Author: Mama Fish (Page 14 of 24)

The Hope of a Visit from The Other Side

May 15, 2022 / Mama Fish

I recently signed up for an online group reading. The medium, Matt Fraser, is America’s top spiritual connector whose waiting list for a personal reading is over two years long. I am sure it is because of his popular TV series ‘Meet the Frasers’ and his uncanny accuracy of knowing our departed. His alternative is to pay a very affordable price to be a part of a large online community where your loved one may show up and you may get a reading. I understand the odds of getting one are slim to none, but I do find his readings entertaining so thought, why not?

The night of the show I was excited all that day. What if, by some small chance I did get a reading? What if Zane did appear on screen behind me and Matt noticed and told me? I felt like the first day of a new school year. I couldn’t wait for the show to begin.

When it did, you were instructed to press the ‘raise your hand’ icon if you were interested in a reading. You were told that you could not see the others until such time that Matt called you to turn on your video, which suggests that your loved one was there. No promises but he would try to get to as many readings as he could in the allotted one and a half hours. He said he was excited about the spirits in the room as he viewed the one-sided screen of all of us looking back at him. He said, “there are spirits here from health issues, from sadness and a terrible car crash…” I sat up straight.

The readings began. Matt is gentle with his readings, comfortable with his connections and truly sympathetic with those he speaks for. I laughed at Matt’s sense of humor as he spoke of the person of whose name the audience member didn’t seem to connect with and then would remember and exclaim “oh yes, that’s so-and-so” and Matt would shout “Hello, pay attention!” His bright smile engaging you as if it were two friends talking about a common relative. I was enjoying listening to these readings and then my screen lit up, “the host has asked you to turn on your video”.

Suddenly there I was. In the waiting room of a famous medium awaiting him to tell me of a spirit who wanted to speak to me. You are forewarned it might not be who you wish it to be. One of the readings earlier proved that when the women’s ex-boyfriend came through and she wanted someone else. I didn’t care who was coming to speak to me, although Zane would be my first choice. I have lost so many; a visit with any one of them had my stomach turning in knots of happy anticipation.

As I sat anxiously waiting, my computer screen glitched. It went dark and then a screen popped up I had left the meeting and another screen popped up; re-enter the zoom meeting. I found myself in the main group, my hand icon unlit indicating I did not want a reading. I gasped. I hit the button to say I did, and a sudden disappointment coursed through my being. I had missed the opportunity. I could sit back and listen to the other readings but there would not be one for me.

I hate technology. It works until it doesn’t, and it doesn’t at the most needed times. I must trust the universe. It was not meant to be. Why it wasn’t meant to be goes into my big bucket of similar questions that an answer to will never be found. I went to bed that night feeling sick, sad that what might have been a reading of my life turned out to be my computer needing a zoom upgrade. Which it has now. My reservation for the July show booked. And another lesson in patience, trust, and hope received.

Mother’s Day Message

May 8, 2022 / Mama Fish

A mother in one of my support groups asked, “when speaking of your child who has died, do you say, I love them, or I loved them?” A profound question but one that brought up the struggle of where your child is now. They are not here, so past tense is appropriate, but they are here still in spirit so present tense feels more comforting even though it is more confusing.

This same question falls into the category of other questions that are difficult to answer. How many children do you have when one has died? How old is your child? Do you refer to their current age, if they were still alive, or do you refer to their forever age? And the biggest question, am I still a mother.

In grief we learn that we must take our time and that every path is different. We know that what works for one, might not work for the other. Let’s take these lessons into account to answer the tough questions. I have found what works for me one day might not work for me another day. It depends on my energy, where I am, and who I am speaking to.

Here is what I believe. First, no question, I am his mother and will always be. No one takes that away; it came as my eternal right when I chose to give birth to him. And because I gave birth to him, he will always count as one of the children I have, no matter what his mortal status is! The other answers require a bit more self-reflection.

How old is he? I find that in my grief community I am very comfortable to say Zane is forever 26. They get that. My answer changes with those I don’t know. Currently my reply is, “I have a son who should be 30 but was killed when he was 26 and a daughter who just turned 27”. This reply is to the point, the truth and tells the story of me as a mother.

Being comfortable saying that, I realize that I do keep Zane in the present tense. I HAVE a son. I LOVE my son. Why would I put such an important person into a past tense? Because our society does. When our loved ones die, our society dictates that they are gone. They have left for a better place, to be with God, whatever your definition of ‘eternity’ is. They are in the past. But as a grieving mother we know better.

