Author: Mama Fish (Page 1 of 32)

Building Your Own Legacy

June 21, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

In a recent counseling appointment, we touched on my grief and how it may be affecting me and those around me. The question of focus was am I building a legacy for only Zane. There have been innuendos and fleeting comments about how everything I do seems to have a component of my son included. Does this make my loved ones feel somewhat left out? I thought it was an absurd perception at first.

Every mother has this fear that her child will not be remembered. We take it upon ourselves to become the legacy builder for them. We are the ‘gate keepers,’ the one who insist that they have a seat at the table, that their stories are shared, that their name is said aloud. It is how we continue to love our child. It is also what we need to survive the daily task of living without their physical presence. Bringing our child into our everyday life through actions on their behalf and mentions of their memory helps keep grief pacified.

I will not change this nor will I apologize for it. However, as it was gently pointed out to me, I too need a legacy. Is mine only that of my child’s? And as a mother, what about the legacy of the loved ones I share this life with. What is my part in supporting the building of their legacy? I left the appointment with my brain hurting from the contemplation of all of it.

The popular question, “what do you want said at your funeral” is the creative way of asking, “what do you want your legacy to be.” Everyone leaves this earth with a legacy, the footprints of what their life did to those they touched. It is energizing to know that we have the power to establish our own legacy.

It begins with what we love, what makes our own soul come alive. Following that passion with simple, every day actions is how a legacy is built. My grandmother’s passion for natural medicine left her family with a knowledge and a practice of alternative healing. My mother’s love of cooking left us with a passion for comfort food and a collection of recipes that brings her alive with each dish.

I have thought of what my legacy might be, but motherhood has been a great distraction to exploring my own. And when Zane was killed, my entire energy shifted to building the legacy he should have been here to do. It has been an easy task. We shared so many passions, writing, photography, astrology, which furthering his loves has reignited in me the energy I had as a teenager. Honoring Zane, I have dug up the girl I used to be.

My therapists challenge for me is twofold. What can I do to support the legacy building for each of my loved ones and how can I expand the circle of legacy such that my legacy is next to Zane’s and not entirely his. He deserves his own. As do I.

As if the Universe felt the point of my session needed to be emphasized, the Hallmark movie that night was about legacy! The ironic details of this movie included the family name was Blanchard (my maiden name), the mystical Aunt who led the way was Gert (my mother-in-law) and the movie was about letting go of the café or not as it was the mother’s legacy (my mom’s love of cooking!). I could hardly watch it as each scene seemed to bring more ideas, more proof of the importance of building your own legacy while supporting your families desire to do the same. Oh Hallmark, where do you come up with these ideas? I’m listening and learning. The assignment begins.

Summer Bucket List Started with Lilac Festival

June 14, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

The idea of sipping wine on a sunny patio took a turn this past weekend and didn’t disappoint.

I have been suggesting to my friends that this summer we make a bucket list of ideas we want to do to comfort our grief and celebrate our children. Summer has always been a trigger for our family; it is Zane’s favorite season, his birthday and the anniversary of passing. I used to love this period, now I dread it and, in the desire, to reduce the angst of what our short and beautiful season should be about, I am making a summer bucket list.

Bucket list number one, enjoy Lilac Festival. I used to take the kids down to stroll along fourth street, viewing the artisans’ booths and sampling the food. Zane continued going every year with friends; he loved the energy and vibe of a crowd having fun. Attending would be celebrating him.

Payton and I arrived with the agreement that we would shop and stop for a wine on a sunny patio (a bucket list item). When the clouds rolled in and everyone ran for cover, we ended up in a wine bar. Seated comfortably at a window table we watched the attendees scatter about in the rain while we sipped a buttery chardonnay and nibbled on appetizers. It was bliss.

When the rain let up, we paid our bill and went on our way to enjoy surprise after surprise. We bumped into Jake and strolled with him. Kelly, the man who found my phone last year on the highway was working a booth with his wife, to which I had the pleasure of meeting and giving both a hug. (Her business is Modern Whisk and worth checking out!). We had mini donuts, bumped into more friends and ended up on a patio with a group of Zane’s friends in the summer sun, sipping a Jameson-lemonade. Grief took a back seat.

