Author: Mama Fish (Page 10 of 24)

Loss and Lessons Learned

February 19, 2023 / Mama Fish

We live with grief. Emily Graham does too. In her book, “Confessions of Child Loss”, Emily shares with us the death of her seven-year-old son Cameron. Her story is an honest recalling of how being thrown into the community, the “Child Loss Club” changed her outlook on life.

She shares with us the dark side of what happens when grief moves in. How it numbed her emotions and had her struggle as she needed to continue being there for her two daughters. She talks about the fears of forgetting him and the questions from strangers of how many kids do you have. What happened to your son? The grief bursts that accompany these conversations.

She speaks the universal language of the grief community and reveals how time and a desire to never say goodbye to Cameron brought her forward. She shares what wonders can come to be when we believe that they are still here. The signs, related to Cameron like the number 12 showing up in unexplainable ways; seeing synchronicities supported her change of thinking from ‘he is gone’ to ‘he is here still’. With that belief, she began talking to her son’s spirit, playing games in the car with his energy, and looking for more signs. Which she received. She tells us this brings a shift into your brokenness. For her, these activities inspired her to strive to be a better version of herself.

Emily writes that grief does not end, but that from her experience, it will change. She gives five suggestions to help you alter your grief.

Redefine your grief experience.
Lean into the pain.
Reach acceptance…not the same as approval. We are not ok with it, but we must accept what happened.
Self care is critical.
Connection to our child…the relationship continues after death, talk about them, bring them forward with you.

Personally, I struggle with suggestion number 3. She is farther ahead in her journey than I am, so perhaps with further time I might get there. Suggestion number 5 is what I found the most exciting. It coincides with a line in her book, my favorite line, giving hope. “You no longer have to live without them. You can live with them in a different way.” Here’s to that.

Between the Setting of the Sun and Moon

February 12, 2023 / Mama Fish

After Zane was killed, I started journaling my dreams. Somewhere I had read that dreams were the gateway to the other realm and that if you started recording them shortly after you woke, your intuition would increase. It became a nightly practice to shut off the external world, meditate and drift off to another possible adventure with my boy.

I had forgotten of the many dreams I had of Zane then. Each dream had a different scenario and Zane was different ages, but the ‘life like’ feeling of him being there was the thread of each one. I wrote about his laugh and his mannerisms and his role as my confidante. The dreams were of make-believe happenings; a conference we attended together, or our first home but he was a teenager, or Zane as a father of a 6-year-old girl. I would journal the dream details in the morning before they were gone. Each incident was as if he visited me and each time I would wake, I would have a feeling of peace. He was close. He was tangible. And I began to look forward to sleeping, knowing that we would be together. And then I quit dreaming.

When grief is new, we pray for visits from our loved ones while we sleep. We revel in the bitter-sweet joy they bring when they do happen and pout when days or weeks go by without a dream of them. Why do the dreams not happen? What became of my dreams that after the first year or two were less and less frequent? Why did I stop journaling?

I believe it is because our grief is no longer raw. Time pulls us away from the significance of being able to sit in the shock of our grief. The influences of others and demands of ‘moving forward’. We quit practicing the techniques we learned that connect us to spirit. Our ability to keep things simple and open to the other realm gets put on a shelf because our daily grind demands our attention. We become tired; battle worn.

We tend to complicate our lives with too many thoughts, or we get back to old habits rather than the new ones that dream journaling need to be practiced to be its best. Like meditation. Like being still. Like listening to the silence or the melodic tunes of HZ music. All of these we know bring us closer to spirit, but we become too busy or feel too hurt to keep it up. And then we wonder why we are not visited as much. We forget what Rumi tells us, “Death has nothing to do with going away. The sun sets, the moon sets. But they are not gone.”

Dreaming about our loved ones is finding that spot in between the setting of the sun and moon. Where our loved ones wait to visit us. It is we that must raise our consciousness to a higher level to open up the possibility of connecting. We must make this part of our daily exercise if we want to continue a new relationship with those we love.

My journals inspired me to record my dreams again. The recollections of these visions, time spent with my son on another level of awareness, reminded me that he is still in my life. He is waiting for me to meet him under the stars to laugh together until the moon sets and the sun awakens.

