Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: May 2023

“Walking Each Other Home”

May 28, 2023 /

Ram Dass was one of Zane’s favorite philosophers. He quoted him often. When I was at Chapter’s looking for my next book to read, I stumbled across a book titled after my favorite Ram Dass quote, “Walking Each Other Home” and I felt a warm fuzzy desire to curl up with this book and hear what more he had to say about how “we’re all just walking each other home”.

Co-written with Mirabai Bush, the book is a conversation between the two of different topics related to the dying process and how not being afraid of death would enrich our lives. It gives ideas and advice on how to be there emotionally for those we know with a terminal sentence and how to grieve completely. An interesting collection of personal experiences and philosophies that they share with the reader.

Ram Dass, born Richard Alpert, was a psychologist, writer, an American who popularized yoga and Eastern spirituality in the west.  He did so by his ability to combine the aspects of yoga and many different religions into straightforward concepts of “be here now”.  He became an expert in teaching three generations just how to do that.  

People reached out to Ram as a spiritual guide, and he shared in the book letters he wrote to families seeking his counsel. My favorite of these letters was to Steve and Anita who had lost their daughter, Rachel. His compassion for the pain that they were holding is felt in his words.

“…I can’t assuage your pain with any words, nor should I. For your pain is Rachel’s legacy to you…” He goes on to say, “…Now is the time to let your grief find expression.  No false strength. Now is the time to sit quietly and speak to Rachel, to thank her for being with you these few years and encourage her to go on with whatever her work is, knowing that you will grow in compassion and wisdom…” His letter could be to anyone of us.  As I read it, I inserted Zane’s name for Rachel’s and the letter became that much more profound.

This book is for your soul. It is filled with conversation about love and about death. And how they are intertwined. It is filled with ideals and opportunities to practice, bringing awareness and a deeper meaning to your current day. It consoles those of us in emotional pain. It is a book that quietly strengthens us by assuring us that we are all just walking each other home.

A Tree Sent to Heaven

May 21, 2023 /

Every Albertan remembers the grade one tradition where your child is given a sapling to take home and plant. Both my children received one.  Both planted their little tree in a chosen place in our yard. My daughter cared for her tree for a limited amount of time, moving on to her next project and the tree perished.

Zane was different. He would come home each day and nurture his tree. He covered it with a large coffee tin so the heavy snows would not break it. He talked to it, sprayed it, and fertilized it and it grew into a majestic white spruce that we hung feeders and tiny houses on to welcome the birds and squirrels.  After Zane passed, we hung Christmas ornaments and tied ribbons with wishes on it in his honor. The tree was more than a tree; it was a connection to the love my son had and shared.

At a recent community block party, our old neighbor told us of how the new owners were caring for our house in a way that we would feel good about. He went on to say how they had opened the yard by removing a few of the trees and it looked great. “Which ones?”, I asked. As he began to describe the locations of the trees they had removed, I kept pleading in my head, “not Zane’s, not Zane’s” …but it was Zane’s. I glanced at my husband as the tears came and whispered to him, “I just can’t…” and I turned and left, leaving him to tell our neighbor why his wife was a sudden mess.

Our neighbor apologized and hugged me.  How was he to know.  It was ok.  But it wasn’t. I went home that evening and cried myself to sleep. There is nothing I could have done, there was no moving this massive evergreen. The house was not ours any longer. I understand. But I don’t like it. How ironic this tree was roughly Zane’s age before its life was chopped down. It was another thing lost that was my sons. It was another reminder that things have changed forever. It was another catalyst to bringing my grief to the forefront.   

When things like this happen, we need to find hope that it will be ok.  Even when we know it isn’t.  We can look at loss from the dark or the light side.  I tend to look at it from the dark first.  I give myself time to sit with the pain, permission to feel mad and sad and hopeless.  And then when my tears have subsided, I look at it from the light side.  And if there isn’t one, I try to create one.

With Zane’s tree, I have decided to believe that somewhere on the other realm, Zane has a space that he adores and that he rejuvenates in, and that spot now has his beautiful beloved tree. Beside him. With all the wishes we had tied on it and all the admiration we have for him clinging to each needle so that he can see, touch, and feel how very much he is loved and missed.

Motherhood is a Life Sentence

May 14, 2023 /

Last week was Bereaved Mother’s Day.  A day for mothers who have lost a child.  Today is Mother’s Day.  A day to celebrate mothers. It confuses me as to why I am suddenly a part of two different occasions that are about one person.  I struggle with the idea that I celebrate being Zane’s mom on one day and my daughter on another day. Just because he is not here physically, in no way reduces all aspects of me being his mom. And where is the day to celebrate my role as a mom to the many other children that I also love unconditionally? Where is ‘their day’?

