Category: Shared Grief (Page 1 of 21)

The Proof Is in The Palm of My Hand

December 21, 2024 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

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 / 0 Comments

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 / 0 Comments

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.

Jolly Sweet Joseph

December 1, 2024 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

We live in a community where the average age is north of sixty. Way north. Joseph, whose apartment is above us and one over, could be heard speaking on the telephone loud enough to hear himself to which the rest of us did too. On his 90^th birthday, he bought himself a new car when he passed his driver’s license. I asked if he liked the new one and he said, “it’s the same car as my last one, just has more safety features I now need.” Joseph took a fall in his apartment recently, ending up in hospital with a head injury that he could not recover from. His absence is noticed in our building.

When we first moved in and met Joseph, we would see him often as we walked Tango. He would pull up to say, “hello. How are you. I’m fine.” Every time. You knew Joseph was recently in the elevator because of the lingering scent of his cologne.

He was flirtatious. He told me once that he envied Tango. I asked why. He said, “because he can spend so much time with you.” He had a great sense of humor. When I had returned home from a trip to Mameo with my sister, I saw him on the street and told him about it. I went on my way, and he went into the garage and bumped into Jon. Jon asked him what he was up to. Joseph said, “oh, I just got back from Mameo.”

“A kind, sweet man”. That is how everyone in our complex describes him. And he was. It isn’t that I knew him well. I don’t even know if he has family nearby. I reckon I will learn this when we attend his funeral. But his passing does leave a hole. The parking lot is quieter. The elevator has no distinguished smell. His TV and telephone conversations are no longer heard. It is, for me, a gentle loss.

What do I mean by gentle. I suppose it is that my interactions with Joseph were casual, neighborly. We did not share stories or personal matters of the heart. We never had a drink together. Maybe, the number or the intensity of connections is relevant to the depth of love. And thus, the pain of loss feels softer when compared to other relationships. A gentle loss is not as heavy as the grief of other losses that I live with. It still hurts, but not as sharply.

And it does not take away from the enjoyment had with my brief conversations with Joseph. He was a sweet, older man whose character livened up our community. I am truly, tearfully sad. I will miss him. After all a loss is a loss, even if it is gentle. I sit with my tea and remember him fondly and my heart smiles of the antics we all experienced with such a wonderful human. I feel blessed to have had the pleasure of knowing such a beautiful soul.

Joseph, may you giggle with the angels. Thank you for making each of us feel so special.

An Angel on The Road

November 24, 2024 / Mama Fish

Awhile ago, we had picked up our daughter to go out for dinner and I absent mindedly left my cell phone on the roof of the car while I was organizing our seats. I didn’t notice it was gone until we were well on our way, and hoped somehow it would be under the seat. When we stopped and it was not there, I knew what had happened. I went to bed that night and said to Zane, “gather your Angels and find it for me, would you? It has your voice, your pictures, your texts in it.”

I don’t know if you can retrieve all that when you replace your cell phone or not. And I didn’t have to worry about it, because when I woke the next morning, there was my phone, sitting on the arm of my chair! My husband had gone out early to look on the road for it and noticed a reply to a group text he had sent out the night before asking our family to look for my phone. The person replying identified themself as Kelly and said they worked for Alberta Highway Services and had found my phone on the side of the road at two in the morning. Kelly texted “…because the phone had battery life still and no password, I was able to open it up and saw this text that you were looking for it. I will leave it at the office.” Jon went to the office and brought it home.

I wrote Kelly a thank you note and asked Jon to deliver it so that it would not get lost in the mail. On our way to Costco, Jon commented that the truck next to us was an Alberta Highway Service truck. Then he said, “wait!” and grabbed the note and told me to roll down my window and hand it to the guy and ask him to give it to Kelly. Jon honked the horn to get his attention, and I leaned out with the note extended and yelled, “can you give this to Kelly?” He stared at me puzzled. I continued, “Kelly, he works for Alberta Highway Services. He found my phone on the road, and I want to give him this thank you.” The man replied, “I’m Kelly!”

We pulled over and got out of our vehicles. We wanted to know the whole story. He told us that usually, they do not find small items and if they do, they give it to lost and found. But something happened that night. He was driving along in his truck when something caught his attention. He wasn’t sure what it was. He pulled over and saw my phone. “I don’t know if it was the reflection of the case but there seemed to be a little light blinking or something that caught my attention.”