Suited for Grief

February 5, 2023 / Mama Fish

My (future) son-in-law asked me to accompany him to purchase his wedding suit. He is having it tailor made and was going to finalize the details and be measured. I was happy to go along. It was planned we would go to his appointment and then go for a drink at his favorite watering hole. As I sat at the table waiting for him to come out of the changing room, it hit me how typical this type of afternoon was when Zane was around.

The little spontaneity I enjoyed in my life usually happened with a call or a text from my boy. “Hey ma, want to meet me at Earl’s for a drink?” The answer would always be yes. No matter what I had going on, I dropped and raced to meet him. It was special he wanted to hang out with his mother. “Want to grab a bite?” “I’m going car shopping, want to come?” I loved those times. Bonding at its best. Now, here I was, with the fiancé of my daughter who also happens to be one of Zane’s best friends, watching him choose the fabric for the lining of his suit, and asking my opinion.

How strong we can be in an instant. I could feel the pangs of heartache within me, and I pushed them aside with a firm, “not now”. I wanted to relish in the experience. It was so special; it was a transferred moment I should have had with Zane. The sweet of my bitter-sweet life. I was not going to let grief take this away from me.

Grief does not always have to be in the front seat. Yes, we live with our grief, but time grows power to be able to say “I know you are there. Please give me this moment and then I will listen to you.” By consciously speaking to our grief, we lessen its grip, and it can sit in the back while we experience joy of the life we still have. This is an exercise that gets stronger with practice. It is a way to live harmoniously with grief, rather than always fighting it. A compromise perhaps, but small joy is better than no joy. I can build on that.

After the suit fitting, we met with another close friend of Zane’s to have that drink. My grief, quietly in the rear, letting me have this reprieve to soothe my heart. We toasted to the upcoming wedding, and the appreciation that we were all together. And we were. This was a typical setting Zane would have arranged and knowing that was a sign he too was at our table.

I am very lucky to have had so many spontaneous moments over the years with Zane. I continue to be lucky that his friends have adopted me. Whether they know it or not, their invites to include me are suited for my grief.

I Wish for You…

January 29, 2023 / Mama Fish

A creative friend has started a class on grief journalling. When she said she wanted to start this in honor of her daughter and to help others channel their grief, I was totally on board. Sign me up! I had no idea what to expect and, now halfway through the course, I must say that it has been therapeutic. It is a small group of women, some who have lost a child, others a husband, a parent, or a special relative. A mosaic of pain and understanding. A safe circle where we are encouraged to share stories and celebrate the lives of those we lost.

One of our recent assignments was to write a “I Wish” letter to our loved one. When I told my daughter she gasped, saying that ask would send her over the edge. I sat to write out my letter and found that she was quite right. This exercise brought up all the what if’s and the if only and brought me to tears many times before I could finally complete it.

Dear Zane,

I wish I could have given you more. I wish you had taken a semester off to travel to Spain to enrich your love of the language as you had wanted to do. I wish we travelled to Montana, Vancouver, and Ireland. Those were always ‘one year’ plans we shared.

I wish I had taken a photo walk with you and spent more time learning about the camera we bought you, your prized possession. I wish you could have enjoyed the birthday gift I planned for you, shooting the cave and basins in Banff with a professional photographer guide! I wish you could have published one of your short stories or sold your photos. I wish the world could have seen the artistic side of you.

I wish you could be at your sister’s wedding, and I wish that a wedding would have been part of your plan. I wish you could be at the wedding of your friends who hold this same wish. You were to be the best man for many of them.

I wish you could have enjoyed your own home. A place that held your energy and that you found comfort in after a long day. We had such ideas of where this place would be, along the river, close to the night life you adored.

I wish that your soul plan had been different for you. And yet, I am learning that there is a reason for everything, including me having to live without you on earth. More than ever, I wish I could somehow be here, and you there and still be able to hold you.

I noticed as I wrote my letter that I was wishing for things for me; spending more time with him seemed to be an underlying theme. The letter was to be about what you wish they obtained or experienced before they departed, a written collection of what they missed out on. Writing what I wished for Zane, the answer to what he and all of us missed out on was simple. A lifetime of new memories. I wish for a lifetime of new memories we will never get.

The Gift of Time

January 22, 2023 / Mama Fish

While waiting for our plane to take off, I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a post that the husband of a colleague of mine had passed. I had no idea as we have not talked since 2020. I knew he was sick; he was sick when we met. So why I was shocked and now crying on the plane surprised me.