It is such a treat when grief eases. We tend to feel guilty when we catch ourselves smiling, God forbid laughing at life. We are aware that joy is what our loved ones would want for us and yet, we feel more comfortable crying for them, rather than celebrating them. I think it is the pain of remembering, the belief that they are not here. That thinking is what makes living hard.

We must remember our children are here. Yes, it is painful that they cannot be held physically, but if we wallow in that every moment, we miss out on the signs from them that they are still with us. Their energy lives on, and when we ask grief to pause so that we may grasp a beautiful moment, we are living for both ourselves and our loved ones. That thinking is what makes grief bearable.

Zane was at Lilac Festival. No coincidence we bumped into his friends, no coincidence there were bubbles around us, balloons floating by and the bar we were at…. his friend told us, “Of course you are sitting at this table, right here.” I asked why and he replied, “this is the table we sat at with Zane on his last Lilac Fest and my last picture of him, I took right here. He was standing right here.”

I looked over to the spot he was pointing at. I could envision my son, standing there, camera around his neck, drink in his hand. I winked. And he winked back. It’s going to be a beautiful summer.

Where Would You Be Now

June 8, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

It was seven years ago that Zane was to be walking across the stage to receive his degree. I often think what he would have done with that achievement. It was a business degree he said he needed to acquire the standard of life he wished. As his mother, I had encouraged him to ‘cross the courtyard’ from the business building to the arts building. My son was both; but his passion came alive when he was creative.

His favorite electives in university were religion and creative writing. He excelled in both courses.

His final paper in his religion class he convinced his professor to let him debate that dudeism (from the movie The Big Lebowski), was as much a religion as the others. He aced the paper. In his learning of what dudeism was, he found and took the course to become ordained. We all laughed at how this could be a path to take and he was excited to explore it more.

His favorite of all was his creative writing course. There was a kindred energy with his classmates, sharing and comparing stories related to what they wrote and their real-life experiences. There were two women that Zane loved to share philosophies and writing styles with and through their classes, the topic of life was a common one. I met these two friends at his funeral.

I was standing outside amongst family and friends, when two very beautiful women walked up our path. One was carrying a massive bouquet of yellow roses. The other carried a bottle of whiskey. They approached me and introduced themselves as the friends from Zane’s writing class. In one of their conversations about life, Zane had advised them, that if ever a friend passes, one should bring to their funeral, whiskey and roses. It was the only fitting gift. In his honor, the girls had followed through.

That act still brings me to tears. The philosophical, artistic, spiritual side of my son, intertwined with a sense of humor about the realities of life was what I hoped would have been the path he followed if he was given more time on earth.

It is a common practice for grieving parents to think about where our children would be and what would they be doing if they had not passed. The anniversary of Zane’s graduation is loud this year. In the early years, it was easy to think of the answers. He would have travelled. He would have found his first place. He would have found a job. And I hope that job would have been something inspiring, an opportunity to hone his writing or his photography skills, or his dudeism!

Alas, the future is one more thing that death takes away. It replaces should with wonder. And I believe it is ok to wonder. To imagine what our child would have done with the rest of their life. Past the pain, that this will never be, there is a space that sheds light on what they might have been doing and how that would look and the challenge of how we can, on their behalf, make that happen.

Following through on actions, of our own version of what they might be doing is a way to honor them. I started this blog because Zane loved to write. And he always encouraged me to start a blog. I would say to him, “you need a topic, what on earth would I write about?” To which, in his death, came my answer.

I have picked up his camera and have yet to master it, but I try. I try for Zane, and I know that is all he would ask of me. And in that, I find a beautiful, therapeutic connection to him.

The Purpose of Grief Triggers

May 31, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

Triggers are a funny thing. Or maybe not so funny. They are hidden; you have no idea when they will appear or how they will appear. But when they do, they throw you back to ground zero and the pain feels like it did in the first moments. It is gut wrenching and something all grievers know, triggers are a lifetime thing. My latest trigger happened on a walk, on a beautiful evening, just as the sun was setting.

