Category: Shared Grief (Page 1 of 22)

Designing a Newfound Fun

February 23, 2025 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

In my grief community, we have been talking about how spontaneity and fun are important to intuitive development. A friend suggested “fun” was a word foreign to her and I agreed. In fact, each grief warrior I speak to has admitted that fun is not in their vocabulary since the loss of their child. A sad but true sentiment to which is contrary to the stories we share of our kids and how much fun they were, they had, they brought to the life they shared with us.

Zane was the epitome of spontaneous fun. Every morning at breakfast I would experience belly laughs or shake my head, “oh no you didn’t” as he shared of the adventures he had the night before. He was known to jump over a fence or a bar bench to grab the attention (and hopefully the phone number) of a pretty girl. He bought a camera strap once, showing me its uniqueness by putting it on and running back and forth in our yard. He asked if I saw why, it was so cool. I said I wasn’t sure, but I noticed it kept the camera from moving. “Exactly!” he grinned. Why was that important, I asked. “Well, I might have to run from someone wanting my camera when I’m snapping pictures downtown” he said. He winked. Apparently, that had already happened. He had escaped, but felt a tight strap would be useful for future outings. I shook my head.

If that happened to me, fear would not let me try again. But Zane, and the experiences he had, good and bad, were all part of life. He welcomed it. He encouraged it. He relished in it. And I sat on the sidelines, living vicariously through his antics, loving every moment.

They suggest when a loved one passes, that we live in manners that reflect who they are. If we carry on unfulfilled dreams they had or take up a hobby they had enjoyed or try to build in the things they loved into our own lives, it honors them. It keeps them alive. Zane’s zest for living your best life was his legacy and one each of us tries to keep in mind. “Live it up, you are alive” he would say. It is that line a friend had silk screened onto t-shirts for the family to wear at his celebration. His eternal message to us to celebrate each day.

Trying to have fun is risky for grievers. We don’t know how. We are afraid that if we find ourselves laughing, enjoying the moment, it lessens our grief. And yet, it doesn’t. In fact, finding ways to have fun softens grief. Bringing into our own life, things that we can enjoy, turns grief to its other side to face us. That side of love. Yes, bittersweet, but what if the memories, the mimicking of our loved ones in ways that make us smile, also causes our loved ones to smile from their place in Heaven.

The stories shared from the mothers that I sit with, of their children’s life on earth, are colorful. And when we share the stories, we do end up laughing at their antics, shaking our heads in awe. It is worth the risk to explore how we can continue their vibrancy through our own actions. To have fun, as each of our children did. As our children would want us to do.

In the past, when I was enjoying something, like a new recipe or putting out peanuts for the squirrels to join me for happy hour, Zane would hug me, relishing in my joy. He would say, “awe, mama, you’re so cute.” It was amusing to him how I found fun. I am going to try to bring that back. For me and for Zane to witness. I can’t see me jumping over a bar bench for anyone. But with the right group, I might try dancing on a table. I have picked up Zane’s camera and promise to continue his love of photography. Although, his funky strap I can’t see needing. Perhaps, baby steps are needed when designing a newfound fun.

Grief When It Grows Up

February 9, 2025 / Mama Fish / 1 Comment

When I was pregnant with Zane, I read every book I could find on how to have a healthy pregnancy, be a good mom, raise a respectful child. Not that reading prepared you for the raw details of motherhood, but no where in those manuals was a chapter on how to grieve if your child is killed. And not that anything can prepare you for the unthinkable. Now, my reading is about how to ‘move through’ grief and I am learning that I have done it all wrong.

My grief is in trouble. I didn’t practice solitude or self-care; I didn’t slow down for a moment. Rather I continued to perform, like a robot trained to do what is expected of me. Daily. Year after year. Having ignored it for so long, it has compounded to the definition of complicated grief. No wonder I feel lost most of the time. According to the experts, my grief has grown into a rebellious teenager because I did not properly care for it in its infancy. Who would have known?

