Author: Mama Fish (Page 13 of 24)

The Promise for Red Roses

July 24, 2022 / Mama Fish

My brother-in-law and I took advantage of time before he departed. We talked about many things including his love for my sister. A request he asked of me was to surprise her for their, what should be, 32^nd anniversary. I agreed. I was told to buy red roses from Costco. Those two factors were not to be compromised. They had to be red roses. They had to come from Costco. When someone who is actively dying asks you for a favor, you do not ask why. You say, “I promise”. And I did promise.

When the anniversary came around, life was busy. It would be easier to pick up roses at Safeway while I was getting groceries. I heard Dan’s voice, “has to be Costco”. So off I went to battle the line up and traffic to pick up roses. They had so many beautiful rose colors, and so many types of flowers. There was one bouquet that was stunning, and I thought to myself how my sister would enjoy these. Again, I heard Dan’s voice, “has to be red roses”. I chuckled to myself. A promise is a promise.

When we arrived at my sister’s home for the anniversary dinner, I handed her the roses and said, “You must not have heard the doorbell, I found these on your porch.” “The doorbell is broken,” she said, looking for the card. I kept walking into the kitchen. She followed and I watched as she opened the envelope. The card was signed, Love Dan. She gasped. Her eyes filled with tears. “Did someone forge this?” she asked. I hugged her and said they were from her sweetie.

As she put the flowers into a vase, she asked me, “did Dan tell you red roses?”. “Yes,” I said, “and they had to come from Costco”. She started to laugh through her tears and told us of how he brought her red roses from Costco for a long time, and she doesn’t like roses! “He brought me a bouquet of them every week”, she said, “and finally I just had to tell him, I don’t like roses!”

We laughed. What a wonderful memory to recall. What a double whammy that Dan promised to play tricks on me and did so in recruiting me to spoil my sister with something he knew she did not like. It was so him to remind us of a funny ‘do you remember when’ moment. He did this for us, through his request and it brought us joy. We sat around the dinner table sharing stories and laughing and each of us knowing, that Dan was right there. At the table, laughing with us.

We know too well that life does not always tell us when we will depart. When we are given an estimated death date it does give us an opportunity to hold conversations, to make promises. We can prepare for their departure. And, during a very sad time, together, we can plan future events that will become memories our loved ones will share with us across the bridge of life and death.

Stampede Lesson

July 17, 2022 / Mama Fish

In our home, Stampede is a holiday. It is met with anticipation and excitement. I have a tradition of sharing one of the ten days with my kids: games, shopping, mini-donuts and trying the latest weird foods before sending them off to Nashville North. This year was no different. And yet it was.

We couldn’t find skeet ball. We didn’t play the water gun game. I didn’t see any bubbles like last year. The connections to Zane being with us seemed non-existent. So, although I enjoyed my day, I came home, and grief flooded over me like the tsunami it can be.

I pulled out my journal, calmed my breathing and began practicing my automatic writing I have recently learned to do. Why were you not there Zane? I am so afraid that the day will come where you will not show me signs. Was today a glimpse of what is to be? I can’t bear this…

And suddenly my writing answered me. What are you talking about? Did you not hold and admire the beautiful feather created by Marney Delver? You always complain that the wine is not good and suddenly your favorite chardonnay is there for you to enjoy, is that coincidence? What about the art piece; the bear holding the crystal ball, and the caption read, “the energy continues”. You had so many signs and you felt them. Your soul knew.

Sitting in my room, the tears splashing on the paper as I wrote without thinking, my grief settled down. I closed my journal and reflected. It was true. There were so many signs. Different. But as real as ever.

We know that our loved ones send us signs. What I experienced this Stampede was that our loved ones can change how they remind us they are here. The signs we see that bring us comfort when they first depart might change. Or they might stay (I still see bubbles and feathers and know it is Zane) but new signs can begin to show up. We all grow, experience new things in life. Perhaps this is also true of the other realm. Perhaps our loved ones wish to ‘shake it up’ for us, experience new things with us and let us know they are with us in new and cool ways. If we are stuck on needing the signs we first receive, and close our mind, and our eyes, to other signs, we might miss their visit.

Stampede brought another great year of bonding, laughter and this year, a lesson. Our loved ones are always letting us know they are with us, in different ways that we can experience if we open our broken hearts. “Didn’t we have a great day?” I hear Zane ask me. “Feel the joy. I am here.”