I was coming home from my son-in-law’s birthday dinner. The evening had contained some aha moments with how things were changed, and how more change was about to happen. Not so much the coming of years, but more the passing of what used to be our life. As I walked along the path home, I was reflecting on the evening, the conversations held, the delicious meal, the care of putting it together. My thoughts were melancholy, not painful, perhaps a touch remorse, but nothing upsetting. Then I came to the field.

The sun setting in the distance cast a pastel shadow over the field. It was empty. The families, the soccer teams, all gone. It was so quiet. I started thinking about how many times we walked the ‘loop’ of this field. My daughter and I would meet after work to share the woes of our day, counting the steps to reach our goal before going home for dinner. It was the same field that my son-in-law and I would meet to share our collective grief. In those dark days, the field became the joining place when I had no where else to go.

I have walked through this field dozens of times, in every season. That night, the trigger came in the camouflage of a sunset. And it came loud. It emphasized, through its closing of the day, my feelings that this period of my life, the one I just left, was not to be forever. There will be a time where I won’t be in that house as much, if at all. We will move on as life insists we do. And the sunset seemed to cover me in so many thoughts of what I have lost, what I am losing now and what will be lost in the future. And with that, in the middle of the field, I collapsed to ground zero.

When triggers bring ground zero to the forefront, time seems to pause. You can feel the heart crack wider, thoughts speed up with assumptions, what-if’s and if-only. The breath quickens, the tears pour out and somewhere from deep within a sob exits. I stood, alone in the field, wishing for what I know will never be. And as the sun set, I snapped a picture of it, pulled myself up and sent it to my son-in-law with a text that read, “It occurred to me, how I would come to this field upset and you would run from your place to here to be with me. I am now realizing, having got here from your place, the distance it took you to get to the same place that was right beside my home. And when I started remembering how many times you did that for me, I realized how grateful I am for you to have been there.” Whatever is to be, I became aware of the reasons, I feel as I do. Another sunset is coming.

That’s the silver lining with triggers. If we lean into them, if we believe that they come, not to rip us apart, but rather to help us see clearer, triggers can become a learning tool. Or at the very least, we can begin to understand that triggers are not the enemy. They are who best understands and shares our grief.

The Sheep Detectives Review

May 24, 2026 / Mama Fish

I don’t enjoy a lot of movies because I tend to “live” the movie as if it was my own life. I become the characters, the plot is happening to me and those I know…I reflect, remember and ponder over the outcomes for weeks after I see it. Thus, my love for Hallmark. It is soft, little drama and always a happy ending. So, when the movie The Sheep Detectives came out and my daughter asked for her dad and I to join her, I conceded. I had heard great reviews of this movie, and I thought it was an animated comedy about sheep. How fun would that be. And with Hugh Jackman playing the leading role, I was sold. The movie was nothing I was promised.

If you haven’t seen this movie yet, spoiler alerts here. The sheep are not cartoonish, although they talk and parts are hilarious. The movie explores themes of death and grief through the unique perspective of sheep who confront painful experiences. Their ability to selectively forget sorrow, except for one old sheep who bears the weight of remembering every loss, is used as a metaphor for how individuals cope with death, some choosing to move on quickly, while others hold onto their experiences. Ultimately, the story reveals the profound impact of loss and the resilience required to face it, making the movie both touching and thought-provoking.

There is a winter lamb that the flock tosses aside and will not include, but who continually tries to belong, symbolizing hope amid hardship. Born during the coldest months, it represents resilience and new beginnings, showing that even in the bleakest times, life finds a way to persist. Its presence serves as a reminder to the flock that renewal and warmth can follow even the deepest freeze, offering comfort and optimism as they navigate grief and uncertainty.

Sebastian, the lone lamb, prefers to look down from a cliff at the flock, embodies the symbolism of isolation and introspection. His physical separation from the group highlights the experience of feeling apart from others, whether by choice or circumstance, and reflects the journey of those who process grief or adversity in solitude. Sebastian’s vantage point suggests a desire to observe, understand, and perhaps find meaning from a distance, representing the nuanced ways individuals seek perspective and healing outside the comfort of community.

