Author: Mama Fish (Page 3 of 24)

The Gaining of Clarity

June 23, 2024 / Mama Fish

The dark bruises on my arms and the ache in my back remind me that I am not the 20-year-old event planner I once was. I’m not even the 40-year-old. Events are hard on me.

I fell into event planning when the kids were small and then brought that expertise into my contract work. I’m good at it. But the planning takes all my energy and leaves me feeling like someone I am not. When I try to say, I shouldn’t do events, another one comes along, and I take it on. I have ignored the feelings my heart sends. I have made excuses each time that the next time will be different. I am encouraged by friends that I should not stress as everything always works out. I try to believe this, but what I am ignoring is that, apparently, my body and soul do not agree. So, what do I do? I keep saying yes.

I read somewhere that just because you may be good at something doesn’t mean you should be doing it. The writer suggested when we are doing something, to check in with how you are feeling. If the activity brings joy and a sense of excitement, you are on the right path. If the activity gives you trouble, and frazzled nerves, get off the path. “What you do, should bring you energy, not deplete it.”

This last event, the biggest fundraiser of my work since Covid, was co-organized with my daughter and the help of the ‘hip crew’ and our husbands. As events do, it had with it the many challenges of listening and respecting each team member’s individual vision and preferences and trying to create something that we would all be proud of. It was not an easy task and included overtime hours, hard conversations and, as always, compromises. This is event planning.

At the end of the night, it was lovely. Funds were raised, accolades were received, and talk about the next event pursued. It was difficult to hear the excitement of planning a next one over the internal screaming of my body and soul saying, you are too old for this! I am now hibernating, reflecting and licking my wounds.

I have discovered that my soul is not comfortable with event planning as there is little control with many variables (like weather, overbookings & catering orders) which cause me anxiety. There is a must for negotiations as details change, and the team can disagree which causes me angst that everyone is not ok. There are always small details that are completed at the last minute that create sleepless nights where I lie in bed going over and over the task lists. And yes, in the end, it does all work out beautifully. It’s getting there that grates against the serenity my soul needs. Planning events deplete me, they do not fill me up.

When one lives with grief, clarity is something you gain. You are sensitive, maybe over sensitive, to what is needed to ensure that your heart is soothed, and your mind finds peace. Clarity lights a path to what those needs are. And we want to follow that path in hopes that our grief will be tamed.

I have been an event planner most of my life, accepting the emotional drain they have on me as part of the job. The gift of clarity that my grief has brought me, through this last event, is that it is time to pass the torch. And with that acknowledgment, I feel my soul breathe a sigh of relief and whispers, “finally”.

Time, the Complex Accomplice

June 16, 2024 / Mama Fish

I received a picture from my friends’ husband, of her tombstone. I replied how beautiful it was and, as I knew her urn was not yet placed, asked if he would be placing it soon. He said yes, and added what date that would be. I stared at my phone. The date reminded me of what he said when she passed. “I’ll keep her with me for a year, and then lay her to rest, beside her son.” It will be a year this July.

In life, time is a friend and an enemy. They say time softens grief (to which I have yet to experience) and they say time reminds you of how fleeting this life is. I know she passed; I was there. But a year ago? How can it be that already? Her family has gone through the ‘firsts’-first birthday, holiday, anniversary, and they are now coming up to their second year. To which we all know when living with grief, is when time plays the enemy more often than not. I am so sad. This is life with grief. A continuum of what we know, the pain of loss and the reality of traditions starting, ending or modified.

Sometimes grief is ignored around what is true because it muddies the happy moments. Then time prompts us it isn’t going away through a calendar of events now changed forever or added to because of our loss. Sometimes grief is faced with courage and strength because the counting of time tallies the days we have survived. Sometimes grief shows up unexpectedly and the struggle is real and time whispers, “breathe, this too shall pass.” Time can be argued by science, whether it is real or not. But for sure, it is measurable. Grief warriors become experts at measuring time.

How fast time flies is a statement everyone understands. Because everyone has, in one way or another, experienced this. In grief, time becomes more dimensional with more substance of how it controls you, and, oddly, how it supports you. Life gets divided into sections before loss, and after loss and then subdivided between the number of years. Time is very real.

