Author: Mama Fish (Page 3 of 32)

Removing Spiritual Roadblocks

January 25, 2026 / Mama Fish

Geoff’s mother shared a story her daughter-in-law told her about a dream that a colleague of hers had. I apologize if, in translation, I miss details, but I remember it like this:

She was in a large white room with a bench in it and on the bench sat Geoff. He asked her if she could give his wife a message. “Please tell her that I am trying to reach her, but she keeps blocking me.” Then the door opened and in walked another man, who she did not recognize, and he sat down beside Geoff. The two of them got up and left. Her colleague said it was such a weird dream. It felt real. The wife showed a picture of Zane to her and asked, “was this the other man?” Yes! Yes, it was him.

When I heard this story, there were tears. Bittersweet, understanding tears. Proof that our boys are somewhere else, together and yet connected to this realm with a desire to reach us.

The question is often asked “has your loved one visited you?” The answer is varied. Some did in the beginning but not now. Some only once. Some are still waiting. How can we remove the roadblocks to connect with the spiritual realm?

We know that we are to quiet our minds. Visits from our loved ones are brief moments. If our mind is racing with thoughts, a visit might get lost in between all the other topics competing in one’s head. Resting, taking mindful walks help remove the blocks.

Connection requires our loved one to lower their vibration, and we must raise our vibration so that we meet somewhere in the middle. Negative emotions bring our energy down and although it can’t be helped to feel anger or resentment and especially sadness, we must try to elevate feelings of joy, purpose and gratitude. This helps raise our vibration.

Meditative, nighttime rituals are essential to removing blocks. All meditations carry similar components; relax, take deep breaths, empty the mind by focusing the attention on a specific scene, speak your desire. My favorite is imagining a forest with a stone path leading up a small hill. At the top of the hill is a cluster of trees. I stand in front and ask, “which of you would like to speak to me tonight?” Then I wait. It almost always works. It is not Zane every time, but whoever steps forward, there is uplifting conversation.

Dream journalling is a must. When you begin to write what dreams you do remember, your brain becomes trained to remember better. My dream journals contain many stories of Zane that I would have forgotten if I had not written it down right after. Spiritual connections require practice and patience. What will begin an occasional writing of a dream remembered, will become a regular happening.

The bonus of this practice brings our loved ones across the realm, in dreams but also in moments when awake. When their voice ‘pops’ into your head or you feel a soft touch when no one is there. Don’t be quick to dismiss it to your imagination. Answer back and ask for more. Your acknowledgement removes the spiritual blocks and opens the door to stronger connections.

A Letter from Grief

January 18, 2026 / Mama Fish

A recent exercise in dealing with grief suggested that we write grief a letter. The purpose is to face your grief, giving it a personality and telling it what you think about it. As I completed this assignment, I wondered, what if grief wrote us a letter? What would it want us to know? What would it ask? My letter to grief came back with a reply.

Hello,

I am here. The Universal plan brought me here and I know you don’t like me. I know I cause you angst. I know I am the reason you cry at night, scream in the morning and have so many thoughts of deep doubt. I know how tired you are from my presence. I know how hard you wish I would leave.

But I’m not leaving. I’m here to stay. If you find yourself in a dark spot, don’t blame me. Stop and be quiet, take a deep breath and a moment to ponder…

Are your thoughts, your actions aligned with truth? The real raw truth that only your soul knows. Not the truth that your broken heart is telling you or the muddled truth of your brain. Have you listened to the whispers of your soul?

Are your thoughts, your actions aligned with kindness. Are you treating yourself with the tenderness to which a shattered life deserves? Concentrating on nourishing your soul with solitude and reflection rather than distractions and avoidance?

Are you filling your days with small moments of things that once brought you joy or are you replacing everything with something new, something shiny, something that cannot relate to the you before I arrived.

These are the ponderings I ask of you. The answers can become actions to ease the intensity of my being. I am grief. I am the other side of love. Don’t mistake me for anything else.

