Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: September 2023

The Importance of Sanctuary

September 24, 2023 /

Over the past year, I have experienced the value of solitude. An accumulation of my grief, my anger, and my cancer brought to the forefront the question, how am I to ever live wholly, and thus began my quest for sanctuary.

I called it a modified sabbatical. In planning how this would be for me, Tango was still here, and I did not want to leave him or my family and friends. I would still have to work. I hate to travel, so the magical trails in Spain or the coastal beaches of Mexico were not options.

I researched, prior to starting, the components of a good sabbatical and learned that having the support of your immediate family deepens the experience by removing the guilt of spending time alone.   They don’t necessarily need to approve, but they need to respect your space.  I am grateful that mine came on board in full agreement. A sign that love sits above all else.

The length of a sabbatical can vary. I chose a year, starting after my surgery as I wanted my heart to be consoled as well as my physical body as I recuperated from a double mastectomy. Although I had some periods of time where my sabbatical seemed to get lost in the business of life, I did manage to find sanctuary in the days I made my sabbatical a priority.

Your place of sanctuary can be just a room or a home or carved out time in your car; what is important I learned is what you fill it with to appease your soul. Candles, pictures, furniture, plants, decorations, what brings your soul joy? Your space must be filled with items that bring you a feeling of peace.  Of connection.  I chose to fill mine with everything my ancestors left behind and each time I enter I feel their presence. It shifts my mood immediately to a higher vibration. I am amongst those who loved me and still watch over me from above.

The key component of any sabbatical is intent. Set your intent. My intent was to heal. This included meditations, massages, journalling, indulging in a great wine or a Hendricks Gin and trying new recipes with fresh ingredients from the farmer’s market.  I read, completed jigsaw puzzles, and took long walks in beautiful parks. Yes, I did still work, and my social life was stuffed full, but the moments I had in my sanctuary brought balance to the crazy reality of mine.

As my sabbatical ends, I reflect on this year that passed so very quickly. In the beginning my journal reflects frustration with how slow I am healing and how much there is to do. As my writing continues to capture my progress, I noticed that frustration became less, and gratitude became more.  Even with as many struggles as our family has endured; I found that creating a sanctuary brought strength for me. It brought clarity of what I can control and what I am feeling that I have ignored for a very long time. I feel like I am on the right path to healing. This experience has encouraged me to continue placing solitude on the top of my priority list.  Through my sabbatical, I have discovered the importance of a sanctuary. It is time and place that the body needs to be able to hear the soul speak.

The Art of Ceremonial Purging

September 17, 2023 /

The gentle, or not so gentle, pushing of time has me looking at the personal belongings of my past, including Zane’s items. It has come time to hold them and decide if their future finds a place in my home or just in my heart. It is not easy, and I have been gentle with this process, taking me almost a full year to sort through decades of personal and family memories.

I began with my childhood report cards my mother kept for me. That was an easy one.  Chuck. I read my old diaries laughing at what was so important to me as a teen and my choice of boyfriends.  A couple of sentiments I wrote down and some things I shared with the people they were about, like a friend who I was jealous of when a childhood boyfriend liked her better. We both chuckled at the truth that here we are, great friends and where was the boy? As I purged, I found that it got harder to decide whether to throw out or keep as the years came closer to the present time.

This can work for any item you are considering, what should I do with this.  Some mementos were easy to say goodbye to. Extra photos, old birthday cards, anniversary cards, done. The kids baby calendars, I took and typed out in a word document all the milestones, giving me a paperless record of their growth. I took pictures of the kids’ artwork, so I have a collage of all their drawings.

Some of the piles took longer, like Zane’s things. His belongings were the hardest.  And to be honest, most of them I couldn’t depart with. I did consolidate some things.  I did find new homes for other things, thanks to his friends.  And a quilt of his favorite t-shirts will be made in the future.

With each pile, I reflected and basked in the memory.  I experienced laughter remembering some aha moments and there were a copious number of tears.  With the items that I decided could not continue travelling with me, I created a process I call ceremonial purging.

With each group of items that I went through, the things I was to throw away I put into one pile. When I was finished with that group, I took the ‘garbage pile’ and spoke to it.  I thanked it for being a part of my life, for giving me lessons and leaving memories behind because of it. I acknowledged that the items making this pile included teachings that were part of my life and who I am today. And then I would lovingly pick it up and kiss the top of the pile.  And without putting it down, I would walk, ceremoniously with good thoughts to the garbage bin.  There, I would give thanks one more time for all it brought me, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And then with a dramatic pitch I would throw the pile into the bin with an AMEN. And I would turn and not look back.

Strange? Maybe. But this ceremony, the disposing of things that at one time were so important to keep, helps let them go. It honors what the items symbolize; my life and the people in it and the gratitude of the blessings that accompanied such.  I feel lighter knowing that the inanimate keepsakes of the past have been loved and sent to the bin with appreciation and that the things still here have a new home of honor.

Too Busy To Grieve

September 10, 2023 /

Our family has experienced eight deaths in less than five months.  I have spent the entire spring and summer in hospitals or hospices, travelling to help plan and attend the celebrations of life for each.  This was on top of my regular work, the planning of our daughter’s upcoming wedding and our annual gathering of Zane’s Death-Day.  Summer is always tough, this year it was brutal.