His unique obituary, a personal blog of his journey that he wrote to the world, has captured many people who have never met him but feel his spirit through his words. And he is inspiring. Even after death. His wife, who equals his grace, and his two children, join our community of grief.

Every grief journey is different. Hers began with the diagnosis that her husband had only a few months to live. When I met my friend, she was a new hire to the organization I worked for. She had just started when the news of her future was given. We worked close together, and she balanced her demanding job in between his cancer treatments and raising two teenagers. She was an example of light, love and how to have it all. I admired her. I enjoyed working with her. And when I quit to move to another contract, we promised to continue supporting each other over our favorite glass of wine. Her husband was in remission then and somehow, I thought he would live forever.

Sitting and reading the beautiful summary of his life I was filled with remorse. I was not there for her. I did not keep in touch. She reached out when Zane was killed with the same sweet kindness, she shares with everyone. We promised, again, to keep in touch. That did not happen. Life seems to blur what we want to do with what time there is to do it all. And now, the opportunities to have been there with her, for her and her family, are gone. Or are they?

True, we get busy with our own grief and life demands that we do not always get to where we want to go or be the person we want to be. However, we know that guilt has no room here and each day is a new day to make a difference. She has lots of family and friends to support her. And I can still be one of those. It is what we are taught in grief. That our community is one filled with those who are missing their loved one, and although their story and their pain will be different than our own, we understand loss.

I think that is what is important. Perhaps a lesson hiding. Time is so unrelated. It promises nothing, it stands in front of us, empty and waiting for us to fill it in what way we choose. Each day is a new blank slate with the opportunities to do different, to do better. It is a gift that each of us receives, and my friends’ husband knew this well. The lesson, for me, knowing how he lived on this earth, is that time will tell and before it tells you, take it as a gift and make the most of it. As he did. As they all did.

To her husband, thank you. Thank you for being such a spirit of hope and optimism and an example of how each of us could be facing our own adversity. Your strength and courage are contagious. Your sense of humor had us all laughing, a lot. Your generosity was felt by so many, including me. Your love of family, friends and of this life, encourages us all to be the best we can be. And to relish in the time, we are given.

Bless you, Jim. Keep in touch.

Currently Under Construction

January 15, 2023 / Mama Fish

I was told recently my mood is a negative one. I am acutely aware of this and did not need to be reminded. But, bringing it up to discuss had me explore why I am unusually pessimistic. I am typically the one who is all about the sunshine. Lately, I am more about cloudy with a chance of rain.

I now believe that being moody is an emotion that cannot be suppressed or ignored. If it is, then it turns into a deep-set anger that brings with it more negativity. Moody now, clearer later is my response. It is interesting that as I lean into my pain, others notice and seem uncomfortable with this. I don’t expect to be grumpy the rest of my life. I feel this phase is part of my journey. I am oddly ok with it. I am trusting the Universe to ensure that my purpose and the individual I am to be, with grief, will come to be. I am learning to be patient on this journey I did not choose to take.

In grief, we are warned that people in our lives will want us to stay the same way we were before. They permit a short grieving period before suggesting we get back to normal. It is blatant that our past normal no longer exists. That truth everyone agrees on. Why then is it suggested we can return to our old normal? Why is it discouraged to bring new or different ways of being into our daily lives?

I think many of us are not comfortable with change. Especially of this magnitude. Uncalled for change. Death of a loved one catapults us into unknown territory. Major changes. We are re-learning how to be without those we love here in our physical realm. Our journey is all about change, about learning to be comfortable again. We will never be the same. So, what do we need to find our new normal?

I believe what we need is courage. The ability to be brave in the belief that with change, we will become a stronger, more rounded version of our (new) selves. We need to acknowledge that mood changes are part of that. We need to be patient with ourselves. And we need to address those who care for us with a simple thank you. A reassurance we are ‘under construction’ because of our loss. It is a process we are also uncomfortable with but a necessary one and that we are appreciative of their support and patience. We all must be patient.

And I must remember that this is my journey and my journey alone. I must accept that mood swings are part of the process. I must explore them and learn how to modify them so that they sit peacefully within me. I must remind myself, as often as is needed, that in this unknown territory, I am under construction to become who I am to be with my grief.

