Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: June 2022

When Our Loved Ones Are Actively Dying

June 26, 2022 /

My friend told me she was off to visit her mother. The nursing home called to say she was ‘actively dying’. “What a strange term that is”, my girlfriend said. Her comment got me thinking about all the wonderful possibilities around having this opportunity to be with a loved one, actively dying.

We all know that death is inevitable, although we ignore it, when it comes to the time where it is the unremovable elephant in the room, we are given a chance to say goodbye. This is a period where we can say what the person meant to us; how much we love them.  It is a moment to ask what they would want us to do after they depart. It is a time to reassure them we will remember them, and how. It is also an opportunity, if need be, to mend differences giving both parties peace at the end of the day.

I had the blessing of being able to hold such conversations with both my parents prior to their death. And yet, years later, a memory will come back, and I will think how I wish I could tell dad that or did mom know I felt that way. Even after our loved ones depart, you still want to hold conversations.  

Recently I was reminded that it is never too late to converse with our loved ones. True, there is no verbal feedback we can hear if the conversation happens after death. What is important is the action of speaking out loud or in a letter what we wish or need to say.  This is good mourning; it offers a prayer-to-the-heaven feeling that some how your loved one hears you and knows.  And that is comforting.

When your loved one dies of sudden death, the beautiful experience of sharing discussions before they leave does not happen which adds to grief. It creates a lot of the ‘what if’ questions and ‘if only’ and ‘did they know’ questions that haunt many of us.  Therefore, post-earth conversations are even more important.  

Choose a quiet spot where you are uninterrupted and take a few deep breaths to relax.  Ask your higher power for a moment to feel the spirit of your loved one and then open your heart. Whether you choose to write a letter or just talk, envision your loved one next to you. Picture how they looked, the softness of their skin, the smell of their cologne. Start with an affirmation. (Mine is always, thank you for being here). Begin chatting, as if they were present, next to you, listening to you. Be slow in this process and hold no expectations. End by telling them you love them. I enjoy this practice.  Tears are usually a part of it, but I have also experienced laughter through these conversations I have with the ghosts of my loved ones!

Another good practice is to tell those who are not actively dying how much you love them.  One never knows the plan life has for each of us.  My friend says she is grateful for the time she has, knowing her mother will be departing soon. It is a gift my friend will be able to keep in her heart, forever. And may she find comfort in the idea that her last conversation with her mother here, is not necessarily her last conversation.

Father’s Day Race

June 19, 2022 /

Friends, we met through grief, have a son who loved to race cars. He was good, travelling across the country honing his sport. It was a passion the entire family shared, bringing home photos and trophies. It was a hobby that bonded father and son. So, when our friend announced he wanted to race his son’s car, we were not surprised. We joked about being a part of his pit crew.

In grief, honoring our loved ones sometimes means finishing something they started or taking on what they loved. For our friend, it wasn’t that he wanted to win. It was this need from deep within his soul to get out on that racetrack and run a race to honor his son. It was to comfort his heart, placing him in a time of years past that he spent as his son’s pit crew, driving, and supporting and cheering him on. This is a father who lost his son too soon. This is a father, lost in his grief, wanting to connect with his boy.

He appropriately chose Father’s Day weekend to debut; a time that celebrates the love between a father and his children. When we experienced a few glitches and the practice run got missed, we became doubtful that his wish would come true.  But he was relentless, this was going to happen. And when I saw this in him, I understood. The drive we have, when we want to do something for our child, does not end at death. In fact, it becomes intensified.

 He needed to be ready because any other weekend would not be Father’s Day weekend. This was an important detail. We called for a couple of racing friends to come over and a small team helped get his car ready to enter the qualification run. The car passed. There were two heats of 10 laps each and a final race of 25 laps. We were ready. Father was going to race for his son.

There is an energy, physical, financial, and of course emotional when honoring our loved ones. It is hard work. It can bring doubt and fear that it can’t be accomplished. It is always a blatant reminder that they are not here. But it also brings a sense of comfort, sharing what they loved, what we had with them and what we still have that death cannot take away. It is worth the agony of grief to experience the moment of spiritual connection. And that is what my friends got.

It was an incredible experience. The other driver’s understanding the purpose of his race, zoomed past him up high while he stayed low and raced his laps. I stood beside his wife staring at the track, thinking of how many times she would have stood here watching her son beside her husband. With that thought, I put my arm around her and looked up to the sky. There, high above perfectly positioned over the racetrack, was a cloud.  It was the undeniable shape of a heart. I squeezed my friend and said, “look up!” We both took a picture. He was here; their son was with us.

