Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: May 2024

Celebrating the One and Only Kirk

May 26, 2024 /

It was as good as a funeral can get. Purposely planned to be held on his birthday. I like the irony of having the funeral on the person’s birthday. We did the same for Zane. It is Shakespearean poetry to celebrate the person who passed on the same day they came to earth. A sort of full circle, the cycle continues vibe.

The kids planned a party with all their father’s wishes included.  And then some. They made him proud. The room was filled with family and friends, reunited with a drink in hand and lively conversations. Stories of our friend Kirk were shared, and tearful speeches and a video that captured each stage of his life. “I know dad is here,” his son said, “I can feel him”. We could all feel him. His spirit was tangible.

As we danced on the patio, shouting out the lyrics of “Do you believe in love”, to the heavens, each of us were taken back and held in the love we have shared with Kirk. Friend, father, grandfather, brother, husband…this man lived a full life. The proof was in the faces of the many incredible people he connected us to in life and death.

Kirk’s example of a life well lived, including his own personal tribulations, is why the room was filled with more laughter than tears. He was about “never give up”. He was about embracing every experience as a learning tool to become a better, stronger person. He was about “…and then some”. These are attributes we can adopt for ourselves in honor of him.

Whatever you want to call them, funerals, celebrations, memorials, they are all meant to be about goodbye. They are supposed to be designed to offer closure. And yes, we hold space to remember and honor our loved ones. And yes, it is about acknowledging our pain that we can no longer hear their voice or feel their touch. But it does not have to be about goodbye.

 I believe that these gatherings are not about letting go but rather about holding on differently. How do we move forward with them in spirit. What promises are we making to continue to honor them past this day. What about them will we carry within us as we continue living here. How will we say their name. When we gather to say goodbye, let’s not call it an end but rather a new beginning of how we will continue their story. “And then some…”

Kirk’s last gift of this day, to the people he loved, came from a cloud of soft thunder that reminded all of us “Our loved ones are never truly gone.” They sit beside us. Love never dies.

Breaking Bread in the Park

May 19, 2024 /

With spring here, I am encouraging my family, the youth I serve and myself to get out and enjoy the benefits of a mindful walk. These are unplugged moments that Zane taught me to take.  He took them often, day or night, as needed. I tried, after Tango had passed, but they were just too painful.  Each step reminded me of my little companion. With each slow and meditative walk, we enjoyed the sun, the park sounds and the sights of spring coming to visit. Tango especially enjoyed the smells, we called his ‘pee mail’. I thought it might be easier to pick one spot and sit, so I bought a Tim Horton’s meal and had lunch at the park bench where we usually started our walks.  I shared this experience in a letter to Zane.

Dear Zane,

I took a Tim Horton soup and one honey glazed Timbit to the reservoir to have lunch with Tango’s spirit. I cried as soon as I got there. I have not been at this spot since I took him just before he passed.  As I took the lid off my soup, a crow joined me.  Or maybe it was a raven. Either way I found it funny that this very large bird thought he might share my bowl of soup. I took the pieces of chicken out of my soup.  I would always feed them to Tango. So, I threw them on the ground for the bird. He would tentatively hop over to the piece of chicken, look around, and then grab it. I left one piece on the picnic table to see if he would come up and he did! It was neat to be sitting in the park sharing a bowl of hot soup with this bird.

I went back to the car to get the Timbit and shared that with the bird. He flew to another tree and squawked. It sounded like “thank you” but maybe it was “over here” as another bird from nowhere showed up to join him.  The two flew back to the picnic bench as if he was showing the other what he found. They shared the last piece of donut. When they flew away, he left me one little feather, from his chest, which I took home.

I realized that these little feathers I have might be from the soft chest of these birds; the location of their heart, as if I was receiving just that.  A little piece of their heart. My feathers are from you, a little piece of your heart found in the small soft feather of a bird. Neat. I will do more visits there. And hopefully more lunches with my feathered friend.  

Tango used to love birds and they often would fly around us on our walks or hop along beside Tango who was too busy sniffing to notice. That lunch opened my thinking to the possibilities that the signs we look for, and receive, from our loved ones might be more connected than we know. Their meaning might be deeper than we understand. Did this bird just come to scavenge my lunch? Possibly. But then why did he come so close; we shared a picnic bench together. How or why did he leave behind one tiny feather?

Yes, it is true, we can read anything we wish into the incidents we experience, and why not? I enjoyed contemplating why this bird was so friendly and how his little feather souvenir was left in the spot he perched as we shared my lunch. I believe that each experience we have has multiple levels of meaning and the truth goes past the obvious or the science. And it is this belief that brings me peace that both my son and my dog orchestrated a beautiful afternoon for me to ‘break bread’ with another soul.

To Sir Arthur, With Love

May 12, 2024 /

I met Arthur in the early morning as I walked Tango. He was the resident gardener.  An Englishman with poise, soft-spoken with a love for his friends, animals, and nature. We had many conversations about living, loss and declining health that comes with age.  Arthur took life in stride and catered quietly to his passions each day.