Every breath we take we are painfully aware that we cannot hold our child. But we also know, and we receive signs to assure us of this, that our children are still here. They are connected to us through a spiritual umbilical cord that death cannot sever. Being a mother of a child who is on the other side requires new learning of how to connect, how to care for them (through honoring them) but we learn, because we are their mothers.

My message to you is simply this. You are your child’s mother. That has not changed. That will never change. You are mother of their body and now their memory, their spirit, and their legacy. Your work is the same as that of mothers of earthly children. We listen and watch for them, and we send our love to them through thoughts and wishes and actions. Your love for your child will always be present tense.

Ducky’s New Adventure

May 1, 2022 / Mama Fish

Zane loved beanie babies. He collected them and would wrestle with them on the trampoline as a kid. Up into the sky they would fly. Down onto the bouncy tarp to have Zane land on them and pretend he was the wrestling champion. Many of the beanie babies lost limbs. The majority lost their name tag, which makes it impossible to resell; and some of them are worth more now than the $10 we paid twenty years ago.

When we packed up his beloved collection, we had two large boxes full. Payton, in charge of the purging process, allowed me to keep only one box. The other box had to be given away. Who would appreciate these creatures? How do I give up something Zane loved and brought him joy? I came up with a plan. I hand picked a beanie for each of my nephews, nieces, and young children of close friends. I wrote a little note about where this beanie came from and a wish that they would enjoy them as much as my son had. Then I released them to their new owner.

Yesterday, I woke to a picture on my phone from my sweet niece in Ontario. It was of her son, holding the beanie baby that I sent him. Her text message read, “made my heart very happy how much he loves ducky”. I burst into tears. The picture was proof that Zane’s fuzzy ducky brought happiness to someone else.

I am aware that these toys are just things. And if Zane was here, they might have been given to charity. But that is what happens to us grief warriors. We become possessive of our child’s belongings. The importance of each toy, piece of clothing, picture…these things are all we have left. What happens to them becomes a big deal. Parting with them becomes difficult, if not impossible.

No one can say when you should depart with your loved one’s personal belongings. No one can say what you should do with them. If there is a way that their belongings can be shared, renewed, and treasured by someone else, it helps honor our loved ones, sharing the joy and memories of these things with another. My advice is, if possible, to hold on to them until your heart tells you what to do.

My wish for you is that some one lets you know your child’s treasures are still enjoyed. Because that, as I experienced yesterday morning, is a gift returned. Ducky is on a new adventure. And in some weird way, it makes me feel that the energy of Zane’s childhood antics is alive and well through the repeated play his cousin now shares.

When 27 Candles Come

April 24, 2022 / Mama Fish

At Easter, my daughter made a toast to her guests saying how grateful she was to have them in her home. She said that her wish this year was to spend more time with those she loved as she reached her 27^th birthday; the birthday her brother didn’t get to. And that hit me.

I was told that when younger children approach the age of the sibling who died, there comes with it an irrational fear; a sense of lightning could strike twice in the same place. And from too many accounts of my fellow grief warriors, the answer is it does. My daughter is now the exact same number of days away from her 27^th that Zane was from his when he was killed. And although we have this daily ritual since that fateful day, of her texting me to assure me she got to work safe, got home safe, this week my thoughts live in a dark encompassing fear of ‘what if’.

I did not think I would feel this way. My soul knows that my daughter has a different destiny than her brother. She is a different child than he. But what does that matter? This does not reduce the anxiety. As we approach her birthday, each day I fret a bit more. I need to take deep breaths more. I wake up in cold sweats. I am a mess to which there seems to be no distraction.

I try to rationalize with this paralyzing emotion in me. I tell myself, she will make it, and we will celebrate her and if my heart knows this than I must focus on just this. I think back to when I was planning Zane’s 27^th. I had the perfect gift, a day with an award-winning photographer to take him into the Banff Basins to shoot pictures. Zane had suggested that we start his day with brunch, just the two of us. He commented on feeling excited about this birthday and the future it would bring him. There it is.

It is not so much that something will happen to Payton. Although we know too well tragedy can happen to anyone at any time. It is that Payton will be the age Zane wanted to reach. This day, her 27^th will be overshadowed with all the plans and all the hopes and the dreams that we had for Zane, shortly before his fate was sealed on that early morning highway. Her 27^th birthday should be her own day of celebration and yet it will not be. Intuitively, she is preparing herself to feel the pain of having her older brother not at THIS birthday. She knows this one should have been his to celebrate years before her.

