Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: November 2022

Mindfulness and the Empty Chair

November 27, 2022 /

We recently celebrated American Thanksgiving.  I always enjoy it more as it has a tone of a quieter enjoyable holiday, compared to the Canadian Thanksgiving and the upcoming holiday season that brings with it all the commercial hoopla. American Thanksgiving contained no fuss. We shared KFC and M&M’s buffet with our daughter and friends. We toasted to things we can be grateful for and shared wishes for things to come. All in all, I did not feel the typical intensity of grief that accompanies traditional celebrations. 

That does not mean our pain is any less.  In fact, currently both emotional and physical pain are at an extreme. And there is always the empty chair; the place that Zane should be at. Yet, that night, there seemed to be a sense of calm as if grief had chosen to sit in the corner and leave us alone for a bit.  Even the empty chair didn’t seem as empty. I pondered why.

I am not sure how to explain it, but it was like we paused life that night. We had no expectations.  There was no pressure about making this holiday dinner all things we think it needs to be. We were in the moment, together. We were a group that shares sorrow and joy. We talked about our boys, not in past tense but in how they fill our life, still. The attitude was like the boys were there, sitting in their chairs, joining in the conversation. This brought an air of peace.

I wonder how we can repeat this with the upcoming holidays. We know that the holidays make grief bigger. We know the empty chair at the table shouts this is not right. Grief warriors hate the holidays.  And for good reason.  Yet, the holidays are always going to come around and I don’t want to be the emotional mess every time.  I don’t want my daughter to be the emotional mess every time.  Can this not be fixed. Can we do something to fill the empty chair.

Mindfulness is about being in the now. Not reliving the past, nor fretting about the future.  When we practice mindfulness, our anxiety is reduced. Our breathing becomes deeper. Our focus centers around what is happening right there; what you have created is experienced. Our Thanksgiving dinner was a combination of no pressure, good food and drink and all of us being there in spirit. We did not talk about the upcoming what ifs. We did not reminisce about the level of how much we miss our boys. We sat, in the present moment. We were subconsciously mindful.

Grief is a part of our lives. Perhaps we can practice mindfulness during the holidays to help ease the pain that these times bring. We will always miss our loved ones. We will never forget what has happened, our reality. But if we can try to create moments that are filled with what brings us peace and then sit still in those moments, perhaps this practice can bring us closer to truly feeling our loved ones in the chair beside us. And if that can be the feeling, then the chair is not as empty.  

The Necklace

November 20, 2022 /

I have been purging the many bins we put in storage when we moved.  These were items we did not use but one day might. They are items once loved, but not anymore or gifts we received and keep although we don’t need or want any longer. It is easier to store than to purge. Then there are the bins that contain the kids’ baby stuff. It’s these bins that get me. Especially Zane’s.

I was the mother who scrapbooked their entire life. One book for the school years for each child, another of life in general. I had a photo album for each of random pictures they might enjoy.  The intent was to give it to them to share with their mates and their children.

I giggle when I go through Payton’s.  I put aside mementos to share with her. I pack up precious dresses that she once wore, for her (future) baby.  It is melancholy but a sweet melancholy.  She is here to share these memories with me and to hold the physical reminders in her hands.

With Zane’s, each quote, I read of the things he used to say to me, I begin to cry. In a calendar of his 4th year, I had recorded on Mother’s Day that Zane hugged me.  He said, “this is your first gift Mimi, do you like it?” And then the following month, I said to him I was wondering what to get his father for Father’s Day.  And he answered, “what about a hug? You liked yours”.  Each of these quotes, each picture, I am flooded with what was happening at that time. All the joy and wonder of his wee life. His favorite camp shirt, his teddy bears, his beloved mickey mouse jacket.

He would not take that jacket off; it was his favorite.  The soft brushed cotton now feels like silk with all the years of wear.  It is still in great shape.  I hold it up.  Was he really this small once?  And as I bring it in to hug it, I can feel him and from deep inside me escapes a wail of pain and the flood gates open wide.

As I am bent over the bin in tears, something shiny catches the corner of my eye.  It is a silver box.  I put the jacket down, wipe my face with the back of my hand and reach in to pick it up. I open it and find a necklace.  It is a silver heart with turquoise insert. I recognize it. The memory of Zane comes alive, and I am sitting next to him.  He is showing me this necklace.  He is in his early teens.  I asked who’s it for.  He says, “I’m not sure.  I thought it was for my girlfriend but that’s not it.” I said it was pretty and anyone would enjoy it.  He smiled.

I never knew what happened to that necklace. He never said.  And I don’t know how it ended up in a bin of his baby things. Did Zane know that there would come a day that I would be missing him as I went through his baby things, to find this piece which would bring me comfort in that moment?  I am sure he did not. But he did know then that he was meant to buy that necklace and he did. He knew not who it was for but that it was for someone, and he was comfortable buying it knowing only that. He believed the answer would reveal itself in due time. That was all he knew. And it was good enough. 

Sitting alone, holding this piece of jewelry, I smiled.  Maybe it was for me.  We just didn’t know it at that time. Maybe the Universe gave Zane an intuitive push to buy and hide the necklace in his baby things. Maybe Zane did, thinking someday, the two of us would find it when we were going through his things together. The Universe knew better. I put it on and smiled.  “Thanks Zaney, for showing your love in so many magical ways.”