Don’t mistake me for anger. The anger to which arrives through despair or impatience. Anger will make you scream of the injustices thrown upon you, insinuating you have been betrayed. It can not speak of the whole truth for anger has only one side.

Don’t mistake me for fear. The fear to which arrives through insecurity or lack of faith. Fear will cast shadows over the chance of joy, holding you back from opening the door to opportunity. It can not see the future, for fear only knows of the past.

I am grief. I am the other side of the love you hold. I am the tallyman of your heart; your broken heart that I will help reshape. I am not the enemy. I am merely the bittersweet continuation of love after its original form has left.

~Grief

Why Grief Isn’t a Journey (with John Onwuchekwa)

January 11, 2026 / Mama Fish

The topic of podcasts came up, and I wondered why I didn’t listen to them. I thought I might try to shake it up this year and listen to podcasts as well as read. My first podcast came to me on a web search and as they say, “first time is a charm”. It was a good one.

The podcast was from Grief Out Loud where John Onwuchekwa, a Pastor, author, team builder and storyteller communicated his thoughts of why grief is not a journey.

In 2015, his brother Sam passed suddenly bringing grief as a new subject into his forum of topics he likes to share. John starts the interview about the initial feelings loss brings and how that stays with us. How 11 years later, he still finds himself asking, “Is he really gone? In the early days, you forget. Hearing it throws your body into exhaustion, tearing your world apart… then, in the morning there are a couple of seconds before you remember.” The intensity of this goes away but it always will feel surreal.

There are parts of our self that die with the loss of someone close. We aren’t sure what those parts are, and we never know if you are going to get those things back. He speaks of what changed in him with his brother’s death. He shares he is no longer proficient at returning messages. Before Sam’s death, the opinion that he was responsible, goal orientated and focused on the outcome was important to him. Grief changed him to be more intrinsic and less worried about such things, to be more focused on the bigger picture.

He is much less an optimist. “Life is a sort of lottery with no guarantees.” He revaluated family and his role in his relationships and how he could be better. All aspects of grief that each of us face. What was intriguing is John’s disagreement of the idea grief is an individual linear journey that we travel. His alternative is appealing.

John believes that grief is a language we become fluent in. Through language one can support their loneliness. “People are not afraid of grief. They are afraid to be alone in their grief.” Language is about finding the right words when there are none.

John speaks about the types of languages of grief. For example, grief is body language. We cry. We scream. And forever, our body remembers the day we lost our loved one, the physical symbols related to their death, and when we do, our bodies may flinch. This is our body talking to us. Grief is also a written language. When you write, you must remember your story. It forces you to linger in the memories. “Grief is a language and if we don’t learn it, we can’t heal.”

The ideal that grief is a language to which we are trying to become proficient in gives a scholastic slant to dealing with grief, rather than the antidote ‘pack your suitcase, you are going on a trip’. I think I might combine the two. Grief has launched me on an eternal journey to which I will come across many strange lands and meet many wonderful people and together we will learn to speak a language only understood by those who carry loss.

To hear this podcast, click: Why Grief Isn’t A Journey (And What It Is Instead) – John Onwuchekwa

Gentle Reminders for Mother Hen

January 4, 2026 / Mama Fish

Over the holidays, I reviewed my role as a contributing and positive person in the lives of those I love. It was suggested that I can be controlling, opinionated and a busy body. Ouch. Someone else spoke of how I was raised on guilt and thus very good at using that tactic in my parenting. Double ouch. There is no mistake that our clan is suffering, trials and tribulations seem to be our thing. I’d like that to change and wondered how I can help, or do I just make it worse.

When I approached my family with this query, I was appreciative of the honesty of the responses. Yes, I can be opinionated, but it comes from a place of love. Yes, I tend to take charge when I see someone struggling and sometimes this causes questions of whether a person was genuine or if they were acting on ‘momma’s orders.’ Overall, my family has come to accept me and my actions as the mother hen God created. I seem to be the one having an issue with it.