Yet, we begin to see many signs that our loved ones are still here with us and that gives depth to the idea that time is only on our realm. The notion that our loved ones defy time and can stay with us for all time is a comforting belief.

In any case, time makes grief very complex, as with my friend. How has she been gone for a year when my heart still feels that a summer drink in her backyard is a possibility. Time reminds me I had that once, I can have it still, just that it will be different. The yin and yang of time is the same as grief. Bittersweet. And the only control we truly have with time is how we choose to value it.

Celebrating Here and After

June 9, 2024 / Mama Fish

My heart is full. That is what I said on a Sunday afternoon after I attended both a birthday party and a funeral in the same day. It was a peculiar sensation of full circle to be celebrating two friends in such opposite ways. I leaned into this feeling.

The first event was the birthday party. My friend arranged for thirty of her girlfriends to join her for brunch at the exquisite Palliser Hotel. She claimed it was her second last big party. She wanted to share her gratitude and be a part of the festivities and told us she would not be at her next one. She’d be dead. We laughed. You have to know her. She is full of life, an avid bookworm and far more energy than those half her age. She has already planned her funeral including the inscription on her tombstone which will read, “The End.” She sent us home with a recipe card to fill in on one side “what makes you happy?” The other side of the card had her answers which included a restaurant budget, and at 80 she was enjoying retirement. On the top of her list was family -always.

I left the celebration to drive across town for the next party. This one, friends and family gathered at the picturesque Glencoe Golf and Country Club to say farewell. This party too had speeches and food and wine for a beautiful afternoon of remembering and honoring a man very much loved. It too had people speak of life and happiness and how fast it goes. And because of life’s speed, to always put family first. As did our friend with his life. A show of hands revealed that most of us in that room had received personal handwritten notes from him from time to time with words of hope and encouragement. We were asked to remember this characteristic of him and to share acts of kindness in our own ways as a tribute to him.

The day ended with Jon and I sitting on our patio reflecting on this day. I mentioned how odd it was of the commonalities of two very different reasons to gather and celebrate one’s life. Or was it?

I enjoyed the birthday party because my friend is alive, so I know she heard me tell her how lucky I am to be in her life. I can hear her laugh and see her smile. I can hug her with an expectation to see her again. Soon.

I enjoyed the funeral because my friends’ spirit is still very alive. Although not physically there, each person said they knew he was with us. It was a reminder that energy is distributed, and it never ends. And with that belief we can understand what was said, what was felt, our friend knows. He heard us honor him. Faith gives us the ability to rejoice in that which we shared; he still shares with us.

Somehow when I hang on to the important aspects of each of these commemorations, the love of family and the joy of having these people in my life, both events are fulfilling. They are similar, containing a gathering of stories, over food and wine with laughter and tears. Each one a moment in time of honoring and celebrating the expression of endless love. And that is what makes the heart so full.

Imagine Heaven by John Burke

June 2, 2024 / Mama Fish

John Burke is an author, international speaker, and a pastor. His book shares the near-death experience (NDE) of hundreds of people and their story of what they saw when their soul was temporarily disconnected from their body. This subject makes an interesting read. The fact that every person had a similar experience (regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, or location) makes it a fascinating read.

As a grieving mother, I found comfort in the recollections of a place that starts with a bright light, a welcoming committee of loved ones and a sense of purity with no anguish of any kind. Those who have had an NDE all shared similar experiences of being in a place that contains an endless kaleidoscope of colors, where flowers and forests are forever, and water comes alive.

Each person had a meeting with a male figure who showed them a life review of their journey on earth. It was unanimously described how the experiences they had on earth were felt, not by how they felt but by how the person they had interacted with felt. And each review ended with the question, “what have you done with the life I gave you?” The answer seems to be “not enough” as to why they are then sent back to earth. There is unfinished business.

NDE’s seem to affect the rest of their life. Each person is reported to have gone on to live a fuller, more spiritual life that is filled with gratitude, and an understanding that, at the end of their day, they will be living for eternity in a place so beautiful that words cannot describe it. It makes me wish that each of us could have an NDE!

