Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Month: November 2025

With Grief’s Permission

November 30, 2025 /

As a kid growing up, I enjoyed American Thanksgiving. My cousins would travel to our home from Montana to join us. The holiday included a trip to Eddie Bauer, shopping for Canadian treasures to take back, like bacon, wieners, Tylenol 222 and Canadian beer. Dinner was the traditional turkey, with all the fixings. It was a favorite time for y’all. We still celebrate it, in remembrance of those days.

This year I noticed how different my favorite holiday has become. Empty. It is without the fanfare of my childhood. It lacks the full table (so many are missing, including my cousins). It lacks the sounds of chatter with a slight drawl. It lacks my mother’s kitchen, small with the window steamed from the heat of the oven and pots boiling. It lacks my father’s presence, rocking in his chair with the dog on his lap, cocktail on the side table, next to the ashtray with a cigarette always smoldering.

This holiday was always about family. The whole family.  Not the small Canadian Thanksgiving family. No, American Thanksgiving was big, bold, loud and oh so energizing. It included everyone. It shouted we are together. It contained the sharing of what was happening, what was being planned, and always the latest antics of my crazy southern family. You went to bed that night so full of food, wine and laughter that you couldn’t sleep.

For some reason, this year, the happiness of yesteryear came through the front door, stomping around in my head like a full piece band. Perhaps it was because this year was like any other day. It started off rough, it included too much work, stress, mess and a rush home to ‘whip up’ dinner. It did not contain any extended family. It did not pause any ugly realities. The day had me so totally exhausted that I found myself having a hard cry before my daughter and husband came home to join me for dinner.

Grief. This Thanksgiving my grief sat at the head of the table. It reminded me of how old I am.  How tired I have become. I countered it with the game of gratitude. I am aware and appreciative of all that I do have. Then my grief reached its hand across the table to hold mine and whispered to me, “it’s ok to cry for the many empty seats at your table.”

And with that, with grief’s permission, I leaned in, letting my broken heart mourn for all those that once sat at my table. Those who raised me, those I grew up with, for family that shared decades with me. And I cried for those who once sat at my table that I raised, mothered or mentored. For the kids that have sat around my table sharing their dreams, their gratitude at their young age. Including and especially, the twenty-six Thanksgivings I shared with Zane.     

 This year, I missed the physical presence of my family. All of them; those who join my table in heart and those who join my table in spirit. This year, I longed for the simple, naïve and joyful times of Thanksgivings past.  

When Collective Grief Becomes Conflicted

November 23, 2025 /

I have been battling with conflicted grief lately. Conflicted because I feel one way but am expected to feel another way. It has me basking in a pool of self-reflection and personal judgement if I am behaving in the manner that honors my family’s needs without sacrificing my own.

Trying to not divulge too much, as the cause of this new grief is not my story to share, let’s just say that a family member has made decisions which has created a division of opinion and made gatherings uncomfortable if not impossible. And with the upcoming holiday season, I am anxious about where I should be and what I should do and how I should feel.

In the beginning, emotions were raw. Grief had just arrived and each of us handled it differently. I was accused of not being supportive enough as it appeared I wasn’t going to choose sides. With me, I saw we were all experiencing loss and thus my care-giving soul needed to hug everyone, which was frustrating for some.

Then, when enjoying tea with friends, one told me her story of how she was experiencing a very similar situation within her family. She shared how her heart was grieving and yet she felt she had to hide it or be ridiculed. As I listened to her, the actions of her family, the feelings for her person, the frustrations to be all to all, I found a kinship. Two mothers who feel that their grief must be ignored most days to ensure the happiness of everyone else.

Why as mothers do we feel this way. We are not told to do this and yet, we assign to ourselves an unspoken expectation that whatever road our family chooses to travel to support their needs is a road we must also travel with them. It is ludicrous as we know grief is a personal journey.  But when there are layered reasons, tribulations, we want to be calm, to be comfort to their woes. How we feel becomes seemingly less relevant.

Moms don’t have strong boundaries, if any at all, when it comes to the wellbeing of their family. But we need them. Our heart is broken too. We are filled with grief and confusion and want to be present. For everyone.  Can we create a space to support all those we love without judgement. Can we give each other the freedom to determine how one’s own grief is addressed. Can we be compassionate to the truth that we are all hurting. In different ways, for different reasons but we are all hurting. And can we give leniency to each other to be ourselves?  

The answer needs to be yes. Perhaps the role of mother is only to start the process.  An unsteady process that requires open communication, the setting aside of ego and the ability to put respect front and center. This doesn’t make collective grief any less ugly. Or easy. Hopefully, it will make room to reduce the conflict such grief carries; to explore collective pathways that will help comfort our grief. As a family and as individuals. 

Dear Drew by Melissa Hull

November 16, 2025 /

Melissa Hull is an internationally recognized voice in grief recovery. Her book, Dear Drew, is about dealing with grief, guilt and discovering resiliency. Her experience comes from the trauma of her young son who passed in a drowning accident. Writing this book, she hoped to help the reader create a life bigger than their grief.

She begins by telling the reader to find an agency; this can be a person, place, anything that offers hope when grief first arrives.  It is a grounding stone. She then expands on how to strengthen the agency through practices, insight and reflection, each chapter starting with a note to her son, “Dear Drew”.

Her story is about her personal journey of losing her son and the guilt that consumed her. She shares her struggles to keep functioning for the sake of her other son, how the stress affected her marriage and the judgement she experienced from others. Her path to survival was found when she became a public speaker sharing the importance of water safety.  The positive feedback of how her talk gave answers, power, and forgiveness became her ability to move forward. At the end of each chapter she shares tips of what helped her that might also help another.