I guess this whole review comes from the many arguments of late and the exasperation I feel with the choices my family are making. I am worried about the outcomes. I’m not sure how I can mind my own business when I am usually the go-to person when things go south. To let go is unknown territory for me because it is new. I used to be very confident in how I expressed care. Now, I seem to question, overthink and host doubt. I blame grief.

When we lose someone, we subconsciously become more controlling. We could not control when and how death came into our life to blow it up. But it did. And it left us feeling vulnerable. We begin to put into place actions to protect our fears, to perhaps numb some of the pain. We tighten our opinions. We begin to manage situations, putting conditions on the idea that if we have more control, we will not be hurt again. It doesn’t work.

As I was exploring how to step back from my urge to be ultimate mother hen, one of my ‘kids’ sent me a text. He told me that my love for him is what sustains him. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows that I am there for him. Unconditionally. And that has made the difference. My heart burst.

Another family member texted me, “I was the best part of 2025. Stay positive.” And another unsolicited text, “…You are the one there for me…” And then my daughter reminded me of the trip we had together to Ireland. A bucket list of her and Zane’s to get me there. She hugged me and said, “2025 took us to Ireland and showered us with signs that our tribe lives on. Together.” My heart burst again. I had forgotten how important that trip was. Truly the highlight of the year.

I believe that personal reflection is always a good practice. It solicits feedback to spark necessary change and supports the ability for growth. It may sting but change usually does. My favorite part is the gentle reminders of what is working, that one’s intentions have been received in the manner to which they were meant. These affirmations can be the foundation of what to build on.

Life is what it is. It will not be constant. There will always be change. How we move forward, becoming a stronger, more impactful version of our former self is the focus to which we can find balance, joy and connection. As mother hen, I will better choose the issues I peck at as some problems aren’t even mine. And the result might be a few less ruffled feathers.

Saddle Up, Another Year is Here

December 28, 2025 / Mama Fish

This Christmas was different. Each of us recognized there was something missing. It wasn’t the same; the happy holiday sentiments were empty. It seemed like another task. I hated our neighbor’s Santa decor, each morning displaying the number of days until Christmas arrived. I wanted to kick him. I was ready, in all the materialistic manners, only my heart was not.

This year I battled. Hard. It was an exercise in compromise. Life brought with it major changes on all levels. It forced us to reevaluate who we are, who we want to be and who we want to be with. The answers were not familiar. Strong ties are now broken and new events substituted tradition.

Social media shouts, it was the year of the snake. This was the year we were to shed what is no longer fitting. It was supposed to be a hard year of transformation. I don’t recall knowing that at the start of this year. And yet, we seemed to have lived the meaning of what the snake brings. I am opposed to this because I am not a creature of change. I hate change. In fact, I will choose to live with what is uncomfortable to avoid change. My family is different. They seem to embrace the necessary hardship of change, looking past the difficulty of now to the possibility of what might be. I seem to be stuck. I can only see what it was. And I miss it.

At the end of Christmas, it was not the same, but not terrible. It brought new experiences and revised editions of past rituals. We got together. Just not altogether. We did laugh. I did cry. Some of the feelings were reminiscent of past times and a few new joys. All in all, it was the usual bittersweet I live. And goals for the New Year…well they are being planned.

2026 will be the year of the horse. Bold, strong, galloping into the anticipation of better. The horse symbolizes heading forward to what one has discovered from the past year’s shedding of what ails us. Right now, I feel like an old mare. I don’t have any desire to leave the pasture of my past. I can’t see how the grass may be greener on the other side. In fact, I am fearful of what might be hidden there.

Alas, it will soon arrive, so I share with you ‘bah humbug’ sentiments, honoring a character we rewatched as part of our holiday movie collection, Mr. Grinch.