Where Pastor Burke lost me, was when he wrote about the ‘bema seat’. Yes, apparently how well we do in our earthly body, will be judged, and rewarded by God. He quotes scripture to explain his point, (from 1 Corinthians) where Paul compares judgment to building a house. The foundation must be an unwavering belief in Jesus, and on judgment day, fire will reveal what kind of work each builder has done. The more dedication, and unselfishness, the higher the reward.

I’m not opposed to living a life of service and being kind to others. I try to practice that in my every day. But the whole theory of what I did to be judged by the same person that, in different chapters of gospel, teach us not to judge others seems a bit contradictory. Or maybe Jesus is like Santa, “you better watch out, you better not pout, I’m telling you why….” I don’t know why I find being nice for Santa more palatable. Perhaps because Santa judges my year, not my whole life.

And then how does the big guy judge our children? Our loved ones? Did their house measure up in the fire to receive the maximum rewards? This part of Imagine Heaven, I don’t want to imagine. It creates within me, the grief warrior, more what if questions that will keep me up at night.

I waiver around the idea that the ‘good book’ has all the answers. Maybe it contains clues, but a failproof plan I must live by to enrich my extended soul’s life? I like to believe that God knows how hard I try, is part of the group that created my soul plan and that my inefficiencies were part of that plan. To learn and to grow. Not to be judged. The biggest takeaway, from Imagine Heaven, that I will cling to, is that there is a place where I will be reunited with those I love. Especially Zane.

Celebrating the One and Only Kirk

May 26, 2024 / Mama Fish

It was as good as a funeral can get. Purposely planned to be held on his birthday. I like the irony of having the funeral on the person’s birthday. We did the same for Zane. It is Shakespearean poetry to celebrate the person who passed on the same day they came to earth. A sort of full circle, the cycle continues vibe.

The kids planned a party with all their father’s wishes included. And then some. They made him proud. The room was filled with family and friends, reunited with a drink in hand and lively conversations. Stories of our friend Kirk were shared, and tearful speeches and a video that captured each stage of his life. “I know dad is here,” his son said, “I can feel him”. We could all feel him. His spirit was tangible.

As we danced on the patio, shouting out the lyrics of “Do you believe in love”, to the heavens, each of us were taken back and held in the love we have shared with Kirk. Friend, father, grandfather, brother, husband…this man lived a full life. The proof was in the faces of the many incredible people he connected us to in life and death.

Kirk’s example of a life well lived, including his own personal tribulations, is why the room was filled with more laughter than tears. He was about “never give up”. He was about embracing every experience as a learning tool to become a better, stronger person. He was about “…and then some”. These are attributes we can adopt for ourselves in honor of him.

Whatever you want to call them, funerals, celebrations, memorials, they are all meant to be about goodbye. They are supposed to be designed to offer closure. And yes, we hold space to remember and honor our loved ones. And yes, it is about acknowledging our pain that we can no longer hear their voice or feel their touch. But it does not have to be about goodbye.

I believe that these gatherings are not about letting go but rather about holding on differently. How do we move forward with them in spirit. What promises are we making to continue to honor them past this day. What about them will we carry within us as we continue living here. How will we say their name. When we gather to say goodbye, let’s not call it an end but rather a new beginning of how we will continue their story. “And then some…”

Kirk’s last gift of this day, to the people he loved, came from a cloud of soft thunder that reminded all of us “Our loved ones are never truly gone.” They sit beside us. Love never dies.

Breaking Bread in the Park

May 19, 2024 / Mama Fish

With spring here, I am encouraging my family, the youth I serve and myself to get out and enjoy the benefits of a mindful walk. These are unplugged moments that Zane taught me to take. He took them often, day or night, as needed. I tried, after Tango had passed, but they were just too painful. Each step reminded me of my little companion. With each slow and meditative walk, we enjoyed the sun, the park sounds and the sights of spring coming to visit. Tango especially enjoyed the smells, we called his ‘pee mail’. I thought it might be easier to pick one spot and sit, so I bought a Tim Horton’s meal and had lunch at the park bench where we usually started our walks. I shared this experience in a letter to Zane.

