Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: November 2024

An Angel on The Road

November 24, 2024 /

Awhile ago, we had picked up our daughter to go out for dinner and I absent mindedly left my cell phone on the roof of the car while I was organizing our seats. I didn’t notice it was gone until we were well on our way, and hoped somehow it would be under the seat. When we stopped and it was not there, I knew what had happened. I went to bed that night and said to Zane, “gather your Angels and find it for me, would you? It has your voice, your pictures, your texts in it.”

I don’t know if you can retrieve all that when you replace your cell phone or not. And I didn’t have to worry about it, because when I woke the next morning, there was my phone, sitting on the arm of my chair!  My husband had gone out early to look on the road for it and noticed a reply to a group text he had sent out the night before asking our family to look for my phone. The person replying identified themself as Kelly and said they worked for Alberta Highway Services and had found my phone on the side of the road at two in the morning. Kelly texted “…because the phone had battery life still and no password, I was able to open it up and saw this text that you were looking for it. I will leave it at the office.” Jon went to the office and brought it home.

I wrote Kelly a thank you note and asked Jon to deliver it so that it would not get lost in the mail. On our way to Costco, Jon commented that the truck next to us was an Alberta Highway Service truck.  Then he said, “wait!” and grabbed the note and told me to roll down my window and hand it to the guy and ask him to give it to Kelly. Jon honked the horn to get his attention, and I leaned out with the note extended and yelled, “can you give this to Kelly?” He stared at me puzzled. I continued, “Kelly, he works for Alberta Highway Services. He found my phone on the road, and I want to give him this thank you.” The man replied, “I’m Kelly!”

We pulled over and got out of our vehicles. We wanted to know the whole story. He told us that usually, they do not find small items and if they do, they give it to lost and found. But something happened that night.  He was driving along in his truck when something caught his attention. He wasn’t sure what it was.  He pulled over and saw my phone. “I don’t know if it was the reflection of the case but there seemed to be a little light blinking or something that caught my attention.”

I have always believed in Angels. I believe that my loved ones, especially Zane, look down upon us and work with ‘earth angels’ to watch over us. Earth angels are selfless people who unknowingly spread light, love, and positivity wherever they go. I know my phone was not lit up that night. It had laid there for hours and it was dark and on the side of the embankment. It was intuition that made Kelly stop. And my definition of intuition is the angels are speaking.  

We told him of the importance of my phone, of Zane, of what had happened. He shared with us that he has a young son, who he writes a continued text to about his days, his learnings and why it is important to be kind.  Then it clicked; the important connection my phone has with me. And he stopped speaking. He took a deep breath and apologized for getting emotional. I told him, “I believe it was Zane and his angels there (pointing to the sky) that work with the angels here and unknowingly you’re one of them.” I patted his arm. He modestly replied that he just likes to be kind and do the right thing and hopes he is teaching his son the same. Spoken like a true earth angel.

Grief is Love by Marisa Renee Lee

November 17, 2024 /

The latest book I read was, “Grief is Love” by Marisa Renee Lee who wished to reveal how one can create space for their grief to help experience joy in this life.  Her story is of loss that she has experienced personally through the death of her mother, a pregnancy and a young cousin. Interestingly she also explored the impact of grief on Black women, which she calls Black grief.

Her comparison of how Black women struggle more than others, made this an interesting read for me. I acknowledge that prejudices are alive and sadly abundant, but this book was about living with loss.  The suggestion that one loss is greater than another was distracting. I have never thought of putting a color on grief. 

Marisa writes how her grief was layered with the bigger picture of motherhood, lack of resources, and the overall issues with reproductive health in the United States as a Black woman. She writes, “It was not just about me or “just” about the pain of my pregnancy loss. I carried grief in my bones connected to the complicated history of motherhood and Black women.”  She tells us that Black women in particular, suffer silently and if they don’t, they are met with disbelief or minimized. She speaks of how Black women try to bury their grief, causing self-harm by doing so. All things that many women experience but the effects of loss, every grief warrior has experienced.  How was hers so different. I kept turning to the back page, looking at this beautiful, poised woman, thinking why do you carry such pain from so long ago with you. What that must do to your grief. Don’t you have enough? My heart poured out for the pain of this person; and distracted me from why I bought the book in the first place. To find joy. Not more grief.

I digress, this book is about loss and Marisa did provide the reader with some great advice on how to live with deep grief. From the basics, like giving yourself permission to grieve and feeling the pain, to more complex topics like how grief effects intimacy and the importance of grace. Her tip to “be prepared to extend grace to those around you, but most importantly, you need to extend grace to yourself.” That hit me hard. 

My favorite chapters were Legacy and Love. She reminds us that the death of a loved one does and SHOULD change us. She writes, “You are their mark on this world…your transformation is their legacy.”  I found that statement inspiring. And she assures us that death can be the beginning of a new relationship with your person. “Death asks us to figure out how to pull them forward, how to bring them into a new future with you.” I love that challenge.

Marisa could have ended the book there, but she continues. Her grief journey also brought to her, an understanding of the pain of discrimination and her commitment to “loving my Blackness in the midst of racism and white supremacy.” This created confusion for me, the subliminal message that loss is loss but even more so if you are a Black woman. I am sure I misunderstood that. I stand strong in the belief that loss is loss.