Part of the agony I feel as her mother is knowing that I can’t bring her brother back. We can’t celebrate her birthdays with her older brother. We are travelling into unknown territory again; there is nothing she can compare her upcoming experiences to…”when Zane was ‘my’ age”. She is now the age he will never be.

Fear is a primary emotion connected to loss. That is all this is. It is not all about her reaching the birthday that Zane did not. It is the loss of turning 27, an age that will not bring with it the past comfort and experiences her older brother guided her with. And for me, the fear I am experiencing is not of the unknown dangers of life. What I am feeling is the loss of Zane replayed so very loudly with this menacing 27^th that did not happen for him. This birthday emphasizes our loss. Simple. And yet, so very complicated.

The Arrival of Spring

April 17, 2022 / Mama Fish

Easter announces that spring is here. The season that hints of longer, warmer days to arrive. The season of restlessness and the question of ‘what else’ might we do. There is a magic about spring, no wonder this season is a favorite for poetry.

Our family enjoys poetry, reading and writing it. Putting your feelings into a flow of stanzas helps clarify feelings and may resonate with others in a way that simple conversations cannot. I read about the healing power of putting your words into poetic form. Try to express your feelings in haiku fashion or summarize an experience in only 6 words for impact. You need not be Robert Frost or Sylvia Path (although both are inspiring to read!)

Zane would choose to write poems in English and Spanish. One of his poems was a request from a mother who had lost her son to a drug overdose. I’ll save that poem for another time. Today, with the sun shining and the blue sky covering us, I wanted to share one of mine.

Mother Spring

The buds on the trees, bursting to open,
clouds float by, their miscellaneous shapes
forming soft notes to those below
birds chirp as they gather
to build the family nest…

Spring demonstrates, the cycle of life continues
ready or not, here she comes
with her canvas of colors
to be seen in due time
Her gentle teardrops falling
cleansing the dirt of the winter dead

She brings with her evidence that hope is here
in the quiet morning dew
and the crisp mountain air
She puts in front of us
a kaleidoscope of tiny miracles
whispering to witness her magic.

all that we see, touch, hear and do
connects us to her bigger picture-
that of the moon and the heavens
where many of our own
shine down in twinkling lights.

Her energy is of peace, of love
letting us sense this other realm,
which is invisible to the earthly eye
it can only be seen, experienced
with a broken heart.

feathers fall in our path,
butterflies, dragonflies, wildlife visitors,
she sends with tiny messages on their backs
assuring us, life is a perennial cycle
of rebirth, of eternal connections
that reach across space and time
to those we love and miss.

Take this season to open your journal and pour your heart out in verse. It is therapeutic. It is good mourning.

Joy In Its New Form

April 10, 2022 / Mama Fish

When we downsized it was with the plan to buy a small weekend retreat in Canmore with the extra money from the sale of our house. Over the last year we have been looking for just the perfect spot. What I thought would be a simple and exciting adventure has turned into a battle of endless meetings with mortgage specialists, bankers, realtors, and insurance agents. It has not been easy. At the end of the day, we did find a little treasure with a beautiful mountain view. It checks off all the boxes of a place that will be there for family and friends to rejuvenate in. So why am I not ecstatic?

Grief has a way of playing with our emotions and depleting our energy. The work we have put into getting this place and my fears around will this investment pay off have clouded the fact that I now own my small piece of heaven. It is further complicated by the fact that this is Zane’s wish, and he will not physically be able to join me. I have no energy left to feel joy.

When joy tries to enter our lives after we have lost a loved one, we seem to question it. Perhaps because it is different than the joy we had experienced before loss. Joy has become a stranger to the heartbreak we have been consumed with. When it arrives now, it is softer. It is quieter. It brings with it that nasty bittersweet taste. It brings with it guilt. It brings with it a tone of sadness. The reminder of ‘how life should be’ is not what we hold. Joy, after grief, is more complicated.

I heard my husband say to a friend that he watched me walk into our (new) condo and my smile was something he has not seen since Zane left. I didn’t realize I had smiled. I do know that on the balcony, facing the mountains, I could feel his spirit. I could feel an invisible hug from the mountains whispering to me, “welcome home”. And that feeling brought me to tears and standing there alone I thought to myself perhaps there can be healing here.