Although I enjoy any reason for a party, Mother’s Day is getting more and more complicated with the definition of mother and what type of mother are you and each type seems to have its own day. Are you a mother or a bereaved mother or a stepmother or a foster mother? There is a flurry of diverse Mother’s Days in a calendar year. And then there are the protestors that think there shouldn’t be a Mother’s Day at all! 

I don’t think you need to give birth to be a mother. I think being a mother is more about unconditional love. And that type of love can nurture any thing or anyone. I think the role of mother is about devotion, about care, about wanting the best.  It’s about sacrifice and sleepless nights and an ongoing worry for them. Motherhood is not a role; it is a way of life.

Motherliness begins at a young age, long before the official call of ‘mom’. It begins as a small girl developing empathy and a curiosity of how one can nurture another.  It may have begun playing dolls or taking care of a plant, a pet, or a sibling. It is fostered by a growth of patience and concern and strengthens with a desire to protect. All this creates a heart of joy and a mama bear attitude for those we care for.

And suddenly you are all grown up. And through personal experience your life becomes that of a mom. It is important to acknowledge the unique differences and challenges of the different types of motherhood.  Some moms hold a baby they gave birth to.  Some care for one that another woman gave birth to. Other’s play a role of mom to a child of a friend or relative. And some moms have four-legged fur babies they love as much. There are unique aspects and different details to who and how you are in the role of being that soul’s mom. What I think is important is the overall concept of motherhood, the conscious interactions with another living being (human or other) that causes a stirring in your soul, a tug at your heart, a desire to ensure this soul is ok. This makes you a mother. I like to think it is just that simple.  It is a gift that does not come with a training guide but with an obligation to be our best for them. For the rest of our lives.

With all the complex intricacies of motherhood, I don’t need two or more days to acknowledge this responsibility and my part in it. I receive confirmation every day. A collective and special holiday for moms is great but I don’t need two. One day is just fine. 

A Coliseum of Grief

May 7, 2023 /

My husband took me to see Matt Fraser live in Edmonton.  It was a one-night stay that started at the picturesque Fairmont McDonald, where we sat in the afternoon sun with friends, drinking and sharing appetizers. A lovely few hours enjoying each other’s company and celebrating my birthday. I shared with them my excitement to see my favourite psychic.

The casino where Matt’s show was at was filled with hockey fans, casino players and people like me, hopeful to have a visit from a loved one from the other side. We enjoyed a drink before the show and met two women, who kindly shared their table.  They were also excited to see Matt and told us the story of their aunt who had departed. They asked who we wanted to see.  I said my son. As they left, one woman said to me, “I hope you see your son”. And it hit me.  We were all there for the very same reason.

The show was sold out, as were the previous two nights. The concept that thousands had paid money to sit together and potentially share their loss with hundreds of strangers was magical.  Each person attending was wishing for a visit, reassurance that their loved one was ok, that they were still here. Every single person had the same request. Every single person was in pain. Every single person came with hope. And the need to have Zane visit through Matt diminished. The comraderies of my fellow grief warriors were comfort enough. The understanding that the Universe was in control that night filled me with a peace that enabled me to “sit back and enjoy the show.” And that is what I did.

Matt did not disappoint. His readings were accurate, and the messages eased the receiver’s anguish. We laughed and cried together. There was a communal ‘oh no’ when Matt approached a woman whose boyfriend had been murdered and her baby died just after. The heart ache of loss was collectively felt. The readings were individual but the main theme that the deceased are here, watching over us, was a reassuring message for everyone.

It was a slow exit because of the vast amount of people. As we shuffled forward, a couple asked us how we enjoyed the show. He said he was not a believer and that his wife had dragged him to it. I asked who it was that they had lost. It was their daughter. 8 months ago. She was 29. The mother started to weep. I stopped and hugged her. “I am so sorry for your loss”.  He asked who we lost. We told him. And a hush fell upon us as we continued to walk, holding each other up.

This event did have a personal message for each attendee. Perhaps not from their loved one directly, but from the aura of the hundreds of souls surrounding us.  A sense of belonging, a whisper to look at the strength of each person there who lives with their eternal grief but who refuses to diminish the value their loved one had and still has in their life. The desire for connection. The innate ability to carry on. We were a part of that.  Zane was there with the other souls. The invisible electricity of so many together in the same room from both sides of the veil was an experience I had dreamed of. We were a part of a coliseum of shared grief. And of love.

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