Letting Love Ease Grief

November 13, 2022 /

I’m not sure who dictates how much goes onto one person’s plate, but I wish they’d recalculate. This year has been brutal on our family.  The loss of Dan, my cancer, the loss of Kim, the life and death health struggles of close friends, and now two more friends want to check out.

We heard of their desire back in the spring. Both suffer major health ailments and life is no longer the quality they hope for. After much conversation, we convinced them to investigate moving back to Calgary into an assisted living community and enjoy our health care support as well as the love of their family and friends here.  They liked that idea. I was relieved. We found a place and made plans to fly them out to see it. These are lifetime friends who, when we are together, none of us remember that our health is crappy, and we are in pain.  There is laughter and shared memories and time flies in their company.  Their friendship is therapeutic. This was a good solution for however many days or years they have left here. Then we got a call from their son. Assisted death is back on the table.  Why?

A cat scan showed two more tumors in our friend. He is done. He is too tired to struggle for the slim chance that he may last a couple more years. His life has been a good one and he wishes to go out on his own. She feels the same way about her health, although hers is better.  I think it is that she does not want to be here without him.  They are two peas in a pod and have never been separated.

There is a part of me that gets this and then there is the selfish side of me that screams, NO. I don’t want anymore loss in my life. Especially when it is chosen. I don’t want to have to be at another funeral and taking care of estates and personal wills (we are the executors) and selling their home. I am sick. I don’t have enough energy to get out of bed lately.  I can’t do this. Grief steps in and blinds me. It zaps the energy and the understanding that I have friends who are suffering and want to end it.

Grief is a personal journey, and can be at times, a selfish journey. When it is loud, it consumes us to think only of ourselves; that life is unfair, we are hard done by and why me.  It is at this time, that we must stop and let love come in. Love takes grief into its arms and holds it.  It whispers, “everything will be ok.  We got this.” It opens our eyes to a larger understanding and stirs up empathy within our hearts to listen and not judge. Love can calm grief.

So, I sit in my chair, and I listen to love. I think of the many wonderful memories I will always have. I feel gratitude that I have these friends and I ask for strength to be with them when they carry out their wishes. I feel my grief lessen and the energy I will need peeks over the distant horizon of my own anguish. I tell grief that I am aware it does not leave and thank it for momentarily letting love ease its sharp edges.

The Highest of Bittersweet

November 6, 2022 /

We have been planning my daughter’s engagement for months. Every detail from décor to menu centered around her and her fiancé’s love of horror films, the reason the engagement party was held on Halloween night.  It will be her wedding day, next year.  Halloween is also the favorite holiday of her brother’s.

I had no idea as we planned, excited about each part, how this event would affect me. I thought I was good. It was about them. It was not about Zane. And yet, at the end of the night, I am in hysterics on the drive home, grief exploding inside me as I cried out how much I miss Zane. I gasped through my sobs, “this is the highest of bittersweet”. I was not prepared for this reaction in the least.

My husband, who gets and has been witness to my grief bursts firsthand, joked it being about the alcohol. (He knows the truth of grief; he lives it with me). And my retort was, there is always alcohol in our house, and I have not had this feeling other times when the same or more was consumed. Albeit I am sure it does not help; I cannot blame the entire episode on the fact I had ‘too much’. Sometimes a grief burst will happen in the morning, getting groceries with a coffee in hand. We don’t blame the coffee. Sometimes it happens in a park during a dog walk, we don’t blame the dog. No, I do believe that the triggers of grief are more soulful than what you are consuming or doing. Grief is sneaky. It waits in the corners of your life to come out, sometimes when you know it will, and sometimes it surprises you.

How do we prepare for these dreadful surprises? We are told when we are attending events that we know might trigger our grief, to have a plan b. Make sure you have an exit plan. Stay for a shorter time or don’t go at all. (My husband would add, don’t drink wine with jello shots!) But what do you do for those other events that these ideas can’t be used. How do I not attend the wedding of my daughter? How do I not attend the baby shower of a friend’s grandchild? I am still here.  These are the sweet moments of life I used to relish. They will still happen, and I want to be a part of them. They are also the moments that my grief uses against me. Reminding me that Zane will never have an engagement party to plan. He will never dress up for Halloween again. And I will never have a mother son dance at his wedding. These are the sharp bitter moments that the sweet moments remind me of. The irony is suffocating. All the work to learn to live with our grief and feel joy again is deflated in each sweet moment because grief reminds us that how we live is also bitter. Painfully bitter.

Maybe time will help.  I’m not sure about that. After all, it has been four years, but Halloween night, I ached, and I cried to the heaven’s as if it was the first night. Maybe, what will help, is just being aware of this reality. Maybe just knowing that yes, I will have sweet moments that I will not want to miss but with sweet moments there is a bitter side. Maybe acknowledging that, truly, deeply accepting this is how life now is. Maybe that will prepare me for the ascend to the highest of bittersweet moments. And perhaps, if I remind myself that Zane is still here, standing next to us during these moments, I can begin to enjoy them more and ache less.  With time and practice, maybe I can lessen the height of bittersweet.

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