Heavenly Pen Pals

July 10, 2022 / Mama Fish

Most of us have tried journaling or writing to a loved one who no longer lives on earth. It is therapeutic. It helps us remember things that were and shares on paper what we wish had been. Recently, I signed up for a course to move journaling to a new level. It is called automatic writing.

Automatic writing is about connecting to your higher power, whatever you wish to call that. It is designed to open your subconscious mind to receive messages. It is a mindful practice done either early morning or late at night, after a deep meditation. It begins with a gratitude prayer, thanking your higher power for surrounding you with love, light, and protection. There are questions to ask, and, in your relaxed state, you begin writing the answers. You do not think of the answers, there is no pondering, you just write.

Sometimes, nothing comes to mind, and you write, “I don’t know what to write” and you write it over and over. With practice, you begin to write deep insights of who you are, what you need and what is your current purpose. The mystery of this type of writing is that your answers may be influenced by ‘angels’ whose energy comes through pen to paper. Because you are writing, without thinking, it isn’t until you finish and read what was written that you start to see messages that may sound like a loved one holding a conversation with you. This is a tricky concept to grasp; the dead coming to talk to us through writing? It is profound.

The course is a 21-day course, which I have another week to finish. When I reflect on my writings, from first day to now, I see a change. How I describe myself is different. What I write has a theme running through it. In this course, I have discovered or maybe it has just confirmed what I already knew. I feel stuck, I feel anxious, I lack direction. All things very typical with grief. Through automatic writing I have been able to focus on this, asking and writing about why I feel this way, how do I move forward. My writing brings ideas I had not thought of and insights that give me hope. Some of my writings seem to be advice from my loved ones, including Zane.

“Mama, you must take care of what is your role. You want, need this. You know-you need to bring you new ways to be you. You don’t get it but trust it. You know in your soul, this is right… You da best.”

I am not sure how the magic works, if it is wishful writing or a spiritual conduit, and I don’t care. What I have discovered with this course is a new way to explore both sides of the realm and to uncover who I might be as I face my grief. Automatic writing gives us one more way to become mindful, and to feel connected to those we can no longer hold. It is like being a pen pal with the angels.

Just Ask

July 3, 2022 / Mama Fish

We are told that if we wish for a sign from our loved ones, to just ask. Call out to them and suggest you need to know they are near. Some say you can even specify the type of sign you wish to see. I shy away from this practice because I don’t want to be disappointed. But this weekend, I tried it. And it works.

We were in Canmore. The magic of the mountains that Zane and I both love, poured over me as I stood alone on the balcony. The crisp morning air, the view of the wooden path to town below me. I looked up and said, “I’m here, are you?” Suddenly, out of nowhere walked a man along the path. He wore a royal blue suit jacket and tan dress pants and beige shoes. He had a Herschel backpack on. He looked just like Zane, who had the same attire. I ducked to try to get a closer, longer look but he faded away into the trees that shade the path. I smiled. I imagined Zane off to work and I laughed that my motherly advice of the kids not being able to move past Canmore when they grew up, Zane had honored. There he was off to work.

The night before we left, I was meditating in bed. My window open to feel the night breeze, I lay with my eyes closed and let the wave of gratitude for being there flood over me. I whispered to Zane, “I am thankful for the signs, I know you are here, I just miss your laugh”. A few minutes later a laugh, a belly laugh from outside my window broke the silence. I opened my eyes just as another laugh filled the air. The reality was there was group of young men walking back to the hotel, laughing, and talking. The one laugh was so like Zane’s. I started to giggle. “Thanks, Zane, I needed that” I said.

I believe there is no harm that I imagined the young man that morning, looking so much like my son, was my son. Nor was there any harm that I imagined Zane was part of the group coming home from a party, laughing at the antics of the night they had. We dream of what our children might be doing if they were still living on earth. We dream of who our children might have become, where they would be living. When another human who behaves or appears in some manner like our loved one comes along, I think it is fair that we may dream, ever so briefly, that this might have been them. If life was different. This does not make us delusional. We know better but the comfort of pretending, for just a moment so to feel good but not so long that we become depressed, makes these types of signs playful.

When we ask for a sign that they are present, they provide. Whether it is a feather or a dime or a look-a-like or a laugh, it is a reminder that they are very much present. They are near. They are with us. I encourage you to just ask.

When Our Loved Ones Are Actively Dying

June 26, 2022 / Mama Fish

My friend told me she was off to visit her mother. The nursing home called to say she was ‘actively dying’. “What a strange term that is”, my girlfriend said. Her comment got me thinking about all the wonderful possibilities around having this opportunity to be with a loved one, actively dying.

