Author: Mama Fish (Page 6 of 32)

The Souls of Rotary

June 29, 2025 / Mama Fish

Our city welcomed Rotarians from around the globe to visit and celebrate community service through the annual International Conference. My husband’s Rotary Chapter hosted a BBQ for fifty delegates to which we were invited to. A beautiful moment with old friends meeting new friends and sharing stories of personal experiences had through the involvement of Rotary. It was enjoyable, to which many emotions were felt as I caught up with people who I have not seen for years and some whom I will never see again. Surreal might be a good word to describe the night.

There were the new introductions which included how I was connected to Rotary and what did I do and how many children did I have. For the most part, easily answered. As I was chatting with one of the wives of Jon’s Rotary group, another joined us. We exchanged pleasantries and then she asked me, “what are your two kids up to?” She had remembered, we had the same number of children but had forgotten what we have gone through. I smiled and told her about Payton getting married and her upcoming trip this summer and then moved the conversation back to her by asking about her son’s recent travels. When she left, the woman I was previously chatting to, noticed my tattoo as I reached for my drink and asked, “was this for Zane?” Yes. “Do you have other tattoos?”, she asked. Yes. “May I see them?” As I pointed out each tattoo I have in memory of my son, she nodded. Her sincerity was genuine. It was wonderful how she remembered. And I realized why she did that. She was ensuring me that Zane was not forgotten, as was seemingly the case from the previous conversation with the other woman.

I was not angry with the other woman; I knew that it was an oversight on her part. We are not close, and we see each other seldom. She is a wonderful caring being who came over to say hello. The beauty in the innocence of her question was that she will always remember me as the mother of two children.

Another mother who has lost a child in this small Rotary family, came over to give me a hug. Our hugs are different. They are more of a “I see you are still standing” hug with never the question, “how are you”. I remembered this was the time of year she had lost her daughter. We had attended the funeral, with no ability, at the time, to comprehend the horror of what she was going through. She told me of how they celebrated her this year. I reached out to hold her hand. She squeezed back and said, “it’s been sixteen years, and it still feels like yesterday”.

The night carried on, catching up with others of their own challenges with health, family, retirement and as I listened, I thought of how it has been over thirty years that I have associated with this group. When Jon joined, we were all so young, starting families, buying a new home, eager to help change the world. And now, we stand, together, much older, each carrying the scars of experience that life has bestowed upon us.

The fellowship of this group is steadfast. We have celebrated happy times and stood behind each other during hard times. It is the Rotary way, “service above self.” It is how we live, how we raised our children. A surge of gratitude filled my heart that night, to be a part of a collective whose soul purpose is to shine their light such that others may see the way.

“Just a Dream Away” by Claudia Carlton Lambright”

June 22, 2025 / Mama Fish

I found a note I wrote to myself from August of 2021 which read, “my dream last night, Zane approached me and told me to buy the book Just a Dream Away.” I have no recollection of why I didn’t buy it right away and I don’t have an explanation of why I rediscovered the note. I can only imagine, the Universe decided to nudge me. Better late than never, I bought the book and read it.

Claudia, the author, writes about the after-death communication she has with her father and her spouse. It is written in short, easy-to-read chapters, beginning with the loss of her beloved father who began showing up in her dreams about a month after he passed. Claudia, who has been invested in dreamwork since she was a child, explains to the reader of the two altered states of consciousness when we fall asleep and wake up. She also talks about the concept of lucid dreaming whereby one can learn to hold conversations with those they dream about within the dream. The idea of communicating with those of the other realm is fascinating.

She writes, “Death is an ending only for the survivors. For the dying person, it is just a change in frequency.” If we believe that we are made of energy, and science tells us that energy can never vanish, it only changes form, then we can believe that as energy, our loved ones are still around. In our sleep, our subconscious energy can reach those who have passed and connect with their energy through our dreams. It is a very hopeful theory that she shares her experiences of its truth.

Six years after her father had passed, her husband Rusty passed of metastatic lung cancer. The dragonfly, their favorite song, were signs that Claudia knew were Rusty letting her know he was still with her. Shortly after his passing, the dream communications began. She shares her many dreams with the readers and her interpretations of what they meant. She talks about how, with practice, we can become aware when we are dreaming and engage in questions and conversations to remember when we wake. This is the power and beauty of lucid dreaming.