There is so much symbolism in the movie relating to how we cope in the face of uncertainty and grief. I was crying at the injustice of their experiences. I was furious at the unfairness of what they could not control, and I was a little jealous that they could choose to forget what they could not endure. My emotions were a mesh of tears and laughter and aha moments of how my own grief could be seen in the actions, thoughts and desires of these little movie sheep.

In the end, the sheep found strength together to face their losses, witnessing signs they were not alone and creating ways to honor those they loved. For fictional sheep, their lessons were very real.

This is a movie for the whole family, and a great reminder for those grieving that loss is your own journey but that it can be more consolable in the flock of family and friends.

Receiving Messages from The Universe

May 17, 2026 / Mama Fish

Recently a group of us shared a conversation of the messages we receive from our loved ones, how we know it is them and how we want to increase and strengthen this relation.

We know that we connect better to the Universe if we cultivate mindfulness and pay close attention to our surroundings. We know we should practise meditation to uncover subtle energies and signs. Keeping a journal of experiences can also help recognize patterns and validate perceptions.

The more abstract idea is setting clear intentions, asking for signs or guidance, to receive messages from loved ones, and then trusting your intuition, whether the messages come through dreams, objects, or repeating numbers.

Although all these practices contribute to a higher vibration, I believe the biggest hurdle in receiving messages is distraction. When I am on a quiet walk in the park, I find all sorts of ways Zane is letting me know he is with me. When I am overextended or too busy, signs are missed. That is what happened to me recently.

We had gone out with friends for dinner. At the next table, a gentleman joined his friends. The tables were very close together, so my husband politely said hello, and we introduced each other. His name was Jay and I did not notice he had a camera until he asked to take a picture of our friend.

When he took the picture, I asked, “are you a photographer?” He said, “Yes, I don’t go anywhere without it. I really enjoy street photography”. I told him so did my son. Zane would spend hours asking random people on the street if he could take their picture. Jay said he that he was a rock climber with a passion for mountain shots. I told him of how Zane loved nature shots too. Then he asked what social account my son posted his pictures on.

I took a breath and shared my readers digest version of our fate. He said, “I’m so sorry. I lost my wife two years ago.” We talked about the awkwardness of having to share stories with strangers and how we appreciated the ease of those who ‘get it’. We continued chatting about how photography can be a positive security blanket. It was as if the spirits of his wife and my son connected our tables to share our grief through a conversation about snapping pictures. And suddenly I understood why.

He was sitting next to me, a message from Zane, in human form. A reminder of how photography can help heal. It can connect one to life, speaking through pictures of what the heart cannot describe. Jay was sharing the power of mindful photography, the lessons Zane had learned, the legacy he left. Through my work, the projects we are building to share what Zane and Jay know is all about the power of healing through the lens of a camera. We are close to creating a project that will benefit the masses, but the work has not been easy, and I often feel like I am failing. Listening to Jay, it was a conversation I needed after a hard day at work to remind me I am on the right path. “You got this mama.”

I had almost missed receiving this message being distracted in the company of my good friends. Jay got up to leave. I stood up to give him a hug. “I think my son knows your spirit”, I said, “I’ll be watching for your photos.” He smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Ditto.”

The Strength of Motherhood

May 10, 2026 / Mama Fish

I have a favorite toast I share with my friends who are mothers, “Here’s to strong women, may we know them, may we be them, may we raise them.” I try to live by this empowering quote. This year, the sentiment was loud.

In my clan, I have shared the last year with women who have presented unspeakable strength. Friends who are personally battling poor health and yet still showing up for their family. Still showing up to gather their loved ones around the table, showing up at school concerts and soccer practices. Some of them on crutches and some of them coming from chemo treatment. They show up.

I have some friends who are battling the agony of absent family members. The strength it takes to continue when you can not hold your loved one because death has taken them away. Or addiction has. Or the children who have chosen to disassociate in a desire to heal their own pain. These friends continue to be there, waiting, exploring how they could connect with a child living across the veil or reunite with a distanced child. This path takes the strength of a mother.