We all know that death is inevitable, although we ignore it, when it comes to the time where it is the unremovable elephant in the room, we are given a chance to say goodbye. This is a period where we can say what the person meant to us; how much we love them. It is a moment to ask what they would want us to do after they depart. It is a time to reassure them we will remember them, and how. It is also an opportunity, if need be, to mend differences giving both parties peace at the end of the day.

I had the blessing of being able to hold such conversations with both my parents prior to their death. And yet, years later, a memory will come back, and I will think how I wish I could tell dad that or did mom know I felt that way. Even after our loved ones depart, you still want to hold conversations.

Recently I was reminded that it is never too late to converse with our loved ones. True, there is no verbal feedback we can hear if the conversation happens after death. What is important is the action of speaking out loud or in a letter what we wish or need to say. This is good mourning; it offers a prayer-to-the-heaven feeling that some how your loved one hears you and knows. And that is comforting.

When your loved one dies of sudden death, the beautiful experience of sharing discussions before they leave does not happen which adds to grief. It creates a lot of the ‘what if’ questions and ‘if only’ and ‘did they know’ questions that haunt many of us. Therefore, post-earth conversations are even more important.

Choose a quiet spot where you are uninterrupted and take a few deep breaths to relax. Ask your higher power for a moment to feel the spirit of your loved one and then open your heart. Whether you choose to write a letter or just talk, envision your loved one next to you. Picture how they looked, the softness of their skin, the smell of their cologne. Start with an affirmation. (Mine is always, thank you for being here). Begin chatting, as if they were present, next to you, listening to you. Be slow in this process and hold no expectations. End by telling them you love them. I enjoy this practice. Tears are usually a part of it, but I have also experienced laughter through these conversations I have with the ghosts of my loved ones!

Another good practice is to tell those who are not actively dying how much you love them. One never knows the plan life has for each of us. My friend says she is grateful for the time she has, knowing her mother will be departing soon. It is a gift my friend will be able to keep in her heart, forever. And may she find comfort in the idea that her last conversation with her mother here, is not necessarily her last conversation.

Father’s Day Race

June 19, 2022 / Mama Fish

Friends, we met through grief, have a son who loved to race cars. He was good, travelling across the country honing his sport. It was a passion the entire family shared, bringing home photos and trophies. It was a hobby that bonded father and son. So, when our friend announced he wanted to race his son’s car, we were not surprised. We joked about being a part of his pit crew.

In grief, honoring our loved ones sometimes means finishing something they started or taking on what they loved. For our friend, it wasn’t that he wanted to win. It was this need from deep within his soul to get out on that racetrack and run a race to honor his son. It was to comfort his heart, placing him in a time of years past that he spent as his son’s pit crew, driving, and supporting and cheering him on. This is a father who lost his son too soon. This is a father, lost in his grief, wanting to connect with his boy.

He appropriately chose Father’s Day weekend to debut; a time that celebrates the love between a father and his children. When we experienced a few glitches and the practice run got missed, we became doubtful that his wish would come true. But he was relentless, this was going to happen. And when I saw this in him, I understood. The drive we have, when we want to do something for our child, does not end at death. In fact, it becomes intensified.

He needed to be ready because any other weekend would not be Father’s Day weekend. This was an important detail. We called for a couple of racing friends to come over and a small team helped get his car ready to enter the qualification run. The car passed. There were two heats of 10 laps each and a final race of 25 laps. We were ready. Father was going to race for his son.

There is an energy, physical, financial, and of course emotional when honoring our loved ones. It is hard work. It can bring doubt and fear that it can’t be accomplished. It is always a blatant reminder that they are not here. But it also brings a sense of comfort, sharing what they loved, what we had with them and what we still have that death cannot take away. It is worth the agony of grief to experience the moment of spiritual connection. And that is what my friends got.

It was an incredible experience. The other driver’s understanding the purpose of his race, zoomed past him up high while he stayed low and raced his laps. I stood beside his wife staring at the track, thinking of how many times she would have stood here watching her son beside her husband. With that thought, I put my arm around her and looked up to the sky. There, high above perfectly positioned over the racetrack, was a cloud. It was the undeniable shape of a heart. I squeezed my friend and said, “look up!” We both took a picture. He was here; their son was with us.