We all dream, the challenge is remembering them. Claudia suggests falling asleep with intention. “Tonight, I will realize I’m dreaming”. Write your dreams down as soon as you wake, while the memory is fresh. Speaking the mantra “raom gaom”, pronounced “rah…ohm..gah..ohm”, can help recapture lost parts of a dream. And practice. Practice. Practice.

My husband speaks of how I live two full lives. One here, with family and friends, and one, when I retire to bed, to connect with my son and other loved ones. I am grateful to travel to other realms. I practice it often and although I do not receive a visit every night, I often do. Claudia’s book was validation that lucid dreaming can link us, confirming that those we love are never truly gone.

The Yin and Yang of Grief

June 15, 2025 / Mama Fish

Men are different. They are built to be problem solvers, strong and non-emotional. And yes, ‘modern men’, are more in touch with their feelings and many do not shy away from tears. Yet, there is a difference in the make up of grief between men and women. It has been a recent discussion amongst my female grief warriors; how their husbands handle, or don’t handle grief.

Grief being a very personal and often lonely journey, can also be blinding. We get immersed in our own pain and instinct takes front seat. Researchers have confirmed this and have identified it as two different types of grieving, masculine and feminine.

Masculine grievers keep to themselves, they appear in control, getting on with life, believing they need to fix their grief. Feminine grievers want to tell their story, feel their way through the pain with support and connection. Feminine grievers often have a deeper feeling of guilt when life pushes them to move on. It is important to note that these patterns are on a spectrum to which individuals can exhibit both styles.

I didn’t handle my grief when it first arrived. I focused on my family, their needs and how I could help. I ignored mine. I watched my husband pack his car to visit friends and family, following his energy with social and solitude. I watched my daughter try to cope with a combination of remembrance and finding new relationships. My family needed to gather for the holidays, and I arranged the details. Looking back, I was a mix of masculine and feminine. More masculine in the early days; I wanted to fix the pain my family was feeling. I wanted to control the tiny, shattered pieces left of our life. But in no way, did I want to get on with life. What was life without Zane?

My true grief, the grief I have come to know and am trying to honor, is feminine. I want to share my story, to connect with others walking this path for support and to support. I still do not want to move on. That is the part of my grief that I believe will always be within me and why I struggle with giving up anything that is related in any way to my life before Zane was killed. That complicated concept of feminine grief makes so much sense now.

It is the reason why my mother friends can’t change the bedroom their child lived in or discard the boxes of personal items from their apartment. It is the reason why my mother friends showcase a tattoo symbolic of their precious child. It is why they wear their child’s ashes in a charm or bead. The feminine side of grief shouting out for remembrance.

Within the conversations of my friends who have lost a child, there are common denominators. One of them is that they worry their husbands are not ok because they appear to be discounting their grief. The truth is that they are grieving, just differently. Understanding that there are generalities around gender and grieving sheds light to why we sometimes are not on the same page.

The important factor is to recognize that the grief journey is a solitude one to which we may not understand the path the other chooses. When we respect the yin and yang of grief, which is felt within each of us, we can then respond with love in the knowledge that the essence of all life is trying to find our own balance.

Under the Lilac Trees

June 8, 2025 / Mama Fish

Zane was two when I took him to the Lilac Festival for the first time. It was a free event with vendors and music and bubbles filling the streets of downtown. It was magical. We both loved the energy of so many people gathering to celebrate the upcoming spring and enjoy the scents of the lilac trees outlining the walkway. After that, he was hooked and attended every year.

This year, I wanted to be there. At my work, we are creating a social media project in honor of Zane. What better day to kick it off then at Lilac Festival, the symbolic event of shaking of the (winter) blues and reconnecting with nature and people. This day captures Zane’s persona beautifully.

There were over 100,000 people this year. Including Zane. The bubbles floating around us. The man who stood in front of us wearing a t-shirt with the quote ‘the dude abides’ were all signs that my son continues to attend this springtime favorite. The festival was as wonderful as I had remembered. We stopped for lunch at a favorite watering hole and nestled into the booth. Jose had invited a friend to join us. When she arrived, she slid in between Jon and Roydon and Jose began introductions. Pointing to each of us as he spoke, he said, “this is mom and dad, this is my brother-in-law and this is my sister”. My heart lit up. I have called Jose my other kid for years. He calls me his Mama J. But hearing it out loud to someone who doesn’t know us or our story, was different.