This book is that of an accomplished, young woman sharing her journey of loss which is complicated by her correlation to a historical tragedy that continues in acts of bias, violence and injustice.  Her message of facing life with gratitude, hope and love is what all of us need to hear, and to practice. To this list I would add forgiveness. No matter who you are, what you look like, or where you come from.  Perhaps living such a life could truly heal all wounds.

When the Light Comes On

November 10, 2024 /

The first time the light by the living room chair went on without an explanation, I wondered which spirit was visiting.  I felt it was Dan, my brother-in-law who had promised to play pranks on me as a way of letting me know he was near. Since then, it has become a family joke that “Uncle Dan is visiting” whenever the light pops on without reason.  And eerily accurate with the timing of something happening with his wife or his sons. I have quit laughing and now hold meaningful conversations with the empty chair speaking to the light with a “what’s up” and then calling my sister to be caught up on the reason why Dan dropped by.

It was his birthday on the 8th of this month, and for whatever reason, I missed him more this year. I spent the day thinking of how much he loved my sister, our family. He always had a teacher-type topic to share to explain the way of the world. He was generous, always worried about us and offering to be there in whatever way we needed him. His own tribulations usually went unnoticed because of his quiet demeanor.

He had a unique bond with my children. When Zane was born, Uncle Dan held him, coached him, and ensured him that he was always there for him. And he was. When Zane was killed, Dan said very little. With Dan, actions spoke louder than words.  He showed up to our house, carrying lumber, tools and a can of white paint. He sat, working on his project, his back to the friends and family starting to gather. I had no idea what he was doing. I was in such shock, numb to anything happening in my own home. But Dan was taking his grief and giving it space to express how he felt.

At the end of the day, not one, but two white wooden crosses leaned on our fence to dry. “If you wish to mark the place where they were killed…” he said to me. And hugged me. We did not speak of it again.

The crosses stayed in our yard until we sold the house. The truth is, I didn’t want them to be placed at the site. The site where the owners had been there that night, feeding coffee and muffins to the first responders. They would drive home every day, past the scene of where bodies and the tangled metal of vehicles had been taken away. They would mow the grass around the oil stains and glass fragments of their front entrance. Oh, they would be painfully aware of the tragedy, no crosses were needed.

And Dan never asked why I didn’t place them. It wasn’t important.  What was important, was that he expressed his raw grief in a manner that fit his beliefs, his love for my son and his desire to console the unconsolable. He did not make us feel that we needed to use his gift; just that it was there was enough.

I don’t know why this birthday brought back those memories. Or why this year seemed to bring more tears than smiles.  Perhaps it is because I have had a couple of years now to talk to Dan in spirit and the sound of his voice, the place he held in our family, I’m missing more. Or perhaps it is because things seemed somewhat less complicated when he was here in person. He was someone we could count on.   It might be a combination of the two. Either way, what should have been his 68th year on earth, began with the light going on as if it was his way of letting us know, “you may not see me, but I am still here”.

Dancing With the Dead

November 3, 2024 /

As many of you know, Dia de los Muertos became a “Fisher tradition” six years ago when Azul, the beautiful Latin friend of Zane’s, told me to watch Coco. The ofrendas (altar) in our home displays the traditional Mexican pieces to celebrate our loved ones including pictures, drink, food & skulls. Even Tango’s dog dish is filled with food the night of Muertos to welcome him back to visit.

My girlfriend shared with me that their family will be celebrating Muertos this year; the first to honor their son who just passed. As she told me of their plans and who would be honored (including Zane), I thought to myself that it is her first of what will become a bittersweet tradition.  Her son was the last picture I added to our altar, he joins the other nine of ‘our kids’ who were taken to soon.

When I went to bed, I told Jon to leave the candles on. It was early and I wanted to make sure our spirits knew their way here. I woke to a feeling. I looked at my clock.  It was 4:44 in the morning. I smiled.  I got out of bed and went into the living room. The candles were bursting with light, flickering and casting shadows on the walls. The song “Dancing in the Graveyards” began to play in my head. I moved closer to the altar. I lifted my hands up to the ceiling and closed my eyes. I began to sway to the tune of this beautiful song. The feeling of love, of a presence that I was not alone was indescribable. I let out a giggle and twirled around, dancing to the beat of this song that seemed to play so loud I was sure it would wake up Jon. I blew kisses to the altar and thanked my loved ones for joining me. I then sat in the peace of the soft candlelight and whispered out loud each name of these loved ones looking back at me through their picture. 

I don’t like music.  It’s my biggest trigger. But as the words of the song echoed in my brain, it was like the spirits were talking to me. “When I die, I don’t wanna rest in peace, I want to dance in joy. I wanna dance in the graveyards!”  Yes, this song triggered me, I’m crying, but this time, this song, is a bittersweet, connected, my soul understands trigger.  I reply, “And while I’m alive, I don’t wanna be alone, mourning the ones who came before, I wanna dance with them some more.”

I encourage everyone to celebrate Dia de los Muertos. It is a beautiful, personalized celebration that truly does stop time to remember those who we danced with in this lifetime. The same people who now look over us from above. The same people we can dance with ‘in the graveyards.’

If you have not heard this song, here is a link to my favorite version:  Delta Rae – Dance In The Graveyards [Official Music Video] Take out the tissues and really feel the message. It is a song of promise. Xo

PS: 444 is a strong reminder of the power of divine guidance, symbolic of the energy that flows between the physical and spiritual realms. No coincidence I woke up then.

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