It came with gifts, it came with toys, it came dressed up, with toasts of joy.

It brought cookies, squares, baked goods and pies, it brought mittens and markets and presents to buy.

It gathered those from near and from far to sip happy hours at local bars. This season was filled with so much to do. It hardly gave me time to sit next to you.

Yes, Christmas came with its markers and makers, it came with its festivals, top shows and its shakers. It brought in the moments, the ribbon and presents, and left with reminders of a notable essence.

Maybe, just maybe with angels nearby, we can carry our grief without answers why. And maybe, just maybe the cosmic stars’ mystery will bring signs of new happy wonders to see…

2026 is about the horse, may each of you have a comfortable saddle, and a wide-open course.

Values Are One’s Compass

December 21, 2025 / Mama Fish

One of my medical appointments related to my health was to determine if I am experiencing burnout. In this meeting, she asked me if I was clear of what my values were. She suggested a website that outlines value themes and to choose the top ten that I feel align with my beliefs and then narrow that number down to three. Or maybe five if three seemed daunting. I told her that I knew what they were, had already done a test such as that in my line of work. She asked if I had done it since 2018. No, I had not. She smiled, “grief can change one’s values.”

It was an aha moment for me. Grief has changed the way I feel, reason, behave…why would I think my values are the same as before. I agreed to review the list and discovered that what I valued before Zane was killed, only one of the values is still in accordance with my present beliefs. Worse, most of my daily actions are supporting no values, my past or my newly identified values. No wonder the internal turmoil I am experiencing is so loud.

My old values were family/friends, work, health, community and social. I work in community with no boundaries; guilt knocks me over if I am not there for family and friends and thus my busy social life which contributes to my poor health. It is almost laughable.

My new list contains ideals that are reflective of my pain. The first is inner harmony. I want my soul to quit screaming. If I have this, it will bring me peace. The second is spirituality. 2018 taught me that there is more to life than this, that the connection to the other realm, to God, to my loved ones in spirit is my salvation. This value brings me balance. The third value is still family/friends. I believe that friends and family are the same. For me, family is like the sun. Everything revolves around them. This is my true community.

If I am permitted to have another two values, they would be creativity and wealth as I believe that the right creativity could bring wealth. And this combination will bring me opportunity.

It was amusing that work, community, social and health got kicked off the new list. Work is fine, I am closer to retirement than the fight to climb the professional ladder. My community was too big and became filled with associates rather than relationships which created obligations not celebrations. And social, grief insists that solitude replace it.

Health, I was surprised that it was not on my list given that I spent most of 2025 in medical offices. I have come to believe that health is part of one’s fate. Yes, we must do the right things, diet, exercise, sleep, moderation…but it has become more a daily undertaking, not a value. And if I am honoring my values, my health will surely benefit.

I think my therapist might be on to something with this value alignment. At the end of the session, it was confirmed that I am experiencing total emotional burnout. Which, she believes is part of the underlining manifestation of my physical issues. I am sure my herbalist would agree. I now begin a journey to heal. Both mentally, physically and emotionally. It is fitting that this has all happened at the end of the year when goals and dreams and hopes for the next are being considered. My ideals for 2026 will focus on how to create a life that honors my new values.

Coldplay On Candle Lighting Day

December 14, 2025 / Mama Fish

Today is World Candle Lighting Day. It began in 1997 to acknowledge those who have lost a child. The idea behind it is to light a candle in their memory at 7pm local time. It has become the largest global commemoration. In essence, Candle Lighting Day represents the act of illuminating physical and metaphorical darkness. It is a powerful and universally understood gesture of hope, memory, and unity. A fitting way to celebrate our children.

We do this each year. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. This year a group of grieving moms are gathering for brunch to share stories over the warmth of lit candles. It will include laughter and tears, and it will bring a sense of comfort through the friendship of a path shared.