I speak of how blessed our family is that Zane has such great friends who continue to include us in their lives, in his honor. My daughter spoke at his celebration of how she grew up with many of his friends, who were like brothers to her. On that day, they promised her to be there as Zane would have been, and they have kept that promise. The bonus is Jon, and I were also adopted by them. I am the mother of five other boys.

We left the kids that afternoon in the company of their friends to continue soaking up Lilac Festival. My heart was full, a rare day where sweet seemed to reign over bitter. The essence of the Lilac Festival showering over us, the bonds of la familia celebrating a sunny Sunday. A moment each year that Zane discovered early in his life, and whose love of the energy this event brings, he has shared with all of us. Lilac Festival is a tradition of warm, simple connections. An annual gathering our entire family enjoys. I must remember to attend each year, as my kids do. It is good mourning.

Regrets That Masquerade

June 1, 2025 / Mama Fish

My wish, when I turned thirty, was to have fewer regrets in my next thirty than I did in my first thirty years. I felt I failed. When I look back on my first thirty years, the regrets I had are so small compared to the regrets in adulthood, specifically motherhood. In my first thirty years I was young, learning, supposed to make mistakes. After thirty, you are expected to be grown up and raising the next generation so one better be complicated free. Yes, I realize this is unrealistic; idealistic expectations are the doorway to regret. I read the posts about how your first born ‘grew up’ with you as you learned to parent. Your second one shares with you a sense of freedom or adventure you wish for. Both are true for me.

Regrets can be powerful teachers in the lessons of life. In grief, they can also become a trap that snares any chance of healing. Exploring what is a regret, my list includes things that have happened that I had control of and some I had no control of. So, are they all regrets? I regret not putting a tire swing on the tree for the kids. Why? They had lots; the lack of a tree swing did not alter their development. Get over it. I regret moving to a new community albeit we returned. So, mistake fixed. I regret telling Zane to go and enjoy that night he was killed. I think the things that I say I regret are the things I will never know if they were the decisions that forged the path to where I now travel on.

Pondering my feelings, meditating with my angels, as I often do, I came across a quote. “Regret is the only wound the soul does not recover from.” Could this be why I feel stuck? It encouraged me to think about if what I am feeling is regret (I was in control) or disappointment (out of my control). Then I read the author of this quote was Sarah Ban Breathnack. She wrote Simple Abundance, a book I read over and over, and that Zane knows is my all time favorite. And I knew that her quote came to me, through Zane. Perhaps it is not regret that I am feeling, perhaps the emotion is disappointment.

Regrets are all the things said or unsaid, done or undone that we no longer have a chance to fix. Or at least we feel we have no chance. And sometimes we don’t. And I think that is where disappointment lies. Part of grieving is that your heart explores every corner, every aspect of what might have been done differently to not have ended up here. The truth settles into your soul disguised as regret, but really it is disappointment of what we wished was to be is not ever to be.

In the end, the answer is always one could have done more. Death takes that away. The quote sent to me is a reminder that if I wish my soul to heal, I must understand that I have no real regrets. I used the daily strength given to me to do my best. With that, whatever came to be, it cannot become a regret chained to me to cause more angst. The regrets I thought I carried are just disappointments that I did not have more time, more experiences with those I love.

Grief’s Visit In The Waiting Room

May 25, 2025 / Mama Fish

The long weekend ended with a trip to the Rockyview Hospital when my blood pressure kept rising and the pain in my chest made it impossible to breathe. An overnight calamity of tests, I was sent home for bedrest waiting for a cardiologist to call for more tests. Any feeling of whoa-is-me was silenced when I began listening to the stories of the other patients around me. It brought people watching to a whole new level.

A woman had brought her brother in, just before us. I overheard her telling the nurse that he was suicidal and she was afraid, not knowing what to do.

A couple next to us, sat quietly and at one point, he reached over to pat his wife’s hand and whispered to her, “how many times do you need to go through this with me?” She smiled and replied, “we just need you to get well.”

A mother sat across from us with her young daughter. I overheard her on the phone, “I am in the emergency. Every time she pees, she says it feels like sharp prickles.” Whatever was the diagnosis, the little girl came out eating a popsicle and the mother was in tears.

