Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: October 2022

Día de los Muertos & Matt Fraser

October 30, 2022 /

I enjoy Matt Fraser, a young and talented medium who has delivered messages from the other realm since he was a little boy. His latest book, “We Never Die” is a collection of questions and answers related to our loved ones living on another realm. An appropriate topic as we approach Día de los Muertos.

I discovered this Mexican holiday after Zane was killed and now relish in its’ annual sentiment and traditions.  Held November 1st – 2nd, it is supposed to be a time where the veil is thinnest, and our loved ones can cross over to celebrate with us. According to Matt, our loved ones are aware of the celebrations we host, and the festivities held in their honor.  And they attend!

Día de los Muertos, Day of the Dead, is a celebration, and begins with one creating a display of photographs and artifacts belonging to our loved ones. As the day gets closer, much-loved menu items and beverages are added. The night itself, we feast on their favorite dishes and share stories of what life was like with them here.  According to Matt, our loved ones are very similar in Heaven as they were on earth. Their personality shines through his readings and he assures us they maintain their sense of humor and wonder in their after life.

Día de los Muertos is about remembering our loved ones. Speaking their name. According to folklore, if we do not remember them, they can not cross over (just watch the Disney movie Coco). Our remembrance of our loved ones gives them strength. According to Matt, our loved ones are with us and are grateful that we remember them, pay tribute to them.  They are aware of what we do.  And they are appreciative.

Matt’s book is a comforting assurance that our loved ones are nearby. He answers odd questions like do they eat and sleep as well as more profound questions like will my soulmate be the one that I am with after death. His book is a great reference to how our loved ones are on their side and offers words of encouragement that we can communicate with them from this side.  Simply because, as Día de los Muertos suggests, and Matt confirms, we never die.

This year I have added the children of friends to my altar. It is a chosen way to honor their loss and the lives of their very spirited children who I believe will be rocking it up there with my son. And who I hope will come through to visit those here missing them. What a beautiful holiday to ease the heart.

A Toast to Kim

October 23, 2022 /

Kim and I sat together on his patio one sunny Ontario afternoon. He and my sister-in-law, Shalley, had just moved into their renovated bungalow overlooking Rice Lake. There was a flurry of people arriving; loud chatter and food being prepared for the masses.  It was a typical day for Shalley, her desire to celebrate each moment morphs a quiet family dinner into a community potluck every time! I enjoy this but it was a new concept for Kim, a quiet and gentle soul whose love for Shalley brought him many new adventures.

He looked over at the semi-organized chaos and said to me, “is it always like this?”  I patted his hand and said, “yes, always, but you’ll get used to it”.  His face was thoughtful. He took a sip of his beer.

Kim did get used to it.  In fact, he relished in it. The open-door policy to which a non-stop parade of family and friends would land to bask in their hospitality.  Kim, in his chair, engaging you in light conversation of an array of topics, a good and insightful listener, always with an “oh yea” affirmation accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Kim’s way of letting everyone else take center stage while he cheered and applauded you makes you feel special.  His quiet demeanour refreshes you.  Young and old love to be close to Kim-his soul inspires.

And like he lived; Kim passed one beautiful morning.  Quietly, peaceful, in his favorite chair with his dog by his side.  It was unexpected.  But then Kim was an unexpected bonus to our family.  We will miss his physical presence, the escorted country-side tours in his Model-T car, the afternoons hanging out in his man-cave.

Family and friends will gather to share stories and celebrate the person he was on earth. As the crowd grows bigger, the laughter and conversations will rise to the heavens where Kim will be watching.  Perhaps with a cold beer. I can hear him say, with a warm smile, “it’s always like this”.

Thank you, Kim, for motivating the rest of us to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, the wonders the day might bring, and to understand the peaceful joy of a sunset over the still lake. I look forward to visits with you from your new realm.

Finding Your New Normal

October 16, 2022 /

At a recent check-up, my nurse expressed I was healing slowly but assured me things would get back to normal in a month or two.  I left the hospital thinking how many times I have heard this. “When things are normal.” What does that even mean?