I have always believed in Angels. I believe that my loved ones, especially Zane, look down upon us and work with ‘earth angels’ to watch over us. Earth angels are selfless people who unknowingly spread light, love, and positivity wherever they go. I know my phone was not lit up that night. It had laid there for hours and it was dark and on the side of the embankment. It was intuition that made Kelly stop. And my definition of intuition is the angels are speaking.

We told him of the importance of my phone, of Zane, of what had happened. He shared with us that he has a young son, who he writes a continued text to about his days, his learnings and why it is important to be kind. Then it clicked; the important connection my phone has with me. And he stopped speaking. He took a deep breath and apologized for getting emotional. I told him, “I believe it was Zane and his angels there (pointing to the sky) that work with the angels here and unknowingly you’re one of them.” I patted his arm. He modestly replied that he just likes to be kind and do the right thing and hopes he is teaching his son the same. Spoken like a true earth angel.

When the Light Comes On

November 10, 2024 / Mama Fish

The first time the light by the living room chair went on without an explanation, I wondered which spirit was visiting. I felt it was Dan, my brother-in-law who had promised to play pranks on me as a way of letting me know he was near. Since then, it has become a family joke that “Uncle Dan is visiting” whenever the light pops on without reason. And eerily accurate with the timing of something happening with his wife or his sons. I have quit laughing and now hold meaningful conversations with the empty chair speaking to the light with a “what’s up” and then calling my sister to be caught up on the reason why Dan dropped by.

It was his birthday on the 8^th of this month, and for whatever reason, I missed him more this year. I spent the day thinking of how much he loved my sister, our family. He always had a teacher-type topic to share to explain the way of the world. He was generous, always worried about us and offering to be there in whatever way we needed him. His own tribulations usually went unnoticed because of his quiet demeanor.

He had a unique bond with my children. When Zane was born, Uncle Dan held him, coached him, and ensured him that he was always there for him. And he was. When Zane was killed, Dan said very little. With Dan, actions spoke louder than words. He showed up to our house, carrying lumber, tools and a can of white paint. He sat, working on his project, his back to the friends and family starting to gather. I had no idea what he was doing. I was in such shock, numb to anything happening in my own home. But Dan was taking his grief and giving it space to express how he felt.

At the end of the day, not one, but two white wooden crosses leaned on our fence to dry. “If you wish to mark the place where they were killed…” he said to me. And hugged me. We did not speak of it again.

The crosses stayed in our yard until we sold the house. The truth is, I didn’t want them to be placed at the site. The site where the owners had been there that night, feeding coffee and muffins to the first responders. They would drive home every day, past the scene of where bodies and the tangled metal of vehicles had been taken away. They would mow the grass around the oil stains and glass fragments of their front entrance. Oh, they would be painfully aware of the tragedy, no crosses were needed.

And Dan never asked why I didn’t place them. It wasn’t important. What was important, was that he expressed his raw grief in a manner that fit his beliefs, his love for my son and his desire to console the unconsolable. He did not make us feel that we needed to use his gift; just that it was there was enough.

I don’t know why this birthday brought back those memories. Or why this year seemed to bring more tears than smiles. Perhaps it is because I have had a couple of years now to talk to Dan in spirit and the sound of his voice, the place he held in our family, I’m missing more. Or perhaps it is because things seemed somewhat less complicated when he was here in person. He was someone we could count on. It might be a combination of the two. Either way, what should have been his 68^th year on earth, began with the light going on as if it was his way of letting us know, “you may not see me, but I am still here”.

Dancing With the Dead

November 3, 2024 / Mama Fish

As many of you know, Dia de los Muertos became a “Fisher tradition” six years ago when Azul, the beautiful Latin friend of Zane’s, told me to watch Coco. The ofrendas (altar) in our home displays the traditional Mexican pieces to celebrate our loved ones including pictures, drink, food & skulls. Even Tango’s dog dish is filled with food the night of Muertos to welcome him back to visit.

My girlfriend shared with me that their family will be celebrating Muertos this year; the first to honor their son who just passed. As she told me of their plans and who would be honored (including Zane), I thought to myself that it is her first of what will become a bittersweet tradition. Her son was the last picture I added to our altar, he joins the other nine of ‘our kids’ who were taken to soon.