An elderly man is told that he has an ulcerated bowel that requires immediate surgery but not without complications. I hear the nurse ask the wife if she understands what DNR means and if his last wishes are in order.

Grief is palatable in the emergency ward of a hospital. You are not there by choice. It is not a quick fix either. The long waiting increases the agony. As a human sponge of other’s energy, I could feel my blood pressure continue to rise, my heartbeat pounding out of my chest. When the nurse called my name to insert an IV into my arm, he said, “you appear anxious.” I just stared at him. What did he mean by that? Of course I was anxious. My blood pressure is 217/109. How did I get here? It was a quiet, pleasant day. I was resting. I worked on a puzzle for God’s sake, not a marathon.

As we continued to sit waiting for the next test, I overheard a conversation that hit me hardest. It was a teenager whose friends had brought him in. We wondered what his reason might be; his hand was covered in blood like he had punched something. He was wrapped in a blanket and appeared in shock. I heard his friend call the mother telling her what happened. It wasn’t a bar fight or a prank gone wrong. The three were hiking and the trail ended with a waterfall cascading down twenty feet to the ground below. He had slipped and fell over the falls, to the bottom and lay unconscious in the water below. His friends climbed down to his rescue but couldn’t carry him. So, one stayed with him, the other ran to find cell reception and call for help. It took the helicopter six hours to find them and pull them to safety.

As the boys sat there, the one who had rescued his friend, said to him, “hospitals get me, but I guess I should get used to them. I will be seeing them a lot from now on.” I thought to myself I wonder if he is planning on a medical career of some kind to state that. And then his friend gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder and said, “hey man, it’s dialysis. You’ll get through.”

The waiting room in ER fosters a weird reminder of how delicate life is, how fast it can change and how important good health is. Grief sits in the emergency room, quietly waiting to rise or to leave.

As the doctor summarized my test results with me, he said, “I am wondering about your SLE” Exhausted, and trying to focus, I asked, “SLE?” “Your lupus”, he answered. He continued, “your heart may be effected by that so the cardiology tests we have referred for you will confirm it is just that.” I thanked the good doctor and went to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown. I looked in the mirror. My lupus? You mean this quiet ‘condition’ I have had for years that has never caused me grief. My heart is vulnerable because of lupus?

I have struggled with poor health all my life. I have fibromyalgia, never slowed me down. I have conquered cancer. Lupus is different. I was told that lupus blows up your heart. There is no cure, it is only manageable. How do I manage living with a broken heart. Literally, a broken heart. When I walked out the emergency doors in the early morning, nothing had changed but everything had changed. My vision of who I am, how strong I am does not align with the reality of my condition. Grief comes in many forms. With my hospital visit, a new form of grief rose and followed me home.

The Anxiety of Grief by Dr Wolfelt

May 18, 2025 / Mama Fish

Anxiety seems to be a common emotion. Too common. Zane used to ponder how his generation seemed ‘perfect on paper’ but were full of anxiety, depression and worry. I’m not sure there is a one-size-fits-all answer but I do know that it is prevalent in our society and that everyone experiences it as some level at one time or another. So, how do we deal with it?

Dr. Wolfelt, the guru on grief, has a series of short reads related to different aspects of grief. One book in this series is “The Anxiety of Grief” which I picked up to read with the angst of spring hitting me hard and interested in how my grief compounds this unpleasant emotion.

As in his other books, he first defines the issue, in this case, what is anxiety, and then continues, probing the reader to make lists, complete thoughts on paper and to reflect to better understand why one is feeling this way. He outlines the emotional and physical effects of grief related to anxiety and warns us of the red flags when anxiety is trying to morph into a disorder. Avoidance, obsessive thinking and lack of self-care are the biggest flags.

Anxiety is brought on by the same things that trigger our grief. Certain holidays, milestones, or sensory experiences. Triggers that are not so obvious are hunger, dehydration, exhaustion and concurrent life stressors, like work or financial worry.

Dr. Wolfelt writes about the importance of expressing our anxiety. When one has suffered a loss, anxiety is a part of the grief experience. Managing anxiety can be done in the same ways as grief. He suggests meditating, writing, talking, finding a support group or sometimes just having a good cry. He speaks of the importance of tuning into your body and of creating a routine. I know that when my routine is respected, I feel calmer, in control. I am becoming protective of my routine to ease my anxiety and my grief.

