed him on the lips, bringing laughter to the moment. I can imagine Zane’s friends would do something like that.  Friends who are more like brothers.

I watched the couple exchange their vows and the smiles on the faces of family and friends.  It was a happy ending to a scary time for them.  And a happy beginning, all rolled into one beautiful, sunny afternoon.

As grief warriors, these are times where you need to put on your full armor. Each celebratory scene bludgeons you with a pain, an anger of why this can’t happen for my child.  Why did they have a horrific scare that they could overcome.  Did overcome.  How is this fair for my son?  How is this scene not my life?   The armor helps cover the heart so that I can be happy for my friend. This is her moment.  And she deserves it. I am thrilled that their sleepless nights and worry is in submission.  Worry will always be a part of motherhood but today, she relishes in the joy of seeing her daughter be married.  And the fact life has made this an impossibility for us, for Zane, brings bittersweet to a breathtaking, internal scream. 

My friend, in her excitement to share has no idea. The invisible armor I wear holds my pain in so all she can see is my smile and all she can hear is “Congratulations, I am so happy for all of you.”  And I am.

The scare of the unknown that ravished my friend’s days for a year or so prior to this day also carried hope. There lived, during her daughter’s fight, opportunity to express love and time to share one more hug. In sudden death, this is all taken away from you.  One moment life is and the very next you are told it’s gone. There is a cosmic injustice to this. Why God creates miracles everyday and yet saving my child was not one of them.

That night, I find myself alone. I take my armor off and the tears flood.  I am so jealous that my fate is not as kind as my friends. And this is the life of those in the grief community.  We carry within us the strength to put aside our pain to be happy for our friends’ joys. It fills you with such mixed emotions that we must plan to be gentle with ourselves after sharing their joy. We must find ways that bring a little comfort to the hell of not having the same. The armor we wear, does nothing for this emptiness. The armor we wear is for those around us. It pretends, “I’m ok”.

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