Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: January 2022

Tattooing Grief

January 30, 2022 /

My daughter has over a dozen tattoos.  Each one I would complain, “how can you do that to your body, you know it stays there forever”.  To which she would retort, “my body is my life canvas, I am painting it”.  Working with youth, my theory was (and still is) that tattoos are a way of expressing emotional pain.

Each year, since Zane was killed, I find myself at the table of my beautiful tattoo artist. The first year, Zane’s words, telling me he loved me were imprinted into my forearm.  The second year was a feather on my ankle (a touch up of a teenage tattoo that I have regretted and wanted covered) and the third was an outline of the kids and I when they were younger. I have this year’s tattoo picked out.

A fellow grief warrior shared with me that she has a plan for not one, but two tattoos in honor of her son. She never had one before and didn’t really like them.  She was perplexed that she wanted any, let alone two. I shared my story and she asked why do we feel an urge to do this?

I believe it goes back to my original theory.  We live in emotional pain and a tattoo is a way of expressing to the world, “I carry loss”. The desire for a tattoo is common amongst those in mourning. I have come to believe that the choice of getting a tattoo is not the point, but rather the choice of what would you like inked for eternity on your body is.  

What message do you want it to say?  What do you want it to represent? Of course, it is about our loved one so it should contain something that they liked or were like or reminds you of a certain characteristic of them. I believe where it is placed is important, especially if you plan for more.  (And I have found never say never to that idea!) Certain body parts are more sensitive like your ankle or rib cage where the skin is thinner so a smaller tattoo in those places might be preferred. Angel wings, butterflies or other mystical, message-carrying guides are also common to incorporate in a memorial tattoo.

Color is important. Bright colors bring a different energy than a soft watercolor or the subtle tones of grey.  What was your child’s favorite color? What colors bring you a feeling of peace? Imagination and Pinterest are your friends as the ideas are infinite.

For me, there is no plan to stop this tradition, which I do each year before or on the day he was killed. I have told my family that it is something I feel I NEED to do and one year I might wake up and say enough.  Until then, this ritual brings a weird calm; an annual testament letting the world know, “I am in pain”.  And to Zane, it states, “I will never forget you.  You are always with me”.

The Zombie That Is Grief

January 23, 2022 /

I am not sure if it is that the holidays are done and so we come into the New Year exhausted or if it is the overwhelming feeling of another year without Zane, but grief has depleted me. I toss and turn at night with cramps and twitches to wake late and force myself out of bed feeling more like a zombie than a middle-aged woman.

When I share these feelings with my fellow grief warriors, they nod their head in agreement and understanding.  Getting through the holidays is hard work.  We are exhausted. And here we are.  New Year, new goals, new hopes all wrapped around our never-ending pain.  How do we refuel?

In grief, we are taught to be kind to ourselves. We are told that if all you did was get out of bed or just kept breathing, to consider it a win. That’s how tough mourning is. So, we hold on to that; it sets the bar low to feel some sort of hope that we can manage another year. We are told to take care of ourselves.  A tea, a healthy meal, a walk in a park, a phone call to a good friend and a great book to read are essentials. Choose one, choose a couple…keep a list next to you of what makes you feel good. 

And mind your day.  Make sure it includes self-care.  Make sure it isn’t too full, especially of things that drain you. Be aware that you are depleted and give yourself permission to be ok with that, holding on to the reality that this too can pass. Or at least subside for a bit.

January is winter and its cold weather, short days and holiday hangover is a tough month. It brings out the zombie in you. Know this and choose to treat yourself softly.  The spring will be here soon, promising to bring a new energy that will help move us forward along our path.  Take care. Of you.  

Exercising the Right To Die

January 16, 2022 /

Vera, the mother of a friend of mine, ended up in the hospital during the holidays and was told that her health was not good enough to return home.  At a young 94 years, she did not see or hear well, and her body was not going to get better, thus a nursing home would be more suitable.  Not wanting any part of that, she called in the family and MAID and selected the date and time she would ‘check out’.

If you knew Vera, this would not surprise you. An artist, in every definition of the word, she lived a full human experience as mother, friend, mentor and life-positive enthusiast.  She laughed, she loved a cold gin and she painted everything she touched with an array of happy colors. Her motto was “be true to yourself”. No, it would not be fitting to have her stripped of her independence and art studio to finish her days in a place that she described as depressing.  To each his own and for her, the end of the road would come when she could no longer live in her home. That day arrived and she enjoyed family and friends and even hospital food up to the last hour. She was ready. With her family around her, the doctor put her to sleep and off she went to meet up with her beloved husband, family and friends that had gone before her. Peaceful, beautiful and a bit surreal.