In grief, normal leaves our lives the day our loved one dies. Those around us wait, hope, and encourage us to get back to normal. They want, sometimes need us to be the way we were.  Change shakes up normal. That can be scary for everyone. It also puts an invisible guilt on those of us trying to get back to normal but not able to; we begin to think what’s wrong with me.

I started to remember about how futile my attempt to get back to normal has been. First with my grief and now my current physical health. Nothing will ever be normal again. Normal, for me, was killed four years ago and if I had any hope to believe I would get it back, that was removed with a bilateral mastectomy.  I am so far away from the normal I lived before all this, that the idea of ever having it back angers me because I know it is impossible.  It brings up the questions all over again of why and life plans and how do I get past this? Typical questions anyone of us ponders when faced with an unwelcomed twist.  

The truth is there is no normal after a major change. It exits loudly and with no compassion that you yearn for things to be the same. Life becomes so different from what normal was that any resemblance of before is lost.  This is a common feeling for those having no choice but to face the changes fate hands them that are life-altering.

So, let’s quit trying to be normal. We are not the same person that was aligned with that normal. We are different now. In our grief journey we are discovering new things about ourselves. We are finding new ways to cope. We understand the need for change.  Change from what was normal.  Changes that enable us to survive and hopefully, one day, thrive. Let’s take this empty hole, this day, this life and let’s look for what can be molded into a new, and yes different, but tolerable normal. 

What would that look like for you? What little things could you bring into your daily routine that eases your pain and can become a new normal. Grief trains us to take small steps. What small steps can you make towards a new normal? We can look at this as an opportunity to bring into our lives pieces of comfort that we didn’t before because of a hundred excuses. Throw away those now. We have a solid excuse to create a new normal.  Take what life has given to you, and design a new normal that honors you, honors your loved ones. Find a normal that fits the changes you did not ask for. Maybe with a little faith your new normal will have less stress, more peace, and a bit of joy.  

Thanksgiving 2022

October 9, 2022 /

I have a lot to be thankful for. We all do. So, I am taking today to not concentrate on the pain of my body or the losses that have crippled me. Instead, I am going to watch my family enjoy gathering for turkey and the traditions that accompany it.

I am going to relish in the understanding that my loved ones from heaven join us today. It is a beautiful sunny afternoon that beckons healing.

I wish for you, a day of peace and connection. I wish for that to continue throughout the year.

How lucky are we to have, if only one, another to love and care for us. I am blessed to have an entire tribe. It is what keeps me breathing. Thank you.

The Cloak of Grief is Anger

October 2, 2022 /

There is always supposed to be more time. I’ll see you soon. I’ll make that appointment. We will get to that tomorrow.  And then tomorrow never comes. Or it comes with a death sentence, and you are left having a list of things to be done before ‘times up’ and it leaves no room for what you wanted to do.

Our friend has brain cancer. And not a great prognosis even with his kick-ass 200% positivity. So, we, the recovery team as he calls us, are left to resolve a hundred things on his behalf and put into place care for now and for after. His two children, each with their own families and work commitments want to be with their dad and feel their grief. But the task list takes them away from that.  And replaces it with grief’s cloak. Anger.

Anger comes when your soul wants one thing, your heart needs one thing and life dictates another. I watch his children, worried about the unknown and scared for their father. They have stepped up.  Big time. Life doesn’t seem fair to them now.  And it isn’t. “We have so much to still share with Dad”. That won’t happen.  And they know this but between doctors and surgery and treatment and accommodations and paperwork, there is no time to feel this. Time. The elusive, non-refundable gift has been given to them, with an expiry date.

We sit with his children and the long list of what needs to be done.  We organize who can do what and pull in friends to support this. We talk with our friend about dying, about last wishes and we, together make a plan.  It brings a bit of relief to everyone. It gives us some control, some hope that we may be able to share a life, however short, that is filled with love and time together.

We now will go about implementing our strategy, with a plan b to create as we understand nothing goes according to the original ideals. We find comfort in the awareness that we are in this together and we have each other to lean on. All these things help. Yesterday, my friend told me his son said something profound. It was a short sentence that summed up our entire life.  It identified our anger. He said, “Dad, I’m just sad.”

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