A poem is often included as part of the candle lighting. I have written my own in the past. This year, I leaned on the musical talents of the band Coldplay to accompany my ritual. The song “It was all yellow” is about the love of another and the desire to do great things in honor of that love. A fitting theme to the love a mother has for her child.

The ‘yellow’ referring to the stars in the song can also be the yellow flame of a burning candle. And thus, as I light my candle tonight, in remembrance of Zane, in honor of all the children watching us from the other realm, I will hum:

“Look at the stars,

Look how they shine for you

And everything you do

Yea, they were all yellow”

The first time I heard this song, it was sung by a talented daughter of a friend. I had no idea it was one from a band Zane enjoyed. I sung it a lot before he was killed. I couldn’t after, it was too close to my new truth. He had become a part of the stars that were once shining for him. This year, I appreciate the idea that our children’s energy can be seen in the stars. The song has a deeper and more poignant meaning now.

“Look at the stars,

Look how they shine for you,

And everything you do

Yea, they are all yellow…”

F**K Death by Steve Case

December 7, 2025 / Mama Fish

My favorite expression of anything ultimate is the “f” bomb. Yes, not lady like but uttering the word leaves no misunderstandings that whatever the word is related to is big. The book “F**K Death”, states that it is a guide to get you through grief without all the BS that accompanies it by well meaning people and our own evasions. I giggled at the title and felt I had to read it.

The book takes the reader through the five stages of grief with humor and profanity and a promise to help you heal. There is no slow start to this book, the first chapter starts with encouraging the reader to say it. F**k Death. It includes a list of sh*t that might make you feel better. My favorite tip is “…Talk to your dog. (They listen better than most humans.)”

Each chapter explains a stage of grief and offers suggestions on how to cope. The stage of denial, Steve has the reader do an exercise to become present, not focused on the past. Anger, he warns is a loud one, with a list of productive things you can do such as write out all things unfair. While anger is loud, the stage of depression is quiet. It is a big sense of aloneness. It runs deep and manifests in many ways. With depression, we must find ways to say “F**k you, Brain” and do something new.

It is acceptance that always gets me. Steve calls it ‘embracing the suckage’. This stage is all about moving on with your new normal. How do you find a new normal? Why would you want a new normal? I liked my old normal just fine. His tips about creating a new normal were gentle. “Don’t go changing jobs or moving across the country just yet.” Accept your feelings and re-engage with the living. Create a routine. Know the holidays are hell.

The book ends with a chapter about God and a bold statement that the Universe was here first. “The Universe owes you nothing.” It concludes with a promise; “That empty spot in your heart and soul…Grief makes room. Let love fill it.”

I enjoyed reading this book; I am not sure if it is best read in the beginning of grief or years into grief. You must be ok with the language to which I found the best part of the book. Steve has taken the expected stages of grief and illuminated them in a defiant tone that makes the reader better understand the raw emotions that accompany each stage. The book reaffirms it’s ok to lean into the ugly feelings and subtly suggests that this too shall pass. A big promise that whether or not can come to fruition, offers solace to a broken heart.

With Grief’s Permission

November 30, 2025 / Mama Fish

As a kid growing up, I enjoyed American Thanksgiving. My cousins would travel to our home from Montana to join us. The holiday included a trip to Eddie Bauer, shopping for Canadian treasures to take back, like bacon, wieners, Tylenol 222 and Canadian beer. Dinner was the traditional turkey, with all the fixings. It was a favorite time for y’all. We still celebrate it, in remembrance of those days.

This year I noticed how different my favorite holiday has become. Empty. It is without the fanfare of my childhood. It lacks the full table (so many are missing, including my cousins). It lacks the sounds of chatter with a slight drawl. It lacks my mother’s kitchen, small with the window steamed from the heat of the oven and pots boiling. It lacks my father’s presence, rocking in his chair with the dog on his lap, cocktail on the side table, next to the ashtray with a cigarette always smoldering.