I have watched the women we raised, including my own daughter, face adversity and heartbreak with a strength that comes from within. The ability to work, to be present for others, to face another day when the anguish of their heart and mind beg for a reprieve. This is a strength that is part innate and part taught. A strength learned through the lessons of a mother.

I know and bond with the strong women whose support in new challenges and in continuing challenges bring us closer. Challenges of all depths, including terminal illness, divorce, death and the uncertainty of upcoming changes. Together is where strength lies. A place where judgement is not allowed and tears are encouraged. A place where hearts are shared and souls gather to offer hope, peace and when one of us is empty, we are there to share strength.

Strong women are what we are. Strong. Each new day, each new situation that arrives, we meet it with a strength only found in the spirit of a mother. Whether motherhood is taking care of her own children, or her sibling’s children or her child’s children or the children of others…motherhood is a role taken on by those whose passion for care, justice and the welfare of any other living being. In a way, we are all mothers.

If not for the strength of mothers, those who raised us, those who sustain us and those we are raising, where would we be. Motherhood is a gift of grace. A responsibility to God that we are the caretakers of this life and those in it. It is a gift to which strength is essential. And to which we are lucky to have been given.

Mother’s Day is a moment each year to recognize and to celebrate all of this. From my heart to yours, thank you for sharing motherhood with me.

The Friends I Wish I Never Met

May 3, 2026 / Mama Fish

We had met a father in our early grief days who had a quote he would say to the (new) friends he met through group counselling, “you are the friend I wish I had never met.” It is a true statement that I have adopted. I have many girlfriends now who I have met and share a deep bond with because we have one major thing in common. We are grieving mothers.

In 2010, Carlie Dudley, started Grieving Mother’s Day to honor those mothers who have had a child pass. Her own son, Christian, was the motivation behind this, choosing the Sunday before Mother’s Day to honor our role as mothers of angels. Each year, I now celebrate both Sundays. One with my family and earthly children and the other with my grief gals.

This year, six or seven of us will gather at Reader’s Rock Café in Union Cemetery. This peaceful site is scattered with tombstones of loved ones passed and in the centre of it is a heritage house that is filled with the smells of a good coffee and brunch. We will share updates on living with grief, tell stories of Mother’s Days past and after brunch, we will stroll along the paths lined with spring flowers and everything green. We will stop to take turns calling our children from the wind phone.

The wind phone, I have talked about before, is a beautiful tribute to the idea of connecting to your loved ones in Heaven via a rotary phone that you pick up, dial their number, and speak to them. If you are quiet, you will hear their reply. I have called Zane a few times on this phone and each time it hits me harder than anticipated when I dial his old number. I can hear him say, “hey mama, what’s up?” And the conversation begins.

Is it strange I look forward to this morning with my girlfriends? I don’t think so. I see these events as part of my healing. There is a comfort found amongst us that we are not alone. A strength found in the sharing of the pain we all carry and yet continue to move forward. There is joy found in the recognition of our children through the stories of their unique and impactful time on earth.

These are the friends I wish I had never met. And yet, without them, I would be adrift. They are the ones that understand only what can be understood through great loss. They are the ones that say “I know” because they know. They are the ones that truly understand how hard it is to face every day with a heart that is broken. To smile when you are angry. To laugh when you want to cry. They are the ones who feel the same pain. The pain of a grieving mother.

We are all hoping for good weather to enjoy the cemetery grounds. It is a beautiful, serene time shared with the spirits of so many amongst us. There is a strange vibe there, an encompassing energy of the reality that eternity is ours. That our loved ones are not gone. Each time I visit, I leave with a peace inside that we will always be connected. A beautiful feeling, especially on Mother’s Day.

The Blanchard Sisters

April 26, 2026 / Mama Fish

If anyone needs a reprieve from the grief and struggles of everyday life, I suggest you head to the mountains. Pack up your favorite things and leave your phone on airplane mode. The magic of the Rockies, whether an Alberta blue-sky day or a spring snow fall, every moment looks like a Hallmark greeting card. It is magical. I am filled with gratitude that I can enjoy this gift from God so often. This last trip was no exception.