The race was overwhelming for my friends. It was a race that father and son did together. On Father’s Day weekend. The emotions of being in a race their son loved to do, dad driving son’s race car brought us all to tears. One cannot explain the powerful feeling of being a part of love expressed through grief unless you stand next to it. The invitation to be a part of our friend’s pit crew was a gift I did not see until I was standing next to them, encompassed in their energy of good mourning.

Finding A Room for Grief

June 12, 2022 / Mama Fish

It has been a year, since we moved from the home that I raised my children in. I have friends asking me, how is it? Do you like it? Are you getting used to the small size? This morning as I sipped my tea I looked about and reflected. How do I feel? How has it been moving from 3,000 square feet to 900?

My husband and I have opposite tastes in decorating, entertaining and lifestyle. When you own a small apartment condo these differences are more obvious than in a larger home. There is less room for anything, including compromise. My vision of a small, antique parlor vibe quickly went out the door to become more of an urban eclectic with a mancave twist.

My home office shrunk from a whole room to an alcove that has spotty reception, so I sit in my car to hold telephone meetings. Working from home with a husband who has retired has its’ challenges. Either he must hide in his room while I host a zoom meeting, or I must find a coffee shop to work at when he entertains his friends. I am grateful of the attempt he makes to keep quiet and find things to do during working hours, as much as a guy can keep quiet…and he has become very proficient at grocery shopping and running errands for me. It works, it just was a big change for me. And for him.

The dog, whose backyard is now a busy street that he must run to whenever nature calls, he has even adjusted. He loves the cement patio that he lays on and watches the neighbors passing and the deer grazing on the garden bushes. The smell of the flowers from the Mayday trees fills this community. It truly is a beautiful complex to live in.

What isn’t working is any healing of my grief. My grief is too big for this small place. I struggle with the missing pieces, literally, the things that are not able to be with us, like my aunt’s dresser and my round puzzle table. I miss the ability to go to a different level of the house when I need to cry or scream. Or just be alone. There is no solitude in 900 square feet. I enjoy my new space. My grief doesn’t. It wants its own room.

I take my grief with me, outside of this little place. I take it to the park and walk with it. I take it for a car ride and let it overwhelm me in an empty parking lot. I take it to the mountains when I can. Which isn’t often enough. I am finding new ways to cater to it over the last year while I unpack and purge, trying to carve space in my tiny home to accommodate my very large grief.

Grief is like an over packed room, chaotic and unsettled. If we treat our grief like a move, finding places for it and clearing the way to put comfort, love and hope on our shelves, our grief might just settle in amongst these things. Grief never goes away. It requires its own space. I must find room for it and perhaps then, it will become a less noisy roommate.

young plant growing in garden with sunlight

Season for Planting Plentiful

June 5, 2022 / Mama Fish

June. The beckoning of summer. My favorite season up to 2018 because it was also Zane’s favorite season. It doesn’t seem right enjoying one of his favorites when he is not physically here to do the same. Alas, it will arrive, as it has each year and bring with it missed celebrations with my boy. I have grown to hate summer.

Summer is all about life in full bloom, alive and colorful. It depicts everything I am not. It brings with it Stampede, D-Day and birthday. It brings with it the memories of Zane reading in the back yard or sipping his coffee in the mid-morning sun. It brings with it the memories of BBQ’s and tasting his newest recipe, or meeting to enjoy a cold drink at a local patio bar together. It brings the sounds of his laughter coming through my window as he arrives home from work or a night out with friends. Summer was his season. It belonged to him; he is the essence of summer.

I feel as if I get pulled kicking and screaming through summer. My life is now full of award-winning performances as I pretend, I am ok with any of this. But the toll of summer, it has an effect on my physical and spiritual being that cripples me. I need to change. I need to do something different. I go back to my learnings, what we are taught to do to face the day with hope and strength. How can I take these lessons and implement them into each day, all summer long, that might support my grief?

We are taught that grief is softened when we are honoring our loved one. We are taught to spend time quietly with our memories. We are taught to place things in our lives that are what our loved ones were about, what they liked. And I know this. My better days are when I bring Zane into them. True, they are bittersweet, but I will take bittersweet over just plain bitter any day!

So, how do we do this? Well, this is the season of planting. Let’s plant things. Let’s plant a tree or a flowerpot or a garden of all their favorite things. Let’s plant a new tradition that brings family and friends together to celebrate them. Let’s plant ourselves in a spot with pictures and memorabilia of them and create a memory album. Let’s plant an idea in our own circles of how to gather and remember our loved ones as a community. And let’s make a point of finding and planting ourselves in places that bring us serenity. Whether that is a park or a coffee shop or a friend’s living room. Let’s remember how plentiful life can be. Let’s plant the seeds of good mourning. Let’s create a season of plentiful in honor of our loved ones.