This holiday was always about family. The whole family. Not the small Canadian Thanksgiving family. No, American Thanksgiving was big, bold, loud and oh so energizing. It included everyone. It shouted we are together. It contained the sharing of what was happening, what was being planned, and always the latest antics of my crazy southern family. You went to bed that night so full of food, wine and laughter that you couldn’t sleep.

For some reason, this year, the happiness of yesteryear came through the front door, stomping around in my head like a full piece band. Perhaps it was because this year was like any other day. It started off rough, it included too much work, stress, mess and a rush home to ‘whip up’ dinner. It did not contain any extended family. It did not pause any ugly realities. The day had me so totally exhausted that I found myself having a hard cry before my daughter and husband came home to join me for dinner.

Grief. This Thanksgiving my grief sat at the head of the table. It reminded me of how old I am. How tired I have become. I countered it with the game of gratitude. I am aware and appreciative of all that I do have. Then my grief reached its hand across the table to hold mine and whispered to me, “it’s ok to cry for the many empty seats at your table.”

And with that, with grief’s permission, I leaned in, letting my broken heart mourn for all those that once sat at my table. Those who raised me, those I grew up with, for family that shared decades with me. And I cried for those who once sat at my table that I raised, mothered or mentored. For the kids that have sat around my table sharing their dreams, their gratitude at their young age. Including and especially, the twenty-six Thanksgivings I shared with Zane.

This year, I missed the physical presence of my family. All of them; those who join my table in heart and those who join my table in spirit. This year, I longed for the simple, naïve and joyful times of Thanksgivings past.

When Collective Grief Becomes Conflicted

November 23, 2025 / Mama Fish

I have been battling with conflicted grief lately. Conflicted because I feel one way but am expected to feel another way. It has me basking in a pool of self-reflection and personal judgement if I am behaving in the manner that honors my family’s needs without sacrificing my own.

Trying to not divulge too much, as the cause of this new grief is not my story to share, let’s just say that a family member has made decisions which has created a division of opinion and made gatherings uncomfortable if not impossible. And with the upcoming holiday season, I am anxious about where I should be and what I should do and how I should feel.

In the beginning, emotions were raw. Grief had just arrived and each of us handled it differently. I was accused of not being supportive enough as it appeared I wasn’t going to choose sides. With me, I saw we were all experiencing loss and thus my care-giving soul needed to hug everyone, which was frustrating for some.

Then, when enjoying tea with friends, one told me her story of how she was experiencing a very similar situation within her family. She shared how her heart was grieving and yet she felt she had to hide it or be ridiculed. As I listened to her, the actions of her family, the feelings for her person, the frustrations to be all to all, I found a kinship. Two mothers who feel that their grief must be ignored most days to ensure the happiness of everyone else.

Why as mothers do we feel this way. We are not told to do this and yet, we assign to ourselves an unspoken expectation that whatever road our family chooses to travel to support their needs is a road we must also travel with them. It is ludicrous as we know grief is a personal journey. But when there are layered reasons, tribulations, we want to be calm, to be comfort to their woes. How we feel becomes seemingly less relevant.

Moms don’t have strong boundaries, if any at all, when it comes to the wellbeing of their family. But we need them. Our heart is broken too. We are filled with grief and confusion and want to be present. For everyone. Can we create a space to support all those we love without judgement. Can we give each other the freedom to determine how one’s own grief is addressed. Can we be compassionate to the truth that we are all hurting. In different ways, for different reasons but we are all hurting. And can we give leniency to each other to be ourselves?

The answer needs to be yes. Perhaps the role of mother is only to start the process. An unsteady process that requires open communication, the setting aside of ego and the ability to put respect front and center. This doesn’t make collective grief any less ugly. Or easy. Hopefully, it will make room to reduce the conflict such grief carries; to explore collective pathways that will help comfort our grief. As a family and as individuals.