Dear Zane,

I took a Tim Horton soup and one honey glazed Timbit to the reservoir to have lunch with Tango’s spirit. I cried as soon as I got there. I have not been at this spot since I took him just before he passed. As I took the lid off my soup, a crow joined me. Or maybe it was a raven. Either way I found it funny that this very large bird thought he might share my bowl of soup. I took the pieces of chicken out of my soup. I would always feed them to Tango. So, I threw them on the ground for the bird. He would tentatively hop over to the piece of chicken, look around, and then grab it. I left one piece on the picnic table to see if he would come up and he did! It was neat to be sitting in the park sharing a bowl of hot soup with this bird.

I went back to the car to get the Timbit and shared that with the bird. He flew to another tree and squawked. It sounded like “thank you” but maybe it was “over here” as another bird from nowhere showed up to join him. The two flew back to the picnic bench as if he was showing the other what he found. They shared the last piece of donut. When they flew away, he left me one little feather, from his chest, which I took home.

I realized that these little feathers I have might be from the soft chest of these birds; the location of their heart, as if I was receiving just that. A little piece of their heart. My feathers are from you, a little piece of your heart found in the small soft feather of a bird. Neat. I will do more visits there. And hopefully more lunches with my feathered friend.

Tango used to love birds and they often would fly around us on our walks or hop along beside Tango who was too busy sniffing to notice. That lunch opened my thinking to the possibilities that the signs we look for, and receive, from our loved ones might be more connected than we know. Their meaning might be deeper than we understand. Did this bird just come to scavenge my lunch? Possibly. But then why did he come so close; we shared a picnic bench together. How or why did he leave behind one tiny feather?

Yes, it is true, we can read anything we wish into the incidents we experience, and why not? I enjoyed contemplating why this bird was so friendly and how his little feather souvenir was left in the spot he perched as we shared my lunch. I believe that each experience we have has multiple levels of meaning and the truth goes past the obvious or the science. And it is this belief that brings me peace that both my son and my dog orchestrated a beautiful afternoon for me to ‘break bread’ with another soul.

To Sir Arthur, With Love

May 12, 2024 / Mama Fish

I met Arthur in the early morning as I walked Tango. He was the resident gardener. An Englishman with poise, soft-spoken with a love for his friends, animals, and nature. We had many conversations about living, loss and declining health that comes with age. Arthur took life in stride and catered quietly to his passions each day.

When I noticed that Arthur’s car had not moved for a period, I enquired with a neighbor if he was on vacation. No, he was not. He had been diagnosed with throat cancer and was receiving home care. He may be up to visitors soon, I was told. I asked if they could let me know when as I would love to speak to him. In later weeks, I noticed Arthur, dressed in proper attire including cap, shuffled out to his friend’s car to be picked up. I smiled. I would be able to see him now.

It was my husband that informed me Arthur passed and the funeral had taken place. I had no idea. I had hopes he was recovering. I was sure I was going to visit him. None of that was possible now. I wrote Arthur a letter.

Dear Arthur:

I am thinking of you. Your family and friends are in my heart and my prayers. Can I share a few things with you?

I truly appreciated meeting you when we moved into this building. You were the friendly person who loved my dog and took the time to ask how I was. I enjoyed our brief conversations; I looked forward to them as I walked Tango.

At one point you were fighting the powers-to-be that you were alive as they had you recorded as dead. I laughed at the absurdity of such a notion; the man I knew was vibrant and youthful, although a bad knee, was very much alive! I had hoped that the determination you had then to set things straight, continued to overcome your battle with cancer.

I appreciated the care you gave our gardens. I know of the time (and money) you put into the flower beds, ensuring that all of us could enjoy the beauty of nature. Tango respected your work, never peeing on them, but always stopping to smell ‘Arthur’s Garden’. I will always think of those flower beds as yours. I am grateful that your successors care for them now, but in my mind, they are your legacy.

I appreciated your value of friends. How you would wake up every morning to walk your friend’s little dog, even when you were in pain. I enjoyed your grin when you would tell me you were going out for dinner with friends. Seeing you was always a bright moment in the day, and I am sorry, for us, that your smile and warm touch is now missing.