When I had my mastectomy, I was told what to do to heal. I half listened; taking care of the side that had the tumor and ignoring the other side because it didn’t have cancer. I didn’t stop to think that that side too needed healing. After all, that breast was also removed. Two years later, I am still in pain, with keloid scaring and lymphoma that resembles a new but smaller breast on my right. The probability of me fully healing is narrower as I did not take care of myself in the beginning. Trauma needs to be dealt with when it happens, not years later.

The trauma of grief is no different. Giving yourself permission to stop and soothe your pain is a must. Saying no to what you don’t have energy for and yes to what comforts you is a must. Even when it doesn’t align with the expectations of your life before grief. What we tend to forget, is that our life has blown up. It is not, nor will never be, the same again. So why do we expect ourselves to live accordingly to how we did pre-grief?

After Zane was killed, I pushed through like nothing had happened. In shock, yes, but I pretended like it didn’t happen. He was merely away, at school, or on an adventure. He would be back. There was to be no big grief. I had too many people to care for. I had to go back to work. I had a dog to walk and a house to clean. I felt like I had to cater to every need socially and emotionally of my family. It was exhausting and at the end of the day, there was no time or energy to face my own grief. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I screamed alone in the car, I cried every day, every night. Every breath hurt. But I ignored it.

I watched life around me happen like it was a Netflix movie. Only I was part of that movie; playing a character that was unrecognizable as I continued living my life as it was before grief. I ignored my soul screaming out to what I now needed. I put myself into situations that were ok for others, but not for me. Simple things, like dinner out when I wanted to be alone. Late nights because the drinks carried on. This was my life before and I had enjoyed it so what was happening that I was becoming angrier and resentful? I wasn’t letting grief in, nor did I understand that it was to change me.

From this, the biggest lesson, and the one that I share with all my fellow grief warriors, is that your grief is only yours. It is like no other’s grief. And your grief needs to be cared for. It needs space. It needs to be recognized, heard and felt… I take full responsibility for my unawareness. My family ask often, what do I need, how can they help. The truth is I didn’t know. Only now am I starting to know. And the answers scare me because they are so unfamiliar.

The Cosmos, brought to you by Mike Dooley

February 2, 2025 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

One of my on-line spiritual mentors is Mike Dooley. Before Zane was killed, I had signed up for his emails called “A Note from the Universe”-whimsical emails about life. After Zane was killed, the messages became too real as if God himself was sending them.

August 8^th, 2018: the day after Zane was killed. I am in shock. I need him to come back. My eternal wish from that day forward is a life with him in it. I received this email:

“Be there, Janica. Go there now and never leave. Imagine that your dreams have already come true. Live your life from that mindset…not the illusions that now surround you.”

August 13^th, 2018: what should have been his 27^th birthday, became the day we gathered to celebrate his life on earth. I received this email:

“There are absolutely no worldly circumstances, Janica, under which you can’t or shouldn’t be making the very best of things. Including today…”

August 21^st, 2018: The agony, the disbelief, I can’t understand or accept how this can be. I receive this email:

“When you see things that pain you, Janica, that sadden you, or that make your heart ache, remember…you’re not seeing all.”

I unsubscribed. I wasn’t ready to hear about joy or that death cannot take the connection I have with my son. I was in too much pain. But the Universe kept sending me opportunities and months later, I started following Mike and signing up for his courses. The most recent course, he introduced us to Davidji, a meditation guru, who took us on a 21-day meditation journey.

In the privacy of my home, through Facebook, this California Santa welcomed us to “feather our nest as comfort is Queen”. Although it was a meditation journey, each day the lessons gave me tools to deal with my grief. Some of the teachings brought tears as the reality of my grief bubbled and other meditations brought strength, where hope quietly stepped forward.

We asked our selves, “who am I, what am I grateful for, what does my heart long for?” Then we sat still to listen for the responses to come. I am always changing, perhaps because, with grief, I am learning the new me. It makes sense and the realization that it is happening becomes acceptable. I am less frustrated with change. My grateful list is constant. What my heart longs for made me wince. I am not on the path that my heart longs for, but I can now see it.

We learned about forgiveness through meditation. Forgiveness for what we have done that we know of and that we don’t know of. For the hurt bestowed upon us. For the inability to change the past. This meditation opens your heart to how much pain is out there; how much pain is inside each of us that we carry. This meditation empowers you to be aware that there is more than one viewpoint.

I am a cheerleader for meditation; I believe it helps physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I believe it increases our vibration and thus our ability to connect to our loved ones on the other realm. Davidji and Mike Dooley, together give a box full of effective methods to connect to our own cosmos, to live better with grief and to invite possibility in.

Living in The Color of Green

January 26, 2025 / Mama Fish

By each January, our family chooses one word they will use as their annual mantra. It aligns with where one hopes to go or feel with the opportunity of a fresh calendar year. The word is an individual word resulting from a reflection of the past times where one thinks of all that was good. And all that wasn’t so good. Of what one would like to change, or drop, or learn. It is an exercise that takes time and quiet to ponder the current path and possible directions one might go. The word chosen is symbolic of all those thoughts.

As a child, I used to have a superstition around how you felt and what you did on the eve of a new year, would be the overall feel to the next year. I dropped that superstition a long time ago and replaced it with a vision of what I want/need and a plan to achieve. All wrapped up in one word. This year my word is green.

It is about health. “Eat your greens”-I need more of that. I need more ways to be healthier for me and for those I care for. The word green brings with it a connotation that going back to my granola roots would be beneficial to my aging body.

It represents money, the realization that the desire for more to do more keeps us unbalanced. Sending a message to the Universe that I am open to ‘more green’ only means that I am open to new possibilities that align with what makes me feel secure and fulfilled. At work and at home.

Green is about energy. Good energy. It is the color of the fourth chakra, the heart. This chakra is about giving and receiving love for others and for oneself. I think a little self-love is something I want to practice more of. What would that even look like?

My family thinks it is interesting to have chosen a color, rather than a verb. I chose this word partly because it doesn’t dictate action. Although it could. It is soft and simple. It is flexible. It is inviting. It conjures up in my mind, sunny days, tree-filled parks, and a bounty of life. Warmer (and perhaps happier) times.

Green symbolizes what I wish to pursue. More time with nature. New growth, greater hope and a solid balance. And the color provides a little bit of luck to help me along the way.

The Little White Pill

January 19, 2025 / Mama Fish

I’m getting to know the new Arthur Child Cancer Care Centre at Foothills Hospital. It is a beautiful, new $50 million dollar complex that caters to the research, treatment and support of those diagnosed with cancer of any kind. I am learning that once diagnosed with cancer, one begins a battle that is life-long.

I got lucky, if there is such a thing with cancer. We caught it in its early stages. I chose a double mastectomy to ensure it would not come back. I took genetic testing to see if I had other possible cancers in my DNA. I took the oncotype test to determine if traditional chemo or radiation would help prolong my life. It wouldn’t so I didn’t have to go through that. All I needed was to swallow a little white pill for five years to ensure that my body wouldn’t make any more cancer-causing estrogen. But when I couldn’t get out of bed because of vertigo, and my body contorted into painful muscle tightening shapes and leaving the house was a risk unless I carried a plastic bag with me…I said stop.

Cancer is the unknown. It’s life threatening and when one has been given a diagnosis, it is difficult to think clearly. It is difficult to think at all. Treatment would be straight forward to blindly follow the advice of the experts. If only I wasn’t inquisitive. No one can seem to fully answer why five years. Even the experts have varying opinions. Some say five, some say ten, some say forever if it doesn’t seem to bother you. What happens after the five years? That is a varied answer too. “We can’t say”. What about testing in between now and then? “That’s different with every patient.” And what I learned and experienced about the side effects, is that they include hot flashes, headaches, bone loss, muscle pain and sometimes ovarian cancer! How is this part of a stay healthy regime? It baffles me.