He finishes the book by telling the reader of the importance of congruence. Congruence is expressing with words and actions how you are feeling; your outside matches your inside. It is your truth. Ignoring it will compound anxiety. We practice this with our grief and knowing that anxiety is part of grief, we can respect this emotion and put into place practices to ease it along side of our sadness.

Dr. Wolfelt states that “Your grief isn’t you. It’s something moving through you.” I have yet to believe that. I’m just getting comfortable with the idea that grief is the other side of love. I am not letting go of love, so if it is true that grief is loves counterpart, I must accept the darker side. I believe that my grief moves within me, not through me. It is here to stay. And learning how to deal with the emotions of my loss, including anxiety, can help grief move easier.

The Gifts My Mother Gave Me

May 11, 2025 / Mama Fish

I had a drink with a girlfriend this week who was telling me about her mother, who is almost a hundred years old, that she asked where her parents were. My friend had to tell her that they died, long ago. Her mother was confused. My friend has been down this path before with her mother-in-law before her death and although it is a bit different, my sweet friend is stepping up to the plate of mothering the mother, once again. I left our social afternoon reflecting on my own mother.

We joke in our family that dad, being Irish was the warm one. Mom, being of Scandinavian background, could be cold. She believed in everything proper, from manners, to dress, to lifestyle. A culture she learned by her own mother. My sister and I were taught these lessons and have thrown most of the ideals out the window by chance or by choice.

My mother and I had our trials as most do, in fact it wasn’t until my father passed away that our relationship took a turn from mother/daughter to good friends. And when we received the diagnosis that Alzheimer’s was the reason she was ‘having a little memory problem,’ our roles switched, and I became her mother.

At first, we faced her mental decline with humor. When Zane handed me a phone number, she had taken for me, it was a combination of letters and numbers and more than a ten-digit number. I told him, “I can’t phone this person back, what the heck is this?” To which his reply was, “I know mom, I told her it made no sense, and she got mad, so I thought, she really isn’t my problem, she’s yours”.

I left work multiple times because mom had locked herself out of the house and was panicking. The problem was that she was calling me from her landline inside the house. There was no convincing her that she was safe inside, she believed she was locked out. So, I would leave work and by the time I got to her house, all was forgotten. She would open the door with a big smile and say, “oh Janny, how nice to see you, are you here for tea?” Yes, mom, I came for tea.

When an old friend came out to visit, and ended up moving in, our relationship took a new turn. I felt more like a mama bear and my mom saw me as her girlfriend. One day, as I sat with her, she shared how he was able to perform but not “finish”. My jaw dropped. My mother the prude, the same woman who insisted we were never allowed to utter the word sex, asking me for advice on how to…I can’t even say it.

I needed help. I enlisted the services of the Rockyview Senior Care Centre, and a handsome young social worker became my best ally. With his guidance and resources, my mother and I travelled the path of this debilitating disease together. She said to me, “I am afraid of this.” And I replied, “Me too, but you will not be alone. I will be with you.” It was not easy. In the end, mom was placed in a home, for her own safety. My brain knows that was the right move. My heart, to this day, questions the solution.

Seventeen years since she left earth, and I still struggle with my emotions from that period. I could not keep a sense of humor with the insanity of the disease. I was not angry with her; I was scared and overwhelmed and sad that the last years of her life were not recognizable by her. With Alzheimer’s, you lose your loved one twice.

I hold tight to the solace I carry within me, the beauty of her lessons as my mother. The joy to be with friends and family around a table of food and wine. The comfort of a home that is neat and orderly. The strength in raising a family and the courage to face great loss. I carry the lesson my mother demonstrated that we do not choose fate; it serves us and the only control we have is to face it with grace.

Another Mother Now Knows Today

May 4, 2025 / Mama Fish

I have always found Bereaved Mother’s Day curious. To have a day (the Sunday before Mother’s Day) that recognizes women who have lost a child. It started in Australia and began with a focus on babies who passed of S.I.D.S., a miscarriage or stillbirth. Over the years, it has spread world-wide as a day for all mothers who have lost a child; a day that is an opportunity to talk about them, to find support to know that they are not alone. Also importantly, the hope of this initiative is to have people start talking about loss such that the notions around death become less taboo.

