Category: Shared Grief (Page 1 of 29)

Placing Stones on Purpose

September 13, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

This past June, our grief group welcomed the summer break with an activity where we painted the name of our child onto small, flat stones. We then shared with everyone, so that all of us carried home a bag of stones, one for each child. The homework assignment was to find a random place to put the stone. It was suggested as a simple exercise that would bring reflection and mindfulness to our grief.

Zane’s stone was easy. I placed it in a flowerpot at the restaurant that he worked at, that Payton was married at, that Jon and I went to celebrate him on his death day this year. I felt it fitting to have Zane’s name on a stone at the place where once his entire life encircled.

The other three required some thought. You did not want to just chuck the stone bearing the name of one of your friend’s children, so I pondered all summer where I would place these. On a teary walk on a rainy-day morning, it hit me. I was at the reservoir. The place where Zane grew up enjoying all it offered. The place that I enjoyed for years with Tango. The place I now return to when I need connection. This was a place I was sure each boy would have enjoyed. I wanted to share with them what Zane had experienced.

I went back to the car and gathered the stones. Along the path, I recalled the first stories that their mother’s had shared with me about their child.

Karl, who loved camping and enjoyed the responsibility of ensuring that the fire ‘kept burning’, his stone was placed near the picnic bench that I shared many meals in the summer with my children. It was also the place our first grief group gathered for Candle Lighting Day.

Cole, who loved football and was the star attraction at the Stampede tailgate parties. His stone I placed at the tailgate of the boats that our family has walked by for years and taken dozens of pictures of the beauty of a simple sailboat floating in the water.

Sean, who loved urban art, an artist himself, sharing his talents throughout the city. His stone I placed on a cement structure commissioned by the city to be painted graffiti style. These works of art are scattered in the parking lot and the one I chose was the one I parked my car next to when taking Tango for his walks.

For each stone, my ceremony was simple. I gave it a light kiss, whispered, “your mom misses you” and placed it in its resting spot.

As I walked back to my car, I leaned into my grief. These boys, including my own, were all in their twenties when they left earth. I hold the same pain that their mothers do, the heaviness of how is this possible. And then I realized something, my heartