Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: May 2025

Grief’s Visit In The Waiting Room

May 25, 2025 / / 0 Comments

The long weekend ended with a trip to the Rockyview Hospital when my blood pressure kept rising and the pain in my chest made it impossible to breathe. An overnight calamity of tests, I was sent home for bedrest waiting for a cardiologist to call for more tests. Any feeling of whoa-is-me was silenced when I began listening to the stories of the other patients around me. It brought people watching to a whole new level.

A woman had brought her brother in, just before us. I overheard her telling the nurse that he was suicidal and she was afraid, not knowing what to do.

A couple next to us, sat quietly and at one point, he reached over to pat his wife’s hand and whispered to her, “how many times do you need to go through this with me?” She smiled and replied, “we just need you to get well.”

A mother sat across from us with her young daughter. I overheard her on the phone, “I am in the emergency. Every time she pees, she says it feels like sharp prickles.” Whatever was the diagnosis, the little girl came out eating a popsicle and the mother was in tears.

An elderly man is told that he has an ulcerated bowel that requires immediate surgery but not without complications.  I hear the nurse ask the wife if she understands what DNR means and if his last wishes are in order.

Grief is palatable in the emergency ward of a hospital. You are not there by choice. It is not a quick fix either. The long waiting increases the agony. As a human sponge of other’s energy, I could feel my blood pressure continue to rise, my heartbeat pounding out of my chest. When the nurse called my name to insert an IV into my arm, he said, “you appear anxious.” I just stared at him. What did he mean by that? Of course I was anxious. My blood pressure is 217/109. How did I get here? It was a quiet, pleasant day. I was resting. I worked on a puzzle for God’s sake, not a marathon.

As we continued to sit waiting for the next test, I overheard a conversation that hit me hardest. It was a teenager whose friends had brought him in. We wondered what his reason might be; his hand was covered in blood like he had punched something.  He was wrapped in a blanket and appeared in shock. I heard his friend call the mother telling her what happened. It wasn’t a bar fight or a prank gone wrong. The three were hiking and the trail ended with a waterfall cascading down twenty feet to the ground below. He had slipped and fell over the falls, to the bottom and lay unconscious in the water below. His friends climbed down to his rescue but couldn’t carry him. So, one stayed with him, the other ran to find cell reception and call for help.  It took the helicopter six hours to find them and pull them to safety.

As the boys sat there, the one who had rescued his friend, said to him, “hospitals get me, but I guess I should get used to them.  I will be seeing them a lot from now on.” I thought to myself I wonder if he is planning on a medical career of some kind to state that.  And then his friend gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder and said, “hey man, it’s dialysis. You’ll get through.”

The waiting room in ER fosters a weird reminder of how delicate life is, how fast it can change and how important good health is. Grief sits in the emergency room, quietly waiting to rise or to leave.

As the doctor summarized my test results with me, he said, “I am wondering about your SLE” Exhausted, and trying to focus, I asked, “SLE?”  “Your lupus”, he answered. He continued, “your heart may be effected by that so the cardiology tests we have referred for you will confirm it is just that.” I thanked the good doctor and went to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown. I looked in the mirror.  My lupus? You mean this quiet ‘condition’ I have had for years that has never caused me grief.  My heart is vulnerable because of lupus?

I have struggled with poor health all my life. I have fibromyalgia, never slowed me down. I have conquered cancer. Lupus is different. I was told that lupus blows up your heart. There is no cure, it is only manageable. How do I manage living with a broken heart. Literally, a broken heart. When I walked out the emergency doors in the early morning, nothing had changed but everything had changed. My vision of who I am, how strong I am does not align with the reality of my condition. Grief comes in many forms. With my hospital visit, a new form of grief rose and followed me home.

The Anxiety of Grief by Dr Wolfelt

May 18, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Anxiety seems to be a common emotion.  Too common. Zane used to ponder how his generation seemed ‘perfect on paper’ but were full of anxiety, depression and worry.  I’m not sure there is a one-size-fits-all answer but I do know that it is prevalent in our society and that everyone experiences it as some level at one time or another. So, how do we deal with it?

Dr. Wolfelt, the guru on grief, has a series of short reads related to different aspects of grief. One book in this series is “The Anxiety of Grief” which I picked up to read with the angst of spring hitting me hard and interested in how my grief compounds this unpleasant emotion.

As in his other books, he first defines the issue, in this case, what is anxiety, and then continues, probing the reader to make lists, complete thoughts on paper and to reflect to better understand why one is feeling this way. He outlines the emotional and physical effects of grief related to anxiety and warns us of the red flags when anxiety is trying to morph into a disorder. Avoidance, obsessive thinking and lack of self-care are the biggest flags.

Anxiety is brought on by the same things that trigger our grief. Certain holidays, milestones, or sensory experiences.  Triggers that are not so obvious are hunger, dehydration, exhaustion and concurrent life stressors, like work or financial worry.

Dr. Wolfelt writes about the importance of expressing our anxiety. When one has suffered a loss, anxiety is a part of the grief experience. Managing anxiety can be done in the same ways as grief.  He suggests meditating, writing, talking, finding a support group or sometimes just having a good cry. He speaks of the importance of tuning into your body and of creating a routine. I know that when my routine is respected, I feel calmer, in control. I am becoming protective of my routine to ease my anxiety and my grief.

He finishes the book by telling the reader of the importance of congruence. Congruence is expressing with words and actions how you are feeling; your outside matches your inside.  It is your truth. Ignoring it will compound anxiety. We practice this with our grief and knowing that anxiety is part of grief, we can respect this emotion and put into place practices to ease it along side of our sadness.