When I noticed that Arthur’s car had not moved for a period, I enquired with a neighbor if he was on vacation. No, he was not. He had been diagnosed with throat cancer and was receiving home care. He may be up to visitors soon, I was told. I asked if they could let me know when as I would love to speak to him. In later weeks, I noticed Arthur, dressed in proper attire including cap, shuffled out to his friend’s car to be picked up. I smiled. I would be able to see him now.

It was my husband that informed me Arthur passed and the funeral had taken place. I had no idea. I had hopes he was recovering.  I was sure I was going to visit him. None of that was possible now. I wrote Arthur a letter.

Dear Arthur:

I am thinking of you. Your family and friends are in my heart and my prayers.  Can I share a few things with you?

I truly appreciated meeting you when we moved into this building.  You were the friendly person who loved my dog and took the time to ask how I was.  I enjoyed our brief conversations; I looked forward to them as I walked Tango.

At one point you were fighting the powers-to-be that you were alive as they had you recorded as dead. I laughed at the absurdity of such a notion; the man I knew was vibrant and youthful, although a bad knee, was very much alive! I had hoped that the determination you had then to set things straight, continued to overcome your battle with cancer.

I appreciated the care you gave our gardens. I know of the time (and money) you put into the flower beds, ensuring that all of us could enjoy the beauty of nature. Tango respected your work, never peeing on them, but always stopping to smell ‘Arthur’s Garden’. I will always think of those flower beds as yours. I am grateful that your successors care for them now, but in my mind, they are your legacy.

I appreciated your value of friends.  How you would wake up every morning to walk your friend’s little dog, even when you were in pain. I enjoyed your grin when you would tell me you were going out for dinner with friends. Seeing you was always a bright moment in the day, and I am sorry, for us, that your smile and warm touch is now missing.

You are very dear, Sir Arthur. I just wanted to share with you how I feel about you, wanted the chance to tell you thank you for being such a wonderful neighbor. And that I hope your soul plan includes a new adventure of gardens, dinners, and puppy dogs for you to enjoy.

Take care sweet Arthur, sending a hug to the heavens, just for you.

Arthurs passing is a reminder that we do not know, will never know, the timing the Universe has for each of us. Seize the moments, as the present is all we truly have.

Honoring Bereaved Mother’s Day

May 5, 2024 /

I had this notion to make Cinco de Mayo a big deal this year. I thought of having multiple dishes with festive décor hung and friends coming over to enjoy all of it with me. I thought it was time to start my own celebrations of fun and frolic. Then grief came and a busy-catch up schedule and the energy to do anything related to a party went out the front door. Suddenly I just wanted to be alone. My sweet daughter, feeling much the same way, spoke to me about why don’t we just have one drink as a small family and spend the night in our own homes.  I agreed.  What I didn’t tell her was that this particular day fell on Bereaved Mother’s Day.

Bereaved Mother’s Day falls on the Sunday before Mother’s Day. It is a day where mothers who have lost a child can gather to share stories and the pain that accompanies such. I just thought I wanted to be distracted from the reminder “we” have a special day that shouts, “you lost a child!”   And yet, the closer this Sunday came, the more I felt like being in a park with a camera talking to Zane than I did hosting another loud party. I am starting to listen to my grief and make space for her to be acknowledged.

We are told, early in our grief, by those we seek counsel from and well-intended friends, that you must have the freedom to say no. We must listen to our pain and not show up if it is too much or change plans if it becomes too much. It is a boundary building skill each grief warrior learns. And yet, as time goes on with grief, others expect more of you. “Get on with it” and thus, just about the time we are learning to feel our mood and act accordingly, we are then told we should be done with that feeling. It is ironic. 

This year, my feelings for what I thought I wanted with a Mexican holiday and what I ended up feeling, I honored. It was a relief. I felt less stress not having to create an event where I needed to be smiling and hospitable. I thought I wanted that.  I thought I was ready.  But this time, and perhaps because it is Bereaved Mother’s Day, I changed my mind.  I changed the plans. My (usually social) family agreed. I am guessing on some level they needed the same and I, the matriarch, let everyone off the hook by choosing what I thought only I needed. The party was cancelled; everyone is feeling a little less pushed. And the pinatas can come out another day.

So, a message to my fellow grieving mothers; take today to pause. Listen to what your grief is asking of you and take today to honor that.  It is the one day set aside for us to do just that, and we should take advantage of it.  I mean, who is going to argue with you telling them I am celebrating me, as a mom, who has lost a child?

Bring your sweet loved one into the day. Speak to them on a quiet walk.  Do an act of kindness on their behalf. Put a picture of them on your social media with a note of gratitude. Yes gratitude. We are the lucky ones who had this amazing soul choose us to be their mother. We cared for them, loved them, raised them, only to have them leave. This is the day to remind yourself how much strength we have within to continue being ourselves here and now, in our many roles, but today, honoring our role as a mother to a child of the other realm. This is a day to celebrate, quietly, like the breeze that whispers to the meadow, I am always with you, my sweet child. And I am grateful that I am always to be your mother.

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