Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: January 2023

I Wish for You…

January 29, 2023 /

A creative friend has started a class on grief journalling. When she said she wanted to start this in honor of her daughter and to help others channel their grief, I was totally on board. Sign me up!  I had no idea what to expect and, now halfway through the course, I must say that it has been therapeutic. It is a small group of women, some who have lost a child, others a husband, a parent, or a special relative.  A mosaic of pain and understanding. A safe circle where we are encouraged to share stories and celebrate the lives of those we lost. 

One of our recent assignments was to write a “I Wish” letter to our loved one.  When I told my daughter she gasped, saying that ask would send her over the edge. I sat to write out my letter and found that she was quite right.  This exercise brought up all the what if’s and the if only and brought me to tears many times before I could finally complete it.

Dear Zane,

I wish I could have given you more.  I wish you had taken a semester off to travel to Spain to enrich your love of the language as you had wanted to do.  I wish we travelled to Montana, Vancouver, and Ireland. Those were always ‘one year’ plans we shared.

I wish I had taken a photo walk with you and spent more time learning about the camera we bought you, your prized possession. I wish you could have enjoyed the birthday gift I planned for you, shooting the cave and basins in Banff with a professional photographer guide!  I wish you could have published one of your short stories or sold your photos. I wish the world could have seen the artistic side of you.

I wish you could be at your sister’s wedding, and I wish that a wedding would have been part of your plan. I wish you could be at the wedding of your friends who hold this same wish.  You were to be the best man for many of them.

I wish you could have enjoyed your own home. A place that held your energy and that you found comfort in after a long day. We had such ideas of where this place would be, along the river, close to the night life you adored.

I wish that your soul plan had been different for you.  And yet, I am learning that there is a reason for everything, including me having to live without you on earth. More than ever, I wish I could somehow be here, and you there and still be able to hold you.

I noticed as I wrote my letter that I was wishing for things for me; spending more time with him seemed to be an underlying theme.  The letter was to be about what you wish they obtained or experienced before they departed, a written collection of what they missed out on.  Writing what I wished for Zane, the answer to what he and all of us missed out on was simple. A lifetime of new memories.  I wish for a lifetime of new memories we will never get.

The Gift of Time

January 22, 2023 /

While waiting for our plane to take off, I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a post that the husband of a colleague of mine had passed. I had no idea as we have not talked since 2020. I knew he was sick; he was sick when we met. So why I was shocked and now crying on the plane surprised me.

His unique obituary, a personal blog of his journey that he wrote to the world, has captured many people who have never met him but feel his spirit through his words. And he is inspiring.  Even after death.  His wife, who equals his grace, and his two children, join our community of grief.

Every grief journey is different.  Hers began with the diagnosis that her husband had only a few months to live. When I met my friend, she was a new hire to the organization I worked for. She had just started when the news of her future was given. We worked close together, and she balanced her demanding job in between his cancer treatments and raising two teenagers. She was an example of light, love and how to have it all.  I admired her. I enjoyed working with her.  And when I quit to move to another contract, we promised to continue supporting each other over our favorite glass of wine. Her husband was in remission then and somehow, I thought he would live forever.

Sitting and reading the beautiful summary of his life I was filled with remorse.  I was not there for her.  I did not keep in touch. She reached out when Zane was killed with the same sweet kindness, she shares with everyone. We promised, again, to keep in touch.  That did not happen. Life seems to blur what we want to do with what time there is to do it all.  And now, the opportunities to have been there with her, for her and her family, are gone.  Or are they?

True, we get busy with our own grief and life demands that we do not always get to where we want to go or be the person we want to be. However, we know that guilt has no room here and each day is a new day to make a difference. She has lots of family and friends to support her. And I can still be one of those. It is what we are taught in grief. That our community is one filled with those who are missing their loved one, and although their story and their pain will be different than our own, we understand loss.

I think that is what is important. Perhaps a lesson hiding. Time is so unrelated.  It promises nothing, it stands in front of us, empty and waiting for us to fill it in what way we choose. Each day is a new blank slate with the opportunities to do different, to do better. It is a gift that each of us receives, and my friends’ husband knew this well. The lesson, for me, knowing how he lived on this earth, is that time will tell and before it tells you, take it as a gift and make the most of it. As he did. As they all did.