I have been far too busy with life ‘as is’ to recognize or experience the anticipatory grief that accommodates four of the deaths during this time or the shock of sudden death of the other four loved ones. Our family seems numb. And no wonder, we have been handed a lot and we have dealt with it as best we can. It is no surprise that we have not been feeling quite like ourselves lately. Grief, waiting impatiently to come through has brought emotional outbursts and physical pain to varying degrees and never in unison to combat them effectively.  We continue to soldier on…

No one tells you when loss will come to your door.  Or how.  Or why.  Each loss brings with it, its own personality.  Its own baggage that you must unpack and sort out. Each one takes time, and nothing is linear.

Experiencing multiple deaths at the same time or relatively close together exaggerates the single components of grief. The shock, the disbelief is totally numbing. I have to remind myself, “yes, they are gone. It’s true.” The exertion of energy required to plan how to best honor the loved ones wishes gets confused between each of the deaths.  “Was it this one or that one whose favorite color was blue?”  Why can’t I remember!  The brain fog of multiple deaths is more like a thick swallowing quicksand than a mere memory lapse.

It was my herbalist that unknowingly clarified for me what was happening to my health.  She sent a message that said, “you have had so much to deal with, there has been no time to grieve”. Her words, an expression of compassion hit me like a slap in the face.  Yes, I am doing too much. Self care is the first thing to be dropped when one is too busy. It is easy to overlook the ‘slow down’ signs as we continue to push on. I had disregarded what grief does when ignored.

The first cardinal rule of grief is, give it the space it demands.  Follow its lead. I’ve been pulled from one death to the next allowing NO time for grief.  So, it sits within and festers. It does not care of the many excuses and justifications I give as to why I am not facing my grief. It does not care how hectic I am or how much there is to do.  I read her message again, “…too busy…” One can not be too busy for grief.

I took out the calendar. Five months, eight deaths. This is purpose to stop, to take an extra moment to sit in silence, to honor the ones that have just departed. It is what the soul requires to stay grounded. I must minimize the everyday tasks; they can wait for my sadness to be addressed and held.  Each loved one I have lost deserves their own moment of remembrance. Each deserves thought as to how I will honor them.  Each deserves their own share of my heart.  And my tears. One by one.  I can create a life that gives each of them their own spot to live on, with me and, within me, as I continue my journey. I can give them admiration only if I am not too busy. They deserve the respect of my grief.

The Little Wagon That Stayed

September 3, 2023 /

The news of the Kelowna fires hit home when my girlfriend shared the video of what remained of her house. Nothing. Everything she had worked for went up in flames and melted into a pile of ashes. Even the boat was destroyed.  The only thing that survived was the stone chimney. And poignantly a metal wagon she used to carry wood and such around the lot. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason as to why the fire took certain things and left others untouched.

Of course, my friend is devastated. We talked about the lack of time to save anything. How her mother’s paintings were inside and her other sentimental pieces that are no longer here. She talked about how they were safe until they were not and rushed away watching the fires leap across the road to their area.  She talked about her hope that some miracle would stop the fire from taking all that she loved. We cried and she started to assure me that my grief was greater; no one was hurt or killed in her situation, and I stopped her there. Grief is grief. Loss is loss. Something did die; her beloved possessions and her home that contained decades of memories and happy times with family and friends. This is loss.  Great loss.

With all the losses I have in my life, I have come to realize that each person holds their losses relative to the relationship they had with that person, place, animal, or thing. The depths of love and the pain of grief are the common denominator amongst those who mourn. What or whom you are grieving is a personal detail. I could feel the angst and the anger within my friend as the reality of what had just happened was hitting her. “I will never go back”, she said.

That statement reminded me of my first moments after Zane was killed. “It will never be ok”, I said. I understood what my friend meant by her statement. There is no going back. What she had built over the years in that home, the contents both physical and emotional died with the raging fire. To go back is not possible. It will never be the same and that is not ok. I hugged her.  It was not the time to say that she may change her mind and that maybe there will come a day that she has less anger and more strength and might want to rebuild. But not today.

I focused on the irony of the little wagon that survived.  It shouldn’t have. And yet it did.  Why? A wagon, its purpose is to be filled with things needed or wanted to move from one point to another. It can be used as a tool to take a child or pet for a ride. Its wheels ready to roll in whatever direction you want to go. Small and compact, open aired, a favorite piece of most childhoods. Perhaps it survived as a symbolic gesture for my friend. The Universe gently whispering that there is space for love and hope to help her move away from this terrible disaster to a place where new beginnings await. I think the little wagon might represent tomorrow.

When grief is so fresh, we can miss signs that assure us we will survive. Naturally we are not ok. We can’t see or think or feel past the gut-wrenching despair inexplainable grief brings. That is where my friend is standing right now. I ache for her, knowing that spot all too well. So, for the moment, I will be her eyes to see hope and symbolic concepts that quietly suggest she has not been abandoned by some evil twist of nature but rather held by a universal compassion that understands she is not ok.  Healing can wait until she is ready to pack up her little wagon and move onward.  

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