Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: December 2021

There is No Boxing Up Grief

December 26, 2021 /

It is boxing day. I had thought I wanted to shake up this holiday and it happened. Christmas ended with my daughter going to see her fiancé’s family after giving us a gift to go enjoy the night in Canmore. We took the dog. I drove.  It was -28. We found Famous Chinese Food open and shared a dinner for one in our room. We had wine and magazines and appies (previously packed in Calgary to accompany our adventure). All in all, a nice night.  Different. The mountains are always a soothing sight and the fact that Payton wished this for me was a gift.

I received some wonderful gifts this season. Among them was a gift from Alyssa.  This thoughtful young woman dated Zane and remained friends with our family after Zane was killed.  She is the one that filled our home and albums of incredible photos she and Zane had taken on their adventures. Last year, she gave me a framed print of Zane and her sitting on Santa’s knee. This year, she posted a ‘live picture’ of Zane. We could hear his voice and see him smile as he turned in the three seconds of time this photo carried. It was alive. We all enjoyed this gift.

In Canmore, I took my phone out after Jon and I had retired to bed and played this picture.  Over and over. Hearing his voice, seeing his gentle shy smile.  He was enjoying that day.  I began to think of how many days he enjoyed, his adventures with his camera, his friends, the girls that he loved. And my grief came crashing into the room to sit next to me.

I know I am a proponent of taking time out to feel your pain and reflect, meeting your grief face to face. However, on the very cold Christmas night, huddled in the silent room, the hustle of the season faded away, and left me sitting in the middle of a lot of memories of holidays past. My reality became very loud. My holidays are no longer filled with his incredible laugh and tight hugs and no matter what I do to ease the pain, the holidays seem to bring it bubbling to the surface. I know this. We all know this.  It is why the holidays are dreaded.

I remembered what we learned about grief bursts. I took a deep breath and closed my phone. I took another deep breath. I poured myself a tea and pet Tango. I curled up with a pillow and reached out to my grief friends online. “Thinking of you…” And then I talked to Zane. “Would love a visit; I know you are here but send me a sign. I am really missing you right now”.  I took out a magazine (another gift I received) and started reading it, letting my mind fill with health tips and new recipes to try. And I nodded off to sleep.

We know things don’t get easier; we just grow stronger with practice.  And the holidays offer us lots of practice! We shook things up, tried something new.  And it was lovely overall.  What I realized is, although I don’t want, I need distractions at the holidays.  I was reminded that grief travels with you. Santa can’t bring me the miracle I want. The ghosts of Christmas past will show up.  I am not surprised by these understandings, but I am a little saddened. And why I think next year I will choose noise and a movie. Distractions have their place. Christmas is one of them.

Healing Messages from Hallmark Movies

December 19, 2021 /

I am a sucker for Hallmark movies.  They are my brain candy.  Zane would laugh at me, as I would tape and then binge watch into the summer months!  He called me cute. I now believe that the messages of these gentle and comforting movies are sent from above.

Since Zane’s death, I have found that there is some sort of cosmic coincidence that I choose a certain movie from the collection of recordings on a particular day, that has a specific message I need to hear, on that day.  Such was the movie, “Debbie Macomber’s A Mrs. Miracle Christmas”.  A story of loss; a woman who lost a daughter, and recently her husband, her granddaughter, having lost her mother at six and most recently her foster child (although the foster child did not die, he went back to his biological mother) and even Mrs. Miracle, obviously the angel sent to ‘fix’ their broken hearts…she too had lost a child.  The irony of watching all their broken hearts, stuck in grief, and trying to move forward.  Who can’t relate to this?  I was crying before the first advertisement.

What I love about Hallmark movies is that there is always a peaceful ending.  There is always hope. This one did not disappoint. The obvious messages: have faith, lean on your friends for support, honor your loved ones (here and those who have passed) were loud and clear.  It is the subliminal messages that, if you watch closer, are the messages from heaven.  Or, for me, come from Zane.