It was at my recent physical that I shared I had quit my medication and was finally starting to feel normal. Two days later, the oncologist called and asked me to come in. “We are wanting you to try a different drug”, the young doctor smiled. Why? I asked. “Because we believe this is your best chance to live another ten years.”

Fear is the reason this pill becomes necessary. I don’t want to die. I have a lot to do before I travel off to the next realm. As I sat listening to her talk of the new plan and this pill and how we will be more vigilant with any side effects, fear had me agree to try again. I don’t know what this pill will do. It isn’t a promise I will be safe from cancer returning. It is more of a weak insurance policy. Yet, it is the only answer the experts have for me.

As I left the Cancer Centre with my new prescription in hand, I walked through the halls where other patients were travelling to their appointments. I am one of thousands battling cancer. Some of us are just becoming aware of the battle to be. Some of us are amid the battle. Some, like me, are battling to ensure it does not return. Wherever one is in the battle, it is a battle. It is so much like grief. It includes fear, sadness, hope and determination. It is exhausting. And like grief, it includes faith. Faith that I have the strength needed to travel the path I have been given.

A Letter to The Friends of The Grieving

January 12, 2025 / Mama Fish

At a social event, our friend who was just diagnosed with a brain tumor, had a person come up to him to acknowledge they knew of his condition. This person shared a story with our friend of their experience with a family member, also diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was a grave and pessimistic story that ended with she died. Our friend stood there, soaking in what he had just heard in absolute disbelief. Then, he pulled himself together and went up to this person and told them that this is not what anyone with cancer (of any kind) needs to hear. He concluded saying, “don’t tell that story to anybody else ever again.”

When our friend told us about this, we laughed. Good on him to have the courage to reflect and then act, replying with a direct WTF! STOP. YOU ARE NOT HELPING. We laughed because it’s how we would all like to react. The truth is, whether it is the loss of a loved one or a terminal diagnosis or a major life challenge given to us, grief arrives. And we are learning how to handle that. Yet, we have all experienced some well-meaning person give advice, share a story or give comments that leave us dumbfounded of how utterly far they are from truly understanding our reality. And in our grief circles we talk about this.

We also talk about the why such might have been said. We know it comes from the heart. We understand that this person means no harm. They are trying to relate to our unrelatable. I have said many times, it is us, the grief warriors, that need to educate those trying to support us. If I could hand out a letter to folks, when I began my grief journey, it might have looked like this:

Hello,

I am grieving and you are aware of that. I know you wish to help. In my confusion of what I am living with, it is difficult for me to know exactly how you could do that. So be patient with me.

Recognize my grief. Acknowledge you are aware of what I am living with. A simple, silent hug is usually best. Or tell me, “I’m sorry. I’m here for you.” Please don’t continue with how my loved one is in a better place or this is God’s plan for me.

Converse with me. I don’t want to be the elephant in the room to which everyone scurries to another place in discomfort. Smile at me. I am dealing with grief; I can still be capable of some social interaction.

Ask me not “how are you feeling” but rather “how are you coping” or how is your grief today”. Each day will be different for me, and I don’t want to feel like I need to say I’m ok when I’m not. If my reply is negative, I’m not asking for ideas to fix it. I’m asking for understanding. Reassurance that you are here if I need anything will comfort me.

I may want to talk about it. And all I want you to do is listen. I don’t want to hear comparative stories. I want you to just sit with my pain. To be comfortable with my tears.

If my grief is loss, I want you to talk about my loved one. Say their name. Don’t be afraid to upset me. I am already, will always be upset they are no longer living on earth. Hearing their name, sharing a memory about them lights up my day in a bitter-sweet way that I treasure.