 The moment of agency is the notion I found most interesting. She writes, “To find empowerment in pain, we must recognize and seize the moment of agency.”  Agency is about living by choice or by consequence. Discovering a (new) vision or goals after loss. With every choice presenting itself, each must ask if it is aligned with one’s value system.  Does it open more possibilities to heal. The freedom within agency, to choose or not to choose, gives one control in a life where control was taken away. Recognizing when agency appears, and following the path that is for our better good is how we might rebuild.

Her framework, P.U.R.P.O.S.E. are the steps she took to lead her to a more fulfilling life. Pause & reflect on what matters most. Understand what your triggers and your strengths are. Reach out for support. Pursue small steps daily that involve a hobby or passion project. Open yourself to joy. Set boundaries to protect your energy. Embrace growth knowing that it is never-ending.

As I read this book, I am in awe of the space she now holds after her son’s death. She is a professional grief warrior. I must remind myself that her journey began in May of 2000. Drew was four years old. This book was published in 2025 and is about a beautiful mother who has walked her path for twenty-five years, sharing her truth, her purpose, while practicing her own advice. Her testimony sheds light to how we can morph into something else after great loss.  I found her story encouraging and yet it held a gentle reminder that I have a long way to go. Her reassurance is that agency will bring purpose through which healing is possible, even if there is no finish line in grief.

Who Will Cure My Grief?

November 9, 2025 /

As the ongoing parade of medical examinations unfold, I found myself at an appointment I didn’t expect this week. My oncologist, in my last appointment noticed there was mobility restriction in my right hand. He asked if I would be open to seeing an occupational therapist.  I said yes.  So, when the hospital called with a date to come in, I put on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt assuming it would involve exercises of some kind.  And it did.  Just not for my hand.

The young therapist was wonderfully cheery, asking how I found the roads to the hospital that morning as she had found traffic heavy.  I agreed and we went into her office, continuing to chat about the weather.  She asked if I was open to her starting my assessment with a couple of questions.  I nodded.  Her first question was what day it is.  Thursday. What Province are we in.  I stared at her.  Alberta.  What is the year.  My mouth dropped.

I said, “oh my God, this is not about my hand, is it?  This is a cognitive test you are giving me.” She was surprised I didn’t know.  She explained how my doctors had referred me to her as I had expressed to both, I was feeling more brain fog than usual. She was a behavioural therapist who specializes in dementia caused by the effects of cancer. She admitted that she was testing me from the start; the question about traffic told her I could drive myself. “Are you ok with this?” she asked. “Bring it on”, I said.

My mother passed of Alzheimer’s. There is a 50% chance I could develop it because of her genetics. Of all the health issues I am battling, my memory was not on my radar.  Yes, my brain hurts and memory is shoddy but stress, grief, and the multi-tasking I do daily is a more probable answer than dementia.  At least I hope so.

At the end of the day, I passed with flying colors. She felt confident there was no memory issue with me and would send her report to my well-meaning doctors. She also suggested a program I could enroll in on tips to keep your memory sharp as you age. I signed up for that. 

My health is important, and I have agreed to many courses and tests as we explore the reason for my chronic pain and heart problems. The fact that my doctors are now signing me up to specialists and sending in prescriptions without my awareness is something I questioned. The answer is I don’t mind; I’d just like to be informed so that I can be prepared for the next step. I am grateful they are exploring every possibility.

I keep asking how the emotional state might trigger illness. What role does heartache play in the long-term wellbeing of a patient. You can’t quantify loss. Grief does not show up in a blood test. Doctors are trained to take care of the body. But how do you scan and mend the soul that is broken?

When I expressed this frustration to my nutritionist, she asked, “Have you ever taken a reprieve from your old normal to discover what a new normal needs to be for you?”  “No”, I replied.  She sighed, “Perhaps your continuing attempt to keep doing everything you did before your grief arrived has caused an emotional burnout”. And with that, I have a new appointment to be seen by a mental health specialist. 

The Magic of Muertos

November 2, 2025 /

It’s Dia de los Muertos season again. One of my favourite celebrations because it offers the opportunity to invite our loved ones of the other realm to visit us. I started this tradition after Zane was killed and each year its power of connection is felt stronger.

The altar, or ofrenda, is a space in your home that you allocate to display pictures and mementos of loved ones who have passed. It is a place of honor not of sadness. Decorated pieces you can add to the ofrenda are sugar skulls, candles, marigolds, ribbons, all in bright colors. Closer to the day food and beverage favourites are added to the ofrenda. There is no right or wrong way to embellish this space.

This year I gathered with three other mourning mamas to paint sugar skulls for our altars. It was an enjoyable afternoon of chatter, bonding and sharing of the strength it takes to live in two worlds.

Adding to my ofrenda, my sister gave me a canine skeleton ornament, small and grinning in blue and green shades, to represent my sweet Tango. I added a bowl and filled it with toasted pumpkin seeds, a family favorite at Halloween.

My daughter looked at our ofrenda and commented how many pictures we have. Too many. Yes, too many to which I am forever sad about and yet, this is the time of year where I feel less grief. I feel more connected. I know that the veil is thin now and the signs are easier to appear. It is an exciting time to watch and be open to the messages coming from Heaven.

I have been told by a couple of my fellow grief warrior moms that they understood Muertos through my sharing of the reasons I do this so tried it in their own homes. They too experience the healing effects felt in choosing a place of honor, finding the perfect picture, layering the decorated items among the candles. It is therapeutic to care for those not living here in such a simple remembrance. It is a good mourning tradition. A moment we know is heard as we whisper into the night, “Se que todavia estas aqui.”  (I know you are still here).

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