To her husband, thank you. Thank you for being such a spirit of hope and optimism and an example of how each of us could be facing our own adversity. Your strength and courage are contagious. Your sense of humor had us all laughing, a lot. Your generosity was felt by so many, including me.  Your love of family, friends and of this life, encourages us all to be the best we can be.  And to relish in the time, we are given.

Bless you, Jim. Keep in touch. 

Currently Under Construction

January 15, 2023 /

I was told recently my mood is a negative one. I am acutely aware of this and did not need to be reminded.  But, bringing it up to discuss had me explore why I am unusually pessimistic.  I am typically the one who is all about the sunshine. Lately, I am more about cloudy with a chance of rain.

I now believe that being moody is an emotion that cannot be suppressed or ignored. If it is, then it turns into a deep-set anger that brings with it more negativity. Moody now, clearer later is my response. It is interesting that as I lean into my pain, others notice and seem uncomfortable with this. I don’t expect to be grumpy the rest of my life. I feel this phase is part of my journey. I am oddly ok with it. I am trusting the Universe to ensure that my purpose and the individual I am to be, with grief, will come to be.  I am learning to be patient on this journey I did not choose to take.

In grief, we are warned that people in our lives will want us to stay the same way we were before.  They permit a short grieving period before suggesting we get back to normal. It is blatant that our past normal no longer exists.  That truth everyone agrees on. Why then is it suggested we can return to our old normal? Why is it discouraged to bring new or different ways of being into our daily lives?

I think many of us are not comfortable with change. Especially of this magnitude. Uncalled for change. Death of a loved one catapults us into unknown territory. Major changes. We are re-learning how to be without those we love here in our physical realm. Our journey is all about change, about learning to be comfortable again. We will never be the same.  So, what do we need to find our new normal?

I believe what we need is courage. The ability to be brave in the belief that with change, we will become a stronger, more rounded version of our (new) selves. We need to acknowledge that mood changes are part of that. We need to be patient with ourselves. And we need to address those who care for us with a simple thank you.  A reassurance we are ‘under construction’ because of our loss.  It is a process we are also uncomfortable with but a necessary one and that we are appreciative of their support and patience.  We all must be patient.

And I must remember that this is my journey and my journey alone. I must accept that mood swings are part of the process.  I must explore them and learn how to modify them so that they sit peacefully within me. I must remind myself, as often as is needed, that in this unknown territory, I am under construction to become who I am to be with my grief.

Love for Mr. Tango

January 8, 2023 /

Anyone who has been loved by a dog knows of the deep bond this special relationship brings.  My decision to when our family would get a dog was entirely based on when I wanted more crap in my life!  Truly, I knew I would be the one raising, training, feeding, walking, and cleaning up after it.  So, when I was good and ready, we would get a dog.

Our choice of what type of dog was decided by Zane. I had given the family a copy of Dog Annual and a pile of page markers. Each person was to go through the magazine and mark the breed of dog they felt would best fit our family.  Jon chose a St. Bernard or a Bernese Mountain dog.  I vetoed his choices, claiming I would not be carrying a shovel when I walked the dog.  Payton had every other page marked.  Clearly, she had no preference. Zane wanted a dachshund. I wasn’t thinking a wiener dog; I wanted a French bulldog.

When the pet store had a wiener/Pomeranian cross brought in, I suggested to the kids we go look.  My plan was they would see this ugly mutt and dachshund would no longer be an option.  Was I wrong.  Tango, who turned out to be a wiener/Pekinese cross and double the size we were told he would be, has been the sunshine member of our family for almost 17 years. We thank Zane to this day for his oh-so-appropriate choice.

As Tango ages, I am aware that the likelihood of having him with me for another decade is impossible. It has been suggested I prepare myself for the day he goes to Rainbow Heaven. Something I have pondered, but quickly extinguish any thought he might not be my walking partner soon.  He knows, God knows, I need this little dog.