Never judge where I should be in my grief. My grief is here to stay. My brain is learning how to accept my new reality. My heart is learning how to beat around this massive hole it has. Time does not exist within these lessons.

I am not my old self; I am becoming someone new. That is the uneasy and difficult part of grief. You and I wish that I could be the same, but that is not to be. My soul is learning of who I will become with this grief. You too must be strong and accepting of the new path to which I have been forced to travel.

My Prayer for 2025

December 29, 2024 / Mama Fish

I started 2024 with a prayer for a softer year. We needed time to adjust to the multiple losses experienced in the previous period. My prayer was not answered. In fact, the Universe carried on bringing with it more losses, more bad news, more struggles. And ended with the news that one of my favorite people has a brain tumor.

When I shared this news with friends, two of them said that they are thinking of reviewing how bad they want to be friends with me. I seem to be a beacon for death. Although we giggle, that is not true, it does seem that the last half decade has been overflowing with grief for us. To which I struggle to justify. The why us? Our plate runneth over and still the servings come.

The past, and ongoing present has proved there is no escape from loss. The control we have is only how we handle it. And I think we handle it well. Most times. We are open with our feelings; we carry those who have gone, with us in conversation and acts of honor. I am learning better to listen to my grief and what she needs. I am always searching for tiny specs of silver along life’s lining.

And in between all this sadness, there have been happy moments of connection and celebration. I am not discarding those. In fact, they are heightened when we live in a state of when will the next shoe fall. Gratitude is practiced. And appreciated. So, as I reflect on this year, the path we travelled has had turns and obstacles and the common denominator seems to be grief. Grief is walking beside us.

Moving into the New Year, I am going to remember this. That grief is not leaving. That it requires quiet times, slower days, and self-care. Grief is not the enemy; it is the continuation of love. How lucky am I to have a life filled with so much love. My prayer to the universe this year is not for less, but for more. More hope, more strength, more ability to walk better with my grief on the path with those I love who are here, with those who are going and with those who have already gone to the other side.

God, if I am a beacon, let it be to care for the broken. Including me.

The Proof Is in The Palm of My Hand

December 21, 2024 / Mama Fish

I went into a store my daughter suggested I would enjoy, a witchy store full of gems, candles, spiritual interests. I went in to find a carrier oil I wanted. I left with the most beautiful gift in the palm of my hand. A reading of my past and future by Carmina.

I didn’t plan for this reading. Some sense as I shopped, kept urging me to ask about it. The clerk told me they do all sorts of readings from numerology, astrology, intuitive, angel and palmistry. Appointments can be made, and the price is reasonable. I asked about palmistry. I had dabbled in that once, as a teen, and loved the idea that your life was pre-drawn in the lines of your hands. Could I make an appointment for that type of reading. She went to check and came back that there was an opening now.

Carmina shared with me that my left palm, that which illustrates the trials and triumphs predestined for me to experience were completed. And, as my age is over 50, we focus on my right hand. The lessons I am still to learn. My right hand showed several things, many of which are typical struggles for an “A” personality…I have not slowed down, I have not practiced self-care enough, I have not learned to stand up for what I want/need. She pointed to small, faint lines on my hand that illustrates I am to learn and grow in these areas. She asked who or what I was angry with as she pointed to a puffy area with a deep line by my thumb and suggested I focus on that too. And then she said, “I want to talk about Poseidon”.

Apparently, the moon of your palm is about the underworld, the other realm, the connection to spirit. My heart line is a deep strong line running across my entire palm. But there is a break, a definite separation which outlines that I have lost BIG, that my heart has been shattered. And there is a second heart line, picking up from the broken line, which carries into the moon of my palm. She studied this line for a moment and said, whoever it is that you have lost, that is this line. This is the person who is connected to you indefinitely, who has been and will continue to help guide you, a sort of soul mate, a cheerleader of your destiny.