With that wee bit of hope, I pondered later how could I bring the joy of this place to fruition. How can I let go to really be happy about what we have? And I realized that I need to bring Zane in. I need to do what we grief warriors have been taught to do. In everything we do, we must honor those we have lost. If this is going to be a place of healing, it must have some characteristics of those I miss. It must reflect their likes and it must be filled with treasures that bring me peace. How do I turn our revenue property into a place of healing? Not just for me, but for anyone who comes into our place. How do I create an environment that will bring comfort and joy?

With that, my energy raised. I have a place that I can turn into a safe spot where my soul can experience a reprieve. I can take my bittersweet, melancholy life and plop it in front of the majestic mountain view, allowing nature to do what she does best. Ground me. Connect me. Remind me that Zane is still here. This plan of action opens my heart for joy, in its new form, to arrive.

Laughing with Grief

April 3, 2022 / Mama Fish

April Fool’s Day this year was to be glum. Dan, having just left this realm, would not be here to try to fool me. I woke thinking what could I do to honor him and distract myself from my grief. I received a text message from a stranger asking for advice. I received another text from my sister that she had dropped his urn. The beautiful glass urn she had special ordered lay in broken pieces over her wood floor, ashes exploded everywhere and the dog rolling in them. This had to be an April fool’s joke! I sent a message to her suggesting I come over and we could snort the ashes off the floor together.

I replied to the text from the unknown number with a vague comment as I could not figure out who might be playing this joke on me. Or was it a joke? My cell line is also my business line. Just for fun, I sent it to my sister asking if she knew who it was (the person had alluded to knowing her husband) and the message was a very strange request.

I sent a message to my daughter telling her that her father informed me that he wanted to move back to Ontario.

I got dressed, packed a bag of tricks, and set off to have lunch with one of Zane’s best friends and his 7-year-old daughter. The tricks were for his daughter. Over hamburger and fries, she opened each trick and tried them on us. Her favorite was the exploding ketchup bottle. As she practiced (over and over) fooling us, we shared stories with her of her ‘Uncle Zane’ and how each year he would think of who to fool and how. She donned the red clown nose I brought with a big grin and giggled, “this is a great lunch”!

The afternoon was filled with laughter, reminiscing of the antics the two boys shared growing up together. It contained a couple of tears; typical when you share love and loss together.

At the end of the day, the two went off to play more tricks on unsuspecting family. I went back to my phone to read the replies. My daughter figured out her father was not moving; I sounded sad in the text she said, and she doesn’t think I would be that sad! The stranger turned out to be my daughter, using a friend’s phone and devised the request around knowing Dan to bring him into the joke. Well played! I laughed so hard. She did good.

And my sister. She said it wasn’t a joke. And I told her we could replace the urn and trying to lift her spirits, I said “was it all ashes or are there bones too?” She replied, “ashes, but there is one tiny piece that looks like it could be his tooth and somehow seeing that piece brought me comfort.” I laughed. “Is it normal that we are so abnormal?” I asked. She responded with “Gotcha!”

Oh Dan, you would be so proud of us.

A Book for Those Who Won’t Live Forever

March 27, 2022 / Mama Fish

My most recent walk down the bookstore aisle led me to a different book related to death. “The Death of You” by Miguel Chen is about looking at your own mortality. He does it in a funny yet thought provoking way.

An uncomfortable topic for our society, I find that those living with grief can speak easier, more open about death. Probably because we are all about the sadness and the lasting effects it brings. When a death occurs, we begin to look at our own life, our values, what is important, what do we need or want to do before our own time comes to an end. We might reach out to an estranged relationship. We might look at our wills and our own wishes. Most women, I included, feel a need to purge. (We don’t want any dust bunnies left behind for relatives to talk about!). But it’s more than that.

Looking at your own death forces one to admit that we will not be here forever. It forces us to think about what our life might look like with this in mind. It helps us get comfortable with death. And that is what Miguel, a fellow grief warrior does. Having experienced great loss (his mother, his sister, aunt, and several brother-like friends), Miguel understands and compassionately illustrates the aspects of this taboo subject.

Each chapter brings a different idea around death, the types, the impact, exploring and pondering on the many ways death arrives and what happens after. Miguel writes to help us understand the complexity of ‘the end’. He includes meditation suggestions, personal stories, and humor. These combined make it an easy read. Each chapter beautifully flows into the next, frequently reminding us about what we can do for those of us still breathing (including ourselves).