You are very dear, Sir Arthur. I just wanted to share with you how I feel about you, wanted the chance to tell you thank you for being such a wonderful neighbor. And that I hope your soul plan includes a new adventure of gardens, dinners, and puppy dogs for you to enjoy.

Take care sweet Arthur, sending a hug to the heavens, just for you.

Arthurs passing is a reminder that we do not know, will never know, the timing the Universe has for each of us. Seize the moments, as the present is all we truly have.

Honoring Bereaved Mother’s Day

May 5, 2024 / Mama Fish

I had this notion to make Cinco de Mayo a big deal this year. I thought of having multiple dishes with festive décor hung and friends coming over to enjoy all of it with me. I thought it was time to start my own celebrations of fun and frolic. Then grief came and a busy-catch up schedule and the energy to do anything related to a party went out the front door. Suddenly I just wanted to be alone. My sweet daughter, feeling much the same way, spoke to me about why don’t we just have one drink as a small family and spend the night in our own homes. I agreed. What I didn’t tell her was that this particular day fell on Bereaved Mother’s Day.

Bereaved Mother’s Day falls on the Sunday before Mother’s Day. It is a day where mothers who have lost a child can gather to share stories and the pain that accompanies such. I just thought I wanted to be distracted from the reminder “we” have a special day that shouts, “you lost a child!” And yet, the closer this Sunday came, the more I felt like being in a park with a camera talking to Zane than I did hosting another loud party. I am starting to listen to my grief and make space for her to be acknowledged.

We are told, early in our grief, by those we seek counsel from and well-intended friends, that you must have the freedom to say no. We must listen to our pain and not show up if it is too much or change plans if it becomes too much. It is a boundary building skill each grief warrior learns. And yet, as time goes on with grief, others expect more of you. “Get on with it” and thus, just about the time we are learning to feel our mood and act accordingly, we are then told we should be done with that feeling. It is ironic.

This year, my feelings for what I thought I wanted with a Mexican holiday and what I ended up feeling, I honored. It was a relief. I felt less stress not having to create an event where I needed to be smiling and hospitable. I thought I wanted that. I thought I was ready. But this time, and perhaps because it is Bereaved Mother’s Day, I changed my mind. I changed the plans. My (usually social) family agreed. I am guessing on some level they needed the same and I, the matriarch, let everyone off the hook by choosing what I thought only I needed. The party was cancelled; everyone is feeling a little less pushed. And the pinatas can come out another day.

So, a message to my fellow grieving mothers; take today to pause. Listen to what your grief is asking of you and take today to honor that. It is the one day set aside for us to do just that, and we should take advantage of it. I mean, who is going to argue with you telling them I am celebrating me, as a mom, who has lost a child?

Bring your sweet loved one into the day. Speak to them on a quiet walk. Do an act of kindness on their behalf. Put a picture of them on your social media with a note of gratitude. Yes gratitude. We are the lucky ones who had this amazing soul choose us to be their mother. We cared for them, loved them, raised them, only to have them leave. This is the day to remind yourself how much strength we have within to continue being ourselves here and now, in our many roles, but today, honoring our role as a mother to a child of the other realm. This is a day to celebrate, quietly, like the breeze that whispers to the meadow, I am always with you, my sweet child. And I am grateful that I am always to be your mother.

The Train Home

April 28, 2024 / Mama Fish

On one of our visits with our friend Kirk, he shared how he was troubled by a dream he had. He was on a train about to leave for a trip but the people he loved were standing on the platform and not going with him. I asked how that was upsetting and he said it was because he was alone on the train. And I wondered if this was the murky straddle between staying on earth and leaving for the other realm. So, I asked if he was afraid to be alone and he nodded yes.

I held his hand and tried to offer some comfort. I told him that he was not alone, he would never be alone. I said, “did you see us, all your family & friends, gathered on the platform to show you that we are with you as you head out on your next adventure. And we will keep you here,” I placed my hand on my heart and then on his. I continued, “we will always be here for you, you are never alone. And look on that train, you are not alone. Look, you will find your mom and dad, friends, family whom you have not seen for a while. Your beloved dog Bear is on that train. So is Zane.”