I went over to her home after to choose one of her paintings, a gift of her to keep with me. I hugged my friends and listened as they shared pictures of her of that morning and stories of how the experience was for them. And then they went back to cleaning and purging her home to get it ready for sale.  I watched. Curious how life doesn’t ever stop for long. For them, it stopped long enough to hold her and wish her goodbye. They are grateful she went out on her own terms.  They are grateful that they were able to say all that needed to be said. They are grateful there was no suffering.  Truly, as far as death goes, it was a 5-star event.

So, what does the future look like for them? We know there will be grief; it is the other side of love, and she was loved. Does the ability to have a loved one die like that change grief?  Does it make it easier? What will their ‘what if’ questions be like, if any? I have never known anyone who has experienced this type of death. I see my friends are sad.  I see they are overwhelmed with the tasks at hand to get her estate in order. I see their strength as they gather to get the job done for and in honor of their mother.

I watch. This is the housekeeping of death; preparing for funeral, issuing the will, the robotic actions that we all must do when a loved one leaves.  No matter how they leave. These tasks keep grief at bay until they are finished. Oh yes, I remember how this part was for me, like darkened glimpses of a bad movie.

I have put a bottle of wine aside for when grief settles in, I will be there to sit with their pain. And for Vera, my heart is happy for her. I know when I see a beautiful sunset or a field of daisies, the splashing’s of color, natures canvas, painted by the beautiful Angel Vera.  

Packing My Invisible Suitcases

January 9, 2022 /

Since my brother-in-law’s grim diagnosis that the cancer has spread, he has gone back to work. And not just a nine to five shift.  No, he has submerged himself, literally locked himself in his office to continue working against his doctor’s advice to quit his job and enjoy the last few months given to him. Classic denial.

In grief, denial is a stage we all experience. My brother-in-law could be spending this time writing letters to his wife to receive after he is gone. He could be mending fences with his son. He could be resting in hopes that taking care of his health might grant him extra time. Denial has replaced all these opportunities with the need to work rather than face his sentence. I get it. If he doesn’t think about it, it won’t happen.  If he works hard, time will fly, money will come in, needed money to leave his family. It is almost heroic. It is also small picture. This is the sadness of denial.

I have often said that denial is the stage I could live in. It is a stage that protects my heart from the truth. It is a stage that allows me to ignore my hurt and bask in the concept (the hope) that this is not my reality. The reality that there is nothing you can do to change it. Denial shouts inside of you, “THIS IS NOT HAPPENING” as if this scream could change things.  It is loud and upset with God. It keeps me from looking at the big, ugly picture. This is the anger of denial.

And so, when I watch my brother-in-law, I understand. He is living in the stage I go to when the pain is too much.  I am patient with him. This is something he needs to wallow in; the denial of the truth that he will not grow old with his beloved wife. I get it. I just hope that he wants to examine his reality, if even for a couple moments, to ensure that when the time does come, he is leaving this realm personally satisfied in how he spent his last months. 

I selfishly want him to leave this denial stage for just a bit.  There are so many things I want to talk to him about before he goes. There are questions and shared memories and more laughs I want from him before he goes. Knowing he does not have long, I have invisible suitcases that I want to pack full of memories, conversations, understandings that will sustain me after he is gone.

We are told time is not on our side. Who really knows. Past the denial, he is ultimately aware of this. I must remember, this is his life, his time.  I must respect how he wishes to spend it. So, I pack my invisible suitcases with all the love and fondness and the gratitude I have for him; folded next to all the things I want to say to him. When he is ready, I will open it up and share.  And in the sharing, I hope for more memories with him to add to my suitcases. Alas, if time does not give me this, then I will open my suitcases in ceremony to share with the heavens. And that will have to suffice.

Putting on Yellow Rainboots

January 2, 2022 /

Here we are. 2022. A New Year. And yet nothing has changed.  You are still there.  I am still here. What will this year bring? More struggle, more sorrow?

What would you want for me?  I know not that. And yet, here I am. Perhaps this year I will try something different.  Something new. Perhaps this year I will put on yellow rainboots and splash in the puddles of my tears.

Perhaps I will hike, in yellow rainboots to new paths that I know we wanted to travel together. And I will carry my notebook, I will carry your camera.  And I will write about these adventures. 

I will take this year to notice the signs from you, from heaven, even more so. Your guidance will move me, in yellow rainboots, towards the sites we wish to go.

The rain can splash onto my yellow rainboots, each tiny drop bringing me a memory of you. A reminder that you are always beside me. That we walked this life together and that we still do.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be a better year with a pair of yellow rainboots. A sunny, yellow, symbol of hope. A comfortable, warm, protective apparel to move me forward.

Yes, perhaps this year I will find the strength to carry on with the help of a pair of yellow rainboots.

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