After a recent fall Tango and I had together, I ended up in a physiotherapist’s office and Tango went to the vet to assess our injuries. For Tango, I was expecting the worst. He is old. His breathing is heavy.  He doesn’t hear us come home anymore. I felt I knew what the prognosis would be, especially now that the fall created troubles with him walking.

Living with grief, we sometimes think and/or behave pessimistically. We go on about our daily life, waiting for something else to go wrong. We wait for the other shoe to drop.  It is a defense mechanism; we don’t want to hurt anymore than we already do so we anticipate all sorts of terrible scenarios that might bring us ‘new’ unhappiness. What this thinking does is close our vision and the opportunities to feel joy. When you feel the agony of grief you can become weary, afraid to bring in love as you know the pain of the other side of it. This is a nasty, subconscious cycle that requires strength and courage to break.

The vet brought Tango back into the room.  She smiled and reported, “for a small senior dog, he is in good shape. He has arthritis which we can give injections for, and eye drops to help with his teary eyes”. My heart flipped. I thought he was on death’s doorstep.  I resisted taking him in because I did not want to be told I had more grief coming.  “Are you comfortable with this plan?” the vet asked.  “YES”, I laughed with relief, “the dog is in better shape than I am”!

As I write this, I hear the soft snores of my little beast napping in the morning sunshine. I realize I have been grieving for the future loss of my dog rather than enjoying the joys I have with him now.  The truth is I don’t know how much time I have with him, so perhaps a couple extra walks in the park should be my course rather than fretting about the inevitable.

This experience has been a blatant reminder of what life is about. Where there is love, there is loss.  Where there is joy, there is pain. My brain understands this. Living it is a different story.  I must remember we have the choice to choose which side we wish to look at.  The dark side of loss or the light side of love.

2023 is here!

January 1, 2023 /

The New Year has arrived. It brings with it the unresolved despair and worries that 2022 had.  It brings with it, the leftovers of resentment and anger that I can’t seem to reduce, no matter what I do. It brings with it the deep sadness that I have another year ahead of me without hearing the laughter of my son.

2023 also brings with it the need to change. My cancer treatment now includes hormone therapy with debilitating side effects that can be reduced with exercise and less alcohol.  I have never exercised a day in my life.  Walks with Tango are meditative rather than physical. And those who know me, know that wine is a dietary staple. 2023 does not seem promising to be the year that things are going to get easier.

We know in grief that distractions are a good thing. We are aware that we live with grief forever, so purposefully placed distractions are necessary. They give a reprieve to emotional pain. When properly placed in our daily lives, they build strength to face the intense waves of sorrow. Distractions bring clarity to the importance of the people with us, to our current events; they are reminders that life is still ours to experience and share.

I find that I am happy when my focus shifts from my personal pain to moments of connection.  When I am preoccupied, brushing my dog, writing to a family member afar, visiting a friend. Short intervals, but important ones. My grief is distracted when I am hanging out with my sister or my daughter; no matter what we do, I find myself feeling better. And a favorite pastime is a sacred moment with Zane when we connect across the realms.

There is something to be said about receiving a sign or a message from our loved ones. The impossible happening; their ability to reach through the veil to let us know they are here.  It might be a feather or a dime or a number sequence. When it happens, there is a frozen second in time where the heart feels them, and the soul knows it is a visit. There is nothing quite like it. It is the ultimate distraction.

Grief warriors are taught to ‘say their name’. When given the opportunity to speak their name, to share stories about their life with others, it engages our grief. By talking about of our loved ones, their presence comes alive, and they seem to be with us.  Speaking of and about our missed ones is a healthy, needed diversion that works. It is also the most basic way to honor them.

Thus, this year, 2023 does carry the baggage of previous years, but it also carries new possibilities of distraction. The hope that visits from our loved ones come often. The tending to ways we can honor and continue their legacy. The seeking of quiet moments when we can hear the voices of our past guiding us into our own future.  The strength we need to face the challenges of a new year.  And most importantly, 2023 carries with it the love our children gave us that can ease our aching and fill our broken hearts with peace.

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