This movie told us of an angel who knew firsthand the impact of losing a child and yet she continued, serving others, holding her faith, experiencing joy in her every day. And why? Because she knew life was eternal.  She knew her daughter existed, and that they would see each other again. There was the message for the granddaughter who is reminded that her role is of mother. Mother is a role that is shared with your own children and those children who ‘show up’ in your life for however short a time that might be.  You are always mother. And Grandma…yes, she heals and moves forward but the more important, quieter message is that she moves forward because she embraces her grief and finds ways to make friends with it.

Oh Hallmark, I don’t know what I would do without you.  Your movies have become a lifeline to tuning out the current reality for a bit and immersing myself in the hope and joy found in your characters.  Whose message, magically, sticks with me and gives me strength to go on.

Thank you, Zane, for picking out just the right messages that I need to hear.  Or be reminded of. This last movie was a doozy; I needed to be reminded I am always mother, that you are here if I just ‘see’ you. And that my grief will one day softly live in the ways in which I honor you.  There is hope I will feel joy again. And that is the Christmas gift from Hallmark.

The World Lights a Candle Today

December 12, 2021 /

Oh, how the heavens must look on world candle lighting day

The billions of tiny flames, lit by those grieving

Small lights flickering towards the sky, waving to you,

As a symbol that we remember, our love is eternal.

Do you see it?

Do you gather there, like we do here,

As we look up, are you looking down?

As we stand by the little light of love,

Do you see the tears, the pain, the emptiness we feel?

Does the candle bring that message with it,

Because that is part of it; you are missed.

Do you feel the warmth from the light of this candle,

Like the warmth of the love, we have for you

That grief cannot take away

Does its scent bring memories to you of our times together?

This candle, this small beacon, sending a message to you

In its flame, of hope that we will continue to share life

In some other, estranged but meaningful way

We will still have moments together,

There will be laughter, amongst the tears.

I believe you see the lighted candles,

The message is received, and you reply to us,

With your own candle, lit from where you are,

We see as the twinkling of the stars

Which send a message of assurance,

“Mama, we will always be connected”

The Arrival of Anticipated Grief

December 5, 2021 /

I’ve been watching my sweet little dog start to stumble as we walk, and I realize he is closer to the “rainbow bridge” than I want.  Or need him to be.  He has been the lifeline for me, for 15 years, especially after Zane was killed. I expect him to live to a ripe old and unrealistic age of 40. At the same time, my sister calls to share that her husband has cancer. The doctor has told them there is nothing they can do. In his professional opinion, he has another six to nine months.  This is the arrival of anticipated grief.

The magic of anticipated grief gives you a false sense of security. Shock, mixed with a bit of denial gives you the impression that you have more time. I mean the dog still runs like a puppy and my brother-in-law still goes to work. They look ok. For now. The beginning of anticipated grief is the sense that everything looks ok so must be ok.  We still have time.

The hope of anticipated grief brings an illusion that this is not happening at all. I mean they are still here.  Both dog and brother-in-law. And we have learned through painful, firsthand experience that the only true expert to dictate when you check out is God. It is this hope that anticipated grief dangles in front of you like the golden carrot.  The conversations become what if and what can we do and is this true. How can this be right?

The beauty of anticipated grief is that it gives you the luxury of planning. As my sister and her husband go about the daily routine activities of life, there is time to think about the afterlife.  What do we want for a funeral, what bridges might we mend before we go, are the wills in order?  This gift of time enables you to prepare for things that must be handled, that if you were dealing with a sudden death, they become priorities and not a lot of consideration to choices. My brother-in-law has a say in what he would like to have included now and after he leaves.

The agony of anticipated grief is that you know it is coming to stay. When I think of my little dog not here, I pick him up and cuddle him. As a sort of way of telling grief, “See, you cannot come, my dog is here, go away”. And yet, my heart knows that there will come a day, when it will be grief’s turn to say, “I’m sorry for your loss, I have come to live with you.  Again.”

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