The race was overwhelming for my friends. It was a race that father and son did together. On Father’s Day weekend. The emotions of being in a race their son loved to do, dad driving son’s race car brought us all to tears. One cannot explain the powerful feeling of being a part of love expressed through grief unless you stand next to it. The invitation to be a part of our friend’s pit crew was a gift I did not see until I was standing next to them, encompassed in their energy of good mourning.

Finding A Room for Grief

June 12, 2022 /

It has been a year, since we moved from the home that I raised my children in. I have friends asking me, how is it? Do you like it? Are you getting used to the small size? This morning as I sipped my tea I looked about and reflected. How do I feel? How has it been moving from 3,000 square feet to 900?

My husband and I have opposite tastes in decorating, entertaining and lifestyle. When you own a small apartment condo these differences are more obvious than in a larger home.  There is less room for anything, including compromise. My vision of a small, antique parlor vibe quickly went out the door to become more of an urban eclectic with a mancave twist.

My home office shrunk from a whole room to an alcove that has spotty reception, so I sit in my car to hold telephone meetings.  Working from home with a husband who has retired has its’ challenges. Either he must hide in his room while I host a zoom meeting, or I must find a coffee shop to work at when he entertains his friends. I am grateful of the attempt he makes to keep quiet and find things to do during working hours, as much as a guy can keep quiet…and he has become very proficient at grocery shopping and running errands for me. It works, it just was a big change for me. And for him.

The dog, whose backyard is now a busy street that he must run to whenever nature calls, he has even adjusted. He loves the cement patio that he lays on and watches the neighbors passing and the deer grazing on the garden bushes. The smell of the flowers from the Mayday trees fills this community.  It truly is a beautiful complex to live in.

What isn’t working is any healing of my grief. My grief is too big for this small place. I struggle with the missing pieces, literally, the things that are not able to be with us, like my aunt’s dresser and my round puzzle table. I miss the ability to go to a different level of the house when I need to cry or scream.  Or just be alone. There is no solitude in 900 square feet.  I enjoy my new space.  My grief doesn’t. It wants its own room.

I take my grief with me, outside of this little place. I take it to the park and walk with it. I take it for a car ride and let it overwhelm me in an empty parking lot.  I take it to the mountains when I can. Which isn’t often enough. I am finding new ways to cater to it over the last year while I unpack and purge, trying to carve space in my tiny home to accommodate my very large grief.

Grief is like an over packed room, chaotic and unsettled. If we treat our grief like a move, finding places for it and clearing the way to put comfort, love and hope on our shelves, our grief might just settle in amongst these things. Grief never goes away.  It requires its own space. I must find room for it and perhaps then, it will become a less noisy roommate.

young plant growing in garden with sunlight

Season for Planting Plentiful

June 5, 2022 /

June. The beckoning of summer. My favorite season up to 2018 because it was also Zane’s favorite season.  It doesn’t seem right enjoying one of his favorites when he is not physically here to do the same. Alas, it will arrive, as it has each year and bring with it missed celebrations with my boy.  I have grown to hate summer.

Summer is all about life in full bloom, alive and colorful.  It depicts everything I am not. It brings with it Stampede, D-Day and birthday. It brings with it the memories of Zane reading in the back yard or sipping his coffee in the mid-morning sun. It brings with it the memories of BBQ’s and tasting his newest recipe, or meeting to enjoy a cold drink at a local patio bar together. It brings the sounds of his laughter coming through my window as he arrives home from work or a night out with friends.  Summer was his season. It belonged to him; he is the essence of summer.

I feel as if I get pulled kicking and screaming through summer. My life is now full of award-winning performances as I pretend, I am ok with any of this. But the toll of summer, it has an effect on my physical and spiritual being that cripples me.  I need to change. I need to do something different. I go back to my learnings, what we are taught to do to face the day with hope and strength. How can I take these lessons and implement them into each day, all summer long, that might support my grief?

We are taught that grief is softened when we are honoring our loved one. We are taught to spend time quietly with our memories.  We are taught to place things in our lives that are what our loved ones were about, what they liked. And I know this. My better days are when I bring Zane into them.  True, they are bittersweet, but I will take bittersweet over just plain bitter any day!

So, how do we do this?  Well, this is the season of planting. Let’s plant things. Let’s plant a tree or a flowerpot or a garden of all their favorite things. Let’s plant a new tradition that brings family and friends together to celebrate them. Let’s plant ourselves in a spot with pictures and memorabilia of them and create a memory album. Let’s plant an idea in our own circles of how to gather and remember our loved ones as a community. And let’s make a point of finding and planting ourselves in places that bring us serenity. Whether that is a park or a coffee shop or a friend’s living room.  Let’s remember how plentiful life can be. Let’s plant the seeds of good mourning. Let’s create a season of plentiful in honor of our loved ones.

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