So, I take this holiday and each year, I reach out to my grieving mother friends to let them know I am thinking of them on this Sunday. And then, the following Sunday, I will reach out to my other mother friends who are enjoying the day with their children still here on earth. This year, I reached out to my friend who is experiencing her first Mother’s Day without her son. And I know what that feels like.

My first Mother’s Day without Zane here was surreal. In fact, when I look back, the entire month of May did not exist. I mentally checked out. That year, I spent all my energy going to battle with the courts to obtain guardianship to have access to Zane’s personal documents to ensure that he would graduate from university as was the plan before he was killed. It was complicated and carried with it its own grief and I was overwhelmed. But I digress.

I remember certain dates in the beginning of our journey, including Bereaved Mother’s Day, which went unnoticed by my family as they dealt with their own grief. So, this day has become my day with Zane. Over the years, I have instilled quiet moments of honor, remembrance and even celebration. Bereaved Mother’s Day has become for me, a day to celebrate being Zane’s mom. All the wonder of his soul coming into my life and all the many beautiful experiences we shared during his short but impactful time. And it is a day that I honor the strength of my fellow mothers who too find a moment to wish that fate was different. And thus, I put a note into a card and dropped it in my friend’s mailbox. Her first Bereaved Mother’s Day. I wish it was not so.

I hate that she now knows about her new and special Sunday. The one before the popular one that will have her crying in the Hallmark aisle as the colorful cards taunt you a happy day. But it might help her to know this is this day where the whole world recognizes she is remembering her beautiful boy, and the memories he has left her with. And not that any of us need a special day. We live and breathe the life and loss of our children. Bereaved Mother’s Day is really a statement that the world acknowledges the unimaginable levels of anguish experienced by mothers who have loved, lost and continue to be women of strength and hope to their families. My sweet girlfriend is now one of those.

Why Her Thirty Is So Strange

April 27, 2025 / Mama Fish

April is always a busy month for our family. We commemorate fourteen birthdays of those we love. But this year, on top of birthdays, life has been crammed full of family visits, family drama, health concerns, new homes, job losses, new jobs, moves and my daughter turns thirty.

We joke that her entering this new decade will be a year-long celebration starting this weekend and carrying on throughout the year which includes a trip to Iceland and Ireland. And yet, our little drama queen has decided that this year is to be a quiet start. She has a desire to re-energize. She wishes to bring this birthday in, not with the typical “I’m getting old” fanfare, but rather a relaxed celebration of all that she is truly grateful for.

When planning what her 30^th would be like, she said, “I am not going to complain I am getting older, I am not going to joke that my youth is dead. Zane did not see this birthday. I get how lucky I am.” And that hit me. And I can’t shake it. She is right, and her upcoming celebration of the day she was born, and the number of years that the Universe has graced her are not taken for granted.

Payton, as a little girl, was a tomboy. She admired her brother, had crushes on many of his friends and grew up knowing that she was never alone. Zane was her big brother, her cheerleader, her advisor and they relished the times together. Zane’s empath qualities guided her to become a beacon for many. Payton was and still is the advocate for the underdog and the hero for anyone in despair. Her adventures have shaped her, her styles have changed, and her heart continues to grow. She will always be my little girl. She is forever Zane’s little sister.

And I think that is why this birthday is different. I remember when I went into a new decade without Zane on earth. The hollowness in my heart grew deeper. The ache of continuing without him seemed louder. I think, without her knowing this, my daughter is experiencing the same. It is so hard to move forward with the realization that life was physically shared with Zane ‘last decade’. Her soul knows this before her brain does. I am sure it is the subconscious reason for a birthday with no fireworks.

As her mother, I am in awe of her, of the strength she shows with all the tragedy our family has experienced and continues to receive. She carries the grief of loss of so many family members who sustained her throughout her childhood. Especially that of her brother. She has sat at the funerals of many family members and friends and has spoken tributes on their behalf. She continues to make room to honor each of them. All before she turned thirty.

There is nothing that can be said about this. It is life. My heart screams that I cannot change this, I cannot comfort her. My belief is that it is part of her soul plan. And how beautiful her soul, that it can hold the light for so many when the darkness has come to her so often.

My sweet daughter, my wish for you is that you will never forget that the heavens are filled with loved ones who watch over you, shower you with strength and hold you safe. And that the person at the forefront is always your brother.