Love for Mr. Tango

January 8, 2023 / Mama Fish

Anyone who has been loved by a dog knows of the deep bond this special relationship brings. My decision to when our family would get a dog was entirely based on when I wanted more crap in my life! Truly, I knew I would be the one raising, training, feeding, walking, and cleaning up after it. So, when I was good and ready, we would get a dog.

Our choice of what type of dog was decided by Zane. I had given the family a copy of Dog Annual and a pile of page markers. Each person was to go through the magazine and mark the breed of dog they felt would best fit our family. Jon chose a St. Bernard or a Bernese Mountain dog. I vetoed his choices, claiming I would not be carrying a shovel when I walked the dog. Payton had every other page marked. Clearly, she had no preference. Zane wanted a dachshund. I wasn’t thinking a wiener dog; I wanted a French bulldog.

When the pet store had a wiener/Pomeranian cross brought in, I suggested to the kids we go look. My plan was they would see this ugly mutt and dachshund would no longer be an option. Was I wrong. Tango, who turned out to be a wiener/Pekinese cross and double the size we were told he would be, has been the sunshine member of our family for almost 17 years. We thank Zane to this day for his oh-so-appropriate choice.

As Tango ages, I am aware that the likelihood of having him with me for another decade is impossible. It has been suggested I prepare myself for the day he goes to Rainbow Heaven. Something I have pondered, but quickly extinguish any thought he might not be my walking partner soon. He knows, God knows, I need this little dog.

After a recent fall Tango and I had together, I ended up in a physiotherapist’s office and Tango went to the vet to assess our injuries. For Tango, I was expecting the worst. He is old. His breathing is heavy. He doesn’t hear us come home anymore. I felt I knew what the prognosis would be, especially now that the fall created troubles with him walking.

Living with grief, we sometimes think and/or behave pessimistically. We go on about our daily life, waiting for something else to go wrong. We wait for the other shoe to drop. It is a defense mechanism; we don’t want to hurt anymore than we already do so we anticipate all sorts of terrible scenarios that might bring us ‘new’ unhappiness. What this thinking does is close our vision and the opportunities to feel joy. When you feel the agony of grief you can become weary, afraid to bring in love as you know the pain of the other side of it. This is a nasty, subconscious cycle that requires strength and courage to break.

The vet brought Tango back into the room. She smiled and reported, “for a small senior dog, he is in good shape. He has arthritis which we can give injections for, and eye drops to help with his teary eyes”. My heart flipped. I thought he was on death’s doorstep. I resisted taking him in because I did not want to be told I had more grief coming. “Are you comfortable with this plan?” the vet asked. “YES”, I laughed with relief, “the dog is in better shape than I am”!

As I write this, I hear the soft snores of my little beast napping in the morning sunshine. I realize I have been grieving for the future loss of my dog rather than enjoying the joys I have with him now. The truth is I don’t know how much time I have with him, so perhaps a couple extra walks in the park should be my course rather than fretting about the inevitable.

This experience has been a blatant reminder of what life is about. Where there is love, there is loss. Where there is joy, there is pain. My brain understands this. Living it is a different story. I must remember we have the choice to choose which side we wish to look at. The dark side of loss or the light side of love.

2023 is here!

January 1, 2023 / Mama Fish

The New Year has arrived. It brings with it the unresolved despair and worries that 2022 had. It brings with it, the leftovers of resentment and anger that I can’t seem to reduce, no matter what I do. It brings with it the deep sadness that I have another year ahead of me without hearing the laughter of my son.

2023 also brings with it the need to change. My cancer treatment now includes hormone therapy with debilitating side effects that can be reduced with exercise and less alcohol. I have never exercised a day in my life. Walks with Tango are meditative rather than physical. And those who know me, know that wine is a dietary staple. 2023 does not seem promising to be the year that things are going to get easier.

We know in grief that distractions are a good thing. We are aware that we live with grief forever, so purposefully placed distractions are necessary. They give a reprieve to emotional pain. When properly placed in our daily lives, they build strength to face the intense waves of sorrow. Distractions bring clarity to the importance of the people with us, to our current events; they are reminders that life is still ours to experience and share.

I find that I am happy when my focus shifts from my personal pain to moments of connection. When I am preoccupied, brushing my dog, writing to a family member afar, visiting a friend. Short intervals, but important ones. My grief is distracted when I am hanging out with my sister or my daughter; no matter what we do, I find myself feeling better. And a favorite pastime is a sacred moment with Zane when we connect across the realms.