Dr. Wolfelt states that “Your grief isn’t you. It’s something moving through you.”  I have yet to believe that. I’m just getting comfortable with the idea that grief is the other side of love. I am not letting go of love, so if it is true that grief is loves counterpart, I must accept the darker side. I believe that my grief moves within me, not through me. It is here to stay. And learning how to deal with the emotions of my loss, including anxiety, can help grief move easier.

The Gifts My Mother Gave Me

May 11, 2025 / / 1 Comment

I had a drink with a girlfriend this week who was telling me about her mother, who is almost a hundred years old, that she asked where her parents were. My friend had to tell her that they died, long ago. Her mother was confused. My friend has been down this path before with her mother-in-law before her death and although it is a bit different, my sweet friend is stepping up to the plate of mothering the mother, once again. I left our social afternoon reflecting on my own mother.

We joke in our family that dad, being Irish was the warm one. Mom, being of Scandinavian background, could be cold. She believed in everything proper, from manners, to dress, to lifestyle. A culture she learned by her own mother. My sister and I were taught these lessons and have thrown most of the ideals out the window by chance or by choice.

My mother and I had our trials as most do, in fact it wasn’t until my father passed away that our relationship took a turn from mother/daughter to good friends. And when we received the diagnosis that Alzheimer’s was the reason she was ‘having a little memory problem,’ our roles switched, and I became her mother. 

At first, we faced her mental decline with humor. When Zane handed me a phone number, she had taken for me, it was a combination of letters and numbers and more than a ten-digit number. I told him, “I can’t phone this person back, what the heck is this?” To which his reply was, “I know mom, I told her it made no sense, and she got mad, so I thought, she really isn’t my problem, she’s yours”.

I left work multiple times because mom had locked herself out of the house and was panicking. The problem was that she was calling me from her landline inside the house.  There was no convincing her that she was safe inside, she believed she was locked out. So, I would leave work and by the time I got to her house, all was forgotten. She would open the door with a big smile and say, “oh Janny, how nice to see you, are you here for tea?” Yes, mom, I came for tea.

When an old friend came out to visit, and ended up moving in, our relationship took a new turn. I felt more like a mama bear and my mom saw me as her girlfriend. One day, as I sat with her, she shared how he was able to perform but not “finish”. My jaw dropped. My mother the prude, the same woman who insisted we were never allowed to utter the word sex, asking me for advice on how to…I can’t even say it.

I needed help. I enlisted the services of the Rockyview Senior Care Centre, and a handsome young social worker became my best ally.  With his guidance and resources, my mother and I travelled the path of this debilitating disease together. She said to me, “I am afraid of this.” And I replied, “Me too, but you will not be alone. I will be with you.” It was not easy. In the end, mom was placed in a home, for her own safety. My brain knows that was the right move. My heart, to this day, questions the solution.

Seventeen years since she left earth, and I still struggle with my emotions from that period. I could not keep a sense of humor with the insanity of the disease. I was not angry with her; I was scared and overwhelmed and sad that the last years of her life were not recognizable by her. With Alzheimer’s, you lose your loved one twice.

I hold tight to the solace I carry within me, the beauty of her lessons as my mother. The joy to be with friends and family around a table of food and wine. The comfort of a home that is neat and orderly. The strength in raising a family and the courage to face great loss. I carry the lesson my mother demonstrated that we do not choose fate; it serves us and the only control we have is to face it with grace.

Another Mother Now Knows Today

May 4, 2025 /

I have always found Bereaved Mother’s Day curious. To have a day (the Sunday before Mother’s Day) that recognizes women who have lost a child. It started in Australia and began with a focus on babies who passed of S.I.D.S., a miscarriage or stillbirth. Over the years, it has spread world-wide as a day for all mothers who have lost a child; a day that is an opportunity to talk about them, to find support to know that they are not alone. Also importantly, the hope of this initiative is to have people start talking about loss such that the notions around death become less taboo.

So, I take this holiday and each year, I reach out to my grieving mother friends to let them know I am thinking of them on this Sunday. And then, the following Sunday, I will reach out to my other mother friends who are enjoying the day with their children still here on earth. This year, I reached out to my friend who is experiencing her first Mother’s Day without her son. And I know what that feels like.

My first Mother’s Day without Zane here was surreal. In fact, when I look back, the entire month of May did not exist. I mentally checked out.  That year, I spent all my energy going to battle with the courts to obtain guardianship to have access to Zane’s personal documents to ensure that he would graduate from university as was the plan before he was killed. It was complicated and carried with it its own grief and I was overwhelmed. But I digress.

I remember certain dates in the beginning of our journey, including Bereaved Mother’s Day, which went unnoticed by my family as they dealt with their own grief. So, this day has become my day with Zane. Over the years, I have instilled quiet moments of honor, remembrance and even celebration. Bereaved Mother’s Day has become for me, a day to celebrate being Zane’s mom. All the wonder of his soul coming into my life and all the many beautiful experiences we shared during his short but impactful time. And it is a day that I honor the strength of my fellow mothers who too find a moment to wish that fate was different. And thus, I put a note into a card and dropped it in my friend’s mailbox. Her first Bereaved Mother’s Day. I wish it was not so.

I hate that she now knows about her new and special Sunday.  The one before the popular one that will have her crying in the Hallmark aisle as the colorful cards taunt you a happy day. But it might help her to know this is this day where the whole world recognizes she is remembering her beautiful boy, and the memories he has left her with. And not that any of us need a special day. We live and breathe the life and loss of our children. Bereaved Mother’s Day is really a statement that the world acknowledges the unimaginable levels of anguish experienced by mothers who have loved, lost and continue to be women of strength and hope to their families.  My sweet girlfriend is now one of those.

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