Strength Arrives When Needed

May 29, 2022 / Mama Fish

I had a conversation this week with a mom whose youngest son is graduating from high school. She reminded me of all the things a mother does to ensure that this day is one he will celebrate and think fondly of for years to come. It is a ‘duty’ that most of us go through. The challenge she has is that her oldest son didn’t get this chance. He died before he graduated.

Her son wishes to include his brother in his graduation as much as one can incorporate one from the other side. And thus, the shoes, the outfit, the plans his brother had for his own, the younger son now wants to have. This is good mourning for him. And his mother gets it. So, with every task, every detail, she plans and creates with her son. There is a smile on her face and a let’s do this attitude that her son needs. However, inside, she is screaming so loud her head pounds. The pain of having to face and recreate what her oldest wanted, should have had, penetrates with every breath. This is when strength is needed.

Grieving requires strength. You are straddled between two places. You are here, on earth, a life with responsibilities, the people who count on you, but you are also on the other side. The place where your loved one has gone to, and with them a piece of you has gone too. We are to focus; we are expected to continue to be the adult, the caregiver. And we must, it is our role. Parenting, while grieving, requires extra strength.

There are many times that your grief must be ignored, must be put on the shelf, for the sake of your other children. You tell yourself that you will go on for the other kids. You tell yourself that they need you. And they do. They REALLY do. But they will need you when you think you can’t possibly get out of bed. They will need you when you want to be alone. They will need you to help them mourn, even if their way is not the best way for you.

Strength in grief is what gives us the power to see each day with hope. It enables us to help our children mourn. This type of strength comes from the parental need to protect and provide for our children. It comes from deep within our soul. It comes from our heart, the love for our precious family. It comes when needed, giving us the energy to be there for those we love.

Graduation day will come. It will be beautiful; full of rituals and tokens that bond two brothers for eternity. And mom, after all this, she can take a walk into the fields of her back yard, thanking God as she cries, for strength when it is needed.

Goodbye Ellen and Thank You

May 22, 2022 / Mama Fish

My husband informed me that the Ellen DeGeneres show is over. I knew this was her last season, but I could not bring myself to accept this. Not because I watched her show. But because Zane had. He loved her show. And her show ending will become one more connection to my son that will be forever gone.

When you are grieving, all losses become big losses. Grief warriors are forever sensitive to anything or anyone else leaving. The loss of a person or a sentimental object or even a habit can bring us back to the center of our grief and the intensity of our pain. We are left to face it, examine it, and find a place for it within our broken hearts.

Knowing that Zane enjoyed the Ellen show and that he would be sad it was over, regardless of any accusations as to why, I felt compelled to write to her. I needed her to know how much, as his mother, I appreciated what she had unknowingly done for him.

Dear Ellen,

I am not sure that this letter will find you amongst the millions of fan mail you receive but I needed to thank you for the joy you brought my son. Up to the day he was killed, Zane watched your show. It gave him a reprieve from the stresses of work and school studies. The hour spent with you was more therapeutic than entertaining. I would be in the kitchen, the sounds of his laughter filling the air. “Mom, listen to this…” he’d say to tune me into the piece of wisdom of the day you spoke of. He enjoyed you because you are real. You are not afraid to be yourself. You promote kindness and try to walk your talk. Genuine. That is what Zane loved about your show. He felt as if he was spending time with a fellow spirit whose lightwork on this earth was of the same cloth. You inspired him to face the day, deal with the negative and find happiness in all things.

Your show ending plays with my grief. It is one more thing that will be gone that reminds me of my boy and the joy he found in this life. It is why the urge to write to you. On his behalf, thank you for bringing the sunshine to so many gray skies. Thank you for being the one responsible for the enjoyment my son experienced through your show, the sound of his laughter as he listened to you, forever imbedded in my heart.

Were you aware of the influence you had on people like my son? Were you aware that some days you were written in the gratitude journal of what enabled him to make it through the day? Of course not. This is why we, your fans, love you so much. You offered us strength. You connected us to optimism. You showed us how to dance through life’s challenges and to always be kind. You connected us to a higher calling. Thank you.

I look forward to watching the reruns!

I don’t think Ellen will ever see this letter. I am not sure that is important. What is important is that I have faced my sadness and honored my son by writing to a woman who he was a fan of. And that is good mourning.