He looked into my eyes, and I think he understood what I was trying to say. He nodded. I told him that this next trip would be a fabulous journey with so many beautiful walks waiting for him. “Where do you think you will be going?” I asked. He didn’t know. “Where do you think might be your first stop?” I asked. “Nova Scotia”, he said with a smile. I agreed with him, and he closed his eyes.

On Earth Day, in the early afternoon Kirk boarded the train home. His son had previously called all his family to say goodbye. Kirk was able to hear their voices. He could feel the energy of love that surrounded him. He was aware he was not alone; in fact, the platform was crowded with a lifetime of fond memories. He knew the affection he had for us was reciprocal.

It was his son, his daughter-in-law and me that happened to be in the room, when the train pulled away, taking our beautiful, positive, giving friend to his next adventure. It was a peaceful moment where, as he lay facing his son, drew one last breath and passed. We sat there, a surreal sharing of relief for Kirk and sorrow for us.

“All aboard” was Kirk’s philosophy. Fitting to the concept of a train ride home. He believed that each experience, good or bad, was the way it was supposed to be. He faced every adversity with courage and confidence he would overcome, teaching us all the power of positivity.

He taught us by example how a walk can clear your head and bring you strength.

He taught us the true meaning of hope, and that this lifetime is worth fighting for.

Of the many teachings he demonstrated through his actions, my favorite lesson is the importance to ‘chill’-his word for 2024 and the word I will practice in his honor.

His legacies are his family and his optimistic outlook. Kirk LOVED this life and wanted nothing else but to stay here with us. To which he also accomplished; although we waved goodbye, his promise to send us post cards, we are already receiving.

Kirk, thank you for being our million-dollar friend. How blessed we are to have been in your company for decades and now to have you as a guardian angel. Your life here continues. Enjoy the train home.

Turn Around, Your Life is Now Here

April 21, 2024 / Mama Fish

Birthdays are naturally a time of reflection. A review of the year, its highs and lows and the goals that may or may not have been reached. This year, the Bonnie Tyler song, Turn Around seems to pop into my mind. The song is defined as being a poignant song that reflects on the passage of time and the fleeting nature of life.

This birthday approached with some melancholy. It is my first birthday walk in the reservoir without my sweet Tango. It is the 6^th birthday since my son texted me “Happy birthday mama”. The first since my brother, my friends have passed…an obvious but mocking reminder that life at 16 has ‘turned around’ and is very different than what 61 years holds.

When 61 was reversed, 16-year-old me was fearless. I was a feminist, who raced go karts and jumped off swings better than any boy. I stood firm for what I believed in, hiding stray dogs from the pound and getting beat up defending a girl from bullies. I was courage in a tomboy body. With age, courage has changed.

Courage matures as we go through life. Experience grows a deeper understanding of reality than when we were young. When I was 16, I did not think of the consequences of going too fast around a track corner and flipping. I knew it was a possibility, but nothing could happen, right? Life teaches us that yes, it can happen. And it does and with that, our courage becomes different.

It can appear like courage leaves us growing old and more afraid. But I think that courage never leaves. It rests within us, saving its self-up for bigger and more scary things, like cancer and losing a loved one. It presents itself differently than its 16-year-old version. It approaches quieter, slower but never weaker. Our courage develops into an almighty weapon. It takes our learnings and our fears, and it bottles them into a ‘red bull’ energy drink for our soul. Courage, like our body, grows up.

I recently had a conversation about how I have quit fighting the fact that grief has changed me and am becoming comfortable with the concept that I will never be the same. I think I have struggled with this for so long because I liked who I was. Or perhaps it was because I felt I lacked the courage to ask my grief who shall I become with you. Life changes us and most times we are not even aware of that fact. Until the song Turn Around plays on the radio.

When life presents you with a big bag of grief to carry, courage kicks in and gives you the strength you need to face the demons of life. This year, my 61^st, I will remind myself of that when I look in the mirror and ask, “what might the 16-year-old you do?”