There is something to be said about receiving a sign or a message from our loved ones. The impossible happening; their ability to reach through the veil to let us know they are here. It might be a feather or a dime or a number sequence. When it happens, there is a frozen second in time where the heart feels them, and the soul knows it is a visit. There is nothing quite like it. It is the ultimate distraction.

Grief warriors are taught to ‘say their name’. When given the opportunity to speak their name, to share stories about their life with others, it engages our grief. By talking about of our loved ones, their presence comes alive, and they seem to be with us. Speaking of and about our missed ones is a healthy, needed diversion that works. It is also the most basic way to honor them.

Thus, this year, 2023 does carry the baggage of previous years, but it also carries new possibilities of distraction. The hope that visits from our loved ones come often. The tending to ways we can honor and continue their legacy. The seeking of quiet moments when we can hear the voices of our past guiding us into our own future. The strength we need to face the challenges of a new year. And most importantly, 2023 carries with it the love our children gave us that can ease our aching and fill our broken hearts with peace.

Dear Santa,

December 25, 2022 / Mama Fish

All I want for Christmas is silence.

For with silence, I can hear my soul speak. I can hear it whisper there is a plan that all is to be ok. In the silence, my head empties of the racing tasks I have yet to finish and replaces them with dreams of possibilities. With silence, the shouting that pulls me in different directions subsides and makes clear what is my true calling.

Silence, when it sits next to me, brings me closer to those who are on the other side. I can feel their cheerleading. I can hear their laughter. I can recognize their love. In the silence.

Dear, dear, Santa, I wish for silence that comes wrapped up in quiet mornings with my first coffee, the fire warming the room and the dog lying at my feet. I wish for silence that comes in moments between meetings where I am drawn to step outside and recharge. I wish for silence that comes in the ability to stand and listen to the birds, to the water hitting the shore and the wind through the trees. Silence, I now believe, is what will wrap its arms around my grief and lift me up to a more revitalized version of who I have been this year.

I wish, Santa, for multiple touches of silence. I wish for the benefits that the silence brings. The peace and hope it can bring. The strength it creates inside. The clarity that comes within silence. I wish for this, for myself, my family, and my friends.

~Christmas 2022

A Message in December

December 18, 2022 / Mama Fish

Zane wrote a poem for a friend who died of an overdose. At the request of this friend’s mother, Zane read it out loud at the funeral. The title was “If you sedate, don’t expect to wake”. It was a harsh poem about addiction and the ramifications it brings. Including death.

I’d like to start by removing the stigma of this topic. Addiction has many connotations, none of them are pretty. I have many friends, wonderful parents, good people who have lost a child to addiction. They lost a child. They will be in pain for the rest of their life. And yet, because of the nature of their child’s death, there is a social stigma, a sideways look, and innuendos of how they failed. My mother used to say, “by the Grace of God, go I”. A line fitting for the smug person who believes that it would never happen to them. No child declares when they grow up, they want to be an addict. And I have never met a parent who didn’t struggle, trying to save their child.

My children have seen more friends die at a young age, than our generation did. Our family has experienced addiction on both sides. We have had friends and family members battle this disease, lose to this disease and we lost Zane to a man who was an addict and chose to drive that night. No one is untouched by addiction. CDC informs us that over 108,000 died of a drug overdose between April 2021 and April 2022. The number keeps rising. Addiction is the pandemic that continues to go ignored.

The truth is we are all connected, and the village has a problem. Something is wrong and we all need to fix it for the sake of our children. Let’s first agree that addiction can happen to anyone. Let’s open our minds to alternate ways to healthcare besides dispensing opioids and narcotics without any assessment or follow up. Let’s open our hearts to those struggling (the addict and their family) and offer our love and prayers. Let’s open our wallets and support the organizations that are trying to find answers and those that are helping heal the broken. Let’s believe that there is an answer. And let’s become a part of that answer. For the sake of those who sedate and will not wake.

December belongs to all of us. As we celebrate the holidays, the magic of the season and experience all the warm and fuzzies, we are reminded that it is Drunk & Drugged Driving month. I am of the belief that if we had fewer people self-medicating, we would have fewer people driving impaired. I’d like to focus on healing those in pain, rather than punishing them. We are all vulnerable.