I went with my sister. We spent our days shopping, eating at our favorite spots and talking way past bedtime. She shared with me an e-mail she came across that I had sent her in 2021. I had taken a course about ‘finding your authentic self’. One assignment was to write about family relationships. I had written:

We have a close, immediate family. Although I have a half brother, my sister is my go-to for everything. I am lucky to have her and not sure how I would get through life without her.

Darlene was the younger, prettier, more outgoing sister when we were growing up. I was saddled with housework, chores, school, and my mother’s idea that I was helping her raise Darlene. While I worried, fussed and planned, my sister lived life. She was daring, outgoing and popular. She was confident… She was skinny although we called her the human garburator because of the size of her appetite. She was smart in school and the boys flocked around her. She was asked to be a model in a local talent agency and worked in retail clothing as her school job. She was the package. And I admired her full life.

She was the one who wanted to get married, have a family and live out her days in urban splendor. My father always said he saw me on a farm, packing water to the house and tending to others while my sister would jet-set to New York and other fancy cities because of her work. And yet when my sister was offered a modeling gig in the States, my parents would not let her go. At the end of the day, my sister fell in love with a salesman she met through work and did settle down into a bungalow with two kids and a dog…

My sister’s recollection of her own past was so different from mine. She never saw herself in that light. It was therapeutic rehashing our childhood, the antics and expectations of our parents, our community and ourselves, to be reminded of how and why we were quite different and yet remained so close.

Siblings are a complex relationship; raised under the same roof, there would be similarities, yet the individual differences, the separate dreams and hopes and life experiences shape each of us into something unique. Siblings can share a comfort that is unexplainable. A bond like no other. We become a being of all the events shared during childhood, the good, the bad and the ugly.

When sis left to drive back to her own home, I went for a walk along the mountain path. I thought about our adventures, and I began to cry. Not sad tears, but rather thankful tears that through our soul plan, we chose each other to be siblings. I cried about the challenges we faced together and the laughter we share. And I cried in hope that I will have many, many more years with her. I truly can’t imagine life without her.

…I hold her hand. And she holds mine. And together we walk this life with all it’s hopes and sorrows.

Another Year Around the Sun

April 21, 2026 / Mama Fish

As my sweet niece states each birthday, “I’ve enjoyed another year around the sun.” I packed my bags this morning, in anticipation for my annual birthday trip to the magical mountains. I will be going there with my sister to enjoy not one but several nights where laughter and peace will reign. I am bringing a collection of personal projects that will finally receive my attention. I feel like a kid at Christmas. This will be the start of my 63^rd year. And, as is done each year before the ‘big day’ arrives, I reflect on the past year before I say goodbye to it.

This birthday arrived quietly, steadily-like a bookmark slipped into a well-loved book. I’m still reading the same story, yet somehow everything has changed since the last time I paused on this page.

Birthdays no longer feel like milestones marked in bold, new beginnings, big plans, loud celebrations. Now, they feel more like commas than exclamation points-gentle pauses inviting reflection rather than fanfare. I notice the small things more, the people who consistently show up, the lessons that repeat as they have yet to be learned, the gratitude that grows deeper instead of wider.

This past year did not unfold the way I imagined. Some dreams needed adjusting, others blew up. But new ones appeared-unexpected, resilient, and better suited to who I am wanting to become. I’ve learned that growth isn’t always visible in accomplishments. Sometimes it shows up in awareness, patience, or knowing when to let go.

I’m especially aware of time now. Yes, how fleeting it is but also its inspiration to shape me. Each year leaving its imprint in laughter lines, wisdom through the experience it brought and a greater appreciation for the ordinary. Time seems to be louder now, carrying with it a voice to focus better, to work harder, to adjust my sails as the other side of the shore is closer than before.

Birthdays are about hope; another chance has been given. Another blank slate with the opportunities to listen more closely. To be braver and firmer with boundaries. To celebrate progress without dismissing how far there still is to go.

So today, I’m not wishing for more. I’m wishing for enough. Enough strength to carry me forward, enough courage to face uncertainty, and enough grace, for myself and for others, as I begin yet another trip around the sun.

And that feels like a pretty good way to grow older.