When I went to bed, I told Jon to leave the candles on. It was early and I wanted to make sure our spirits knew their way here. I woke to a feeling. I looked at my clock. It was 4:44 in the morning. I smiled. I got out of bed and went into the living room. The candles were bursting with light, flickering and casting shadows on the walls. The song “Dancing in the Graveyards” began to play in my head. I moved closer to the altar. I lifted my hands up to the ceiling and closed my eyes. I began to sway to the tune of this beautiful song. The feeling of love, of a presence that I was not alone was indescribable. I let out a giggle and twirled around, dancing to the beat of this song that seemed to play so loud I was sure it would wake up Jon. I blew kisses to the altar and thanked my loved ones for joining me. I then sat in the peace of the soft candlelight and whispered out loud each name of these loved ones looking back at me through their picture.

I don’t like music. It’s my biggest trigger. But as the words of the song echoed in my brain, it was like the spirits were talking to me. “When I die, I don’t wanna rest in peace, I want to dance in joy. I wanna dance in the graveyards!” Yes, this song triggered me, I’m crying, but this time, this song, is a bittersweet, connected, my soul understands trigger. I reply, “And while I’m alive, I don’t wanna be alone, mourning the ones who came before, I wanna dance with them some more.”

I encourage everyone to celebrate Dia de los Muertos. It is a beautiful, personalized celebration that truly does stop time to remember those who we danced with in this lifetime. The same people who now look over us from above. The same people we can dance with ‘in the graveyards.’

If you have not heard this song, here is a link to my favorite version: Delta Rae – Dance In The Graveyards [Official Music Video] Take out the tissues and really feel the message. It is a song of promise. Xo

PS: 444 is a strong reminder of the power of divine guidance, symbolic of the energy that flows between the physical and spiritual realms. No coincidence I woke up then.

The Sudden Loss of Bas

October 27, 2024 / Mama Fish

“Les is so sad.” Of course he is, I thought. He just lost his son. I nodded. From my expression, the point of his sadness was apparently lost. So, my friend asked had I heard about his cat. His cat? No, I had not. Apparently, the little fur ball got out of the yard and didn’t return home. He was discovered in the nearby playground. The neighbourhood cougar had found him. I gasped. Life is not fair.

We don’t compare the loss of our pet to the loss of our child. But there can be no denying of the bond an animal has with you. The unconditional love that supports us, especially in our time of sadness. The affection for this pet was immeasurable, and his passing not only rips a hole in the heart, but it also rips previous wounds wider, it deepens the agony of the loss of everything else. Especially his son.

This is grief overload. More grief, too soon, causes our current grief to magnify. There is no explanation as to why we can’t have a period to adjust to one eternal sadness without another coming in too soon. The injustice of life, heavy in their home. The inability to control, anything related to their reality. The sadness, the sheer sadness of their present moments.

Our family experienced grief overload last year. We ache for them. I thought of Tango. I couldn’t imagine losing him just after Zane. Tango was the unspoken strength, the quiet reassurance that I would survive. Just a pet is not what he was or what the cat was to our friends. Joy, hope and comfort are found with our furry family members and now it too, is gone.

Research states that an overload of grief scrambles our thinking and puts us into a fight or flight mode that we don’t recognize resulting in the inability to manage our losses. This is a time where we must be extra attentive to our self-care. The irony is that most times we are unaware that we are in overload. We may feel more anxious or angry. Physical symptoms include high blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, blood-sugar imbalances and brain fog. It’s called “liminal space” from the Latin word for threshold. It is the place where grief overload exists, and the effects will be different for each person.

We know this. Grief is an individual journey. As family and friends, we can support each other when mourning by understanding that the waves of grief will hit each differently and not equally, or concurrently. Grace, patience and kindness are the essential ingredients to give the ones we love. Including ourselves. Most know this. Fewer practice this. I reminded my friend to make sure she was on the list of those in pain that she was caring for. She nodded. After all, it was her husband’s cat, but she loved it too.

Another Star is Born

October 20, 2024 / Mama Fish

His passing was peaceful. Expected. The family surrounding him with messages of love and permission to go. Knowing he was to pass; the family had the ability to do some pre-planning, and the result was a celebration of his life that was filled with many beautiful extras of who Geoff was here on earth.

It included his recipe of carbonara, a matchbook with icons of all his favorite things. It was held at his favorite watering hole. There were speeches, pictures and videos of his short time here and his impact on all of us. There is even a book of stories to be bought. The choice of shooters was Fireball or Jamesons. Geoff was the one who insisted Zane ‘man up’ and drink Jamesons, so to see a cinnamon shot on the menu made us all roll our eyes as to why that couldn’t have been the one we toast to Zane with! I could hear Geoff laughing at us and shrugging his shoulders like he did whenever he fooled us with one of his antics. I can hear him say, “who knew?” He did.

The service itself was like a high school reunion, filled with his friends that grew up in our homes. Now, young adults, having said goodbye to Zane years ago, they gathered to say goodbye to Geoff. It was hard to see the (repeated) pain on their faces, the emptiness of the realization that there will be no more brunches, games or conversations to be shared with their friend. My heart cried hard for their loss. For our loss. For the journey my friend has been forced to travel now.

When his sister spoke of her brother, I looked over at my daughter. How was she feeling? Did what she was hearing resonate with the pain, the emotions she felt about Zane? Of course they would. Geoff’s sister now travels on the same path my daughter does. A journey that took away her brother, her children’s uncle. And I felt like I did with my own daughter when Zane passed. Inconsolable. I cannot heal her pain.

Their entire family were stoic, as most of us in our darkest hour tend to be. Perhaps the shock of death, whether it is sudden or a terminal illness, freezes us so we appear to be strong. Whatever it was, they rallied and created an event for all of us to be together and share our grief in a tribute that Geoff would be smiling about.

It was two years ago; Geoff was diagnosed with brain cancer. He faced his fate with courage and grace and always kept what was important to him up front. His friends and family. So many people have said to me, there is peace found in the belief that he is with Zane. Up to their antics on a universal scale. I know in my heart this to be true. I see it in the night skies. Another star is born.

To Geoff, thank you for loving us as your ‘other family’-for being with for us for 33 years. I carry you in my heart. Forever.

Thoughts for Thanksgiving

October 13, 2024 / Mama Fish

Thanksgiving is here; the annual inventory of what we are grateful for. The symbolistic holiday of who sits at your table. It is a beautiful fall day as I write this and as I reflect, I have much to be thankful for. Many bittersweet things to be grateful for.

This year highlighted the importance of time. The speed of it and the ability to cram more into it if we choose. Before the loss of both Kirk and Geoff this year, time gave us the opportunity to build other memories to carry with us and meaningful conversations around how special our relationship was, will always be. I am grateful that the families of Kirk and Geoff let us in to share the last months with their beloved.

This year highlighted the power of Mother Nature. Our trip to Mexico to celebrate love included the beauty of her majestic ocean and the heat of the afternoon sun. It also brought fear and loss through the hurricanes to which we personally witnessed the sights and heard the stories of the damages such causes. I am grateful that our group returned home safe and my heart hurts for those who were not as fortunate.

This year highlighted the magic of family. My first trip back in nine years, it was a week of reuniting with those I love through marriage that I now call my own. It included meeting new members, sharing their story and knowing that our souls have always been family, connected through mutual beliefs of what this life is about. And my own family; trials and tribulations related to life and choices, some to which we can’t control and some to which we can, has reminded me that family is always first. Always. I am grateful for family, and the friends that we call chosen family.

This year also highlighted grief. It brought with it many levels, many forms of itself. It brought a clear understanding that loss is loss and each loss we experience must be felt. It connected me to new friends in the grief community and brought old friends into the same. It demonstrated how strong it is and encouraged us to try new ways to live with it. I have become grateful to the truth that grief is the constant reminder to live my best in honor of those I have lost.

Thanksgiving this year will be in the mountains. It was my son-in-law’s idea. I was thrilled he still wanted to hang out with us just after spending a whole week together in Mexico! The turkey will be packed with all the trimmings. The day will include shopping and happy hour at Bridgette Bar before tucking ourselves in for more wine and food. Zane will be joining us. After all, it is our happy place to which he and I go to be together. And that fills my cup with gratitude.

May each of you be filled with gratitude, of knowing that we are connected. Death cannot change that. Take this holiday to look at those sitting at your table. Without judgement. With patience and love that they are on their own path, to which we have the fortune to be travelling with. And ‘see’ those who you love that still sit, in spirit, at your table. Grief ties us to the love we hold in our hearts.