She caressed my hand and then looked out her window. She turned to me and said, “I have not seen such a line go so far into Poseidon’s area, you must understand how special this connection is. It is a connection to the other realm.” It was at that moment I felt I needed to be transparent with her. I told her, “I think the line of which you speak, is about my son Zane.” She tilted her head. I said, “he was killed in 2018.” She let out a gasp and grabbed my hand and pressed on the point where the two lines joined. She told me that, if I didn’t already know, that this bond to my son came before this life and will continue. Forever.

Every grief warrior wishes to hear something like this about their loved one. The fact is, I sensed this before he was conceived. Our entire earthly experience as mother and son was something we both knew was special. Yet, having Carmina show me the proof of these feelings in the lines of my palm, was such a gift. I know now that any time I miss my boy, I need only open my palm and press the center of it to remind me of our eternal connection.

Then, POW, You Are Gone!

December 15, 2024 / Mama Fish

When I found out my doctor was retiring, I burst into tears. He patted my hand and said, “Janica, I’m turning 70. Did you think I would never retire?” I moaned, “no I did not. I thought you’d work until one of us dropped dead.” He laughed, “I want to enjoy the last of my years, I want to travel, to not have to schedule celebrations and long lunches into only the weekends at best.”

He was my parent’s doctor and when I was looking for a new doctor, he became our family doctor. He delivered my daughter. He was there when my parents died. When Zane was killed. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, he hugged me and said, “we’ll get through this together.” And we did. He has always been there, through thick and thin. For all of us.

I jest that I am mad he is retiring because it has taken me years to train him to get on my program. As a person who needs to process my health challenges, study alternative healing and then decide what is best for me, my doctor respected that and indulged me. “What will your herbalist suggest?”, he’d ask after explaining what my latest test results showed. His compassion for spending the time you needed rather than the time that was available, kept the waiting room full. His nurse kept us entertained with lively conversation while we waited our turn. Doctor visits were not a dreaded thing. And all this will end with his retirement.

I’m not sure how to say goodbye to the man that has cared for my entire family forever. Being in my 60’s who will be the next doctor that I can trust to examine me and know what is normal and not for me. Your doctor is your most trusted ally. They are the person whose education and expertise will guide you through the physical and mental challenges life brings you. They play a big part in your longevity. His departure leaves me feeling vulnerable. And there it is.

A common characteristic of grief is the fear of more change, the dislike that we are not in control of what will be. My doctor is going to retire and of course I want him to enjoy life. The realization that the person who has cared for me, who I have trusted my life and the lives of my family with, will no longer be there is a big change. I am feeling loss. Plain and simple. And with loss comes sadness.

So, I am giving myself time to be selfish and feel like how could he abandon me in my golden years. Then I will pick up the phone and continue my search for his replacement. To which I am confident I will find. This new doctor will be accepting me as a patient who brings with her multiple inflammatory conditions including an attitude that you better measure up, you got big boots to fill!

Dr. Pow; thank you for being the primary caregiver of our family for decades. May the hope, the light and the confidence your support gave us be felt in your heart as you travel your new path.

An Invitation to Light the World on Fire

December 8, 2024 / Mama Fish

Today, is World Candle Lighting Day. It is an annual event where one is asked to light a candle to honor the children who have left our earth too soon. Wherever one lives, when the clock strikes seven in the evening, a candle is lit, so that, by the end of the night, every home has a small light of fire sending a beacon of love to the Heavens.

Can you imagine what that might look like to our kids; looking down to earth and seeing the planet seemingly on fire by the beauty of this warm glow. That the entire world shares in the honoring of our children. The message that our love is still burning. That the memory of our lives together continues to light our paths.

I invite you, at seven tonight, your local time, to take a candle, any candle and light it or turn it on. Then as you look at its tiny flickering, remember them. Say their name. Feel their energy envelope your space. We know our children are not gone. We receive signs that they are here, loud and clear. Tonight, this action returns the message to them. It says, “look at this place, ablaze for you to continue to shine now as you did on earth.”

Let’s light the world on fire.