I found myself laughing. I found myself thinking about certain things for the rest of the day. It gave me clarity on what I believe happens after we die but more importantly what I want to do before I die.

Miguel said about those he has lost, “What I can say is that what time we had together was invaluable, and death can’t change that.”

A reminder that spending time with those we love is the greatest gift of all and one that we get to keep forever.

When Remembrance and Acknowledgement Combine

March 20, 2022 / Mama Fish

We had the pleasure of celebrating St. Patty’s Day with fellow grief warriors, including a friend whose son has been gone for just a year now. The festivities included shared stories of those we have lost, jokes, tears, laughter and always a shooter to toast those we love who are on the other side. In conversation, she noted that there were no calls this year, no one showed up to say hello. “His friends are already moving on” she stated.

The worse fear we have for our departed is that they are not remembered. The popular Disney movie “Coco” tells us that their spirit lives on (and visits us) if we remember them. Only if we remember. We know this. As a community we mark special days (like Remembrance Day) to remind us that it is important to remember. In the grief community we make a special note of birthdays and d-days of those we lost to acknowledge we remember.

When death hits home, it is easy to remember. There is no way we can forget. We live with the daily pain that our loved one is not physically with us. I am sure that the friends of her son do remember. I am sure that there will be times, signs that will stop them in their tracks, individually and as a group, that they will remember him with a smile or a tear. Or both.

So, maybe what bothers us is not that they don’t remember, but that they don’t share that with us. As parents, the bittersweet connection to our child’s friends is something we need. Our child chose these people to be with, they know him and the possible conversations or just a quick text “thinking of you” assures us that they have not forgot.

This acknowledgement re-confirms that our child’s life made a difference. That they were of value, they were loved and that they were important. Somehow this acknowledgement connects us to the life our child had. It comforts us. That is why remembering is important, but it is only the first step. Without acknowledgement that you remember, there is a void to which increases the feeling of loneliness.

When we remember and then acknowledge we remember, it brings us together and gives us strength. Shared grief is key to good mourning.

Death and Rituals to Seek Peace

March 13, 2022 / Mama Fish

Every family has rituals centered around death. Burial or cremation. Viewing or no viewing. Ashes kept together or shared in memory pieces. Our family is no different, although I do believe we have a few rituals that are not as common to others.

One of our rituals started with the cremation of Zane. My husband asked if we could lift Zane from the viewing table into his casket. And then, as a family, we put the casket into the incinerator together. And the three of us pushed the button to start the cremation process. At the start, I stood there, shocked and disapproving. I am his mother. It is against all my maternal instincts to be a part of such a final act of ensuring he is gone. My sister convinced me to join. She said, “you are his mother, be there for him” and somehow those words rallied me. In that second, my perception changed to think that this could be an act of brave love. We held him until the very end; we were with him until the last second to which his body left our earth. That thought helped me get through.

At the request of my sister, we repeated this ceremony at the cremation of her husband. She was fine until the door opened and the heat was felt. She turned away and it was my turn to say, “this is ok, we are sending him off together”. And she rallied. Admitting after, that with Zane, it was therapeutic for her and with her husband, not so much.

With each death, we grieve different. With each death there will be components of sending our loved ones off that will not be agreeable to all involved. That’s ok. Tensions are high, grief is overwhelming, shock is present, all things making us feel and react different. Each time. Thus, I believe we must throw the rule book out the window. We can’t say, this is how I will feel, or this is what works because sometimes it does. And sometimes it doesn’t. Patience, kindness, and an understanding that we are all experiencing total grief in our own way and in real time. That is the key to family rituals around death.

My sister started a new ritual, with the passing of her husband. She gave us the gift of writing Zane a letter to which we put in the casket to be taken to Heaven and given to him by his beloved Uncle. I enjoyed this one, thrilled that a letter to Zane is on its way. I think when it is my turn, I want my casket filled with letters from friends and family wanting me to take messages to their loved ones. One last act of love. So cool.

Our rituals after include a drink in their honor (which follows the cremation), an Irish wake, the choosing of a memory bead and a tattoo (for some of us) to bear witness of our beloved. These acts help our family start the grieving process by escorting our loved ones to the other side while we keeping a part of them on this side with us. These rituals, perhaps a bit unorthodox, are what brings us some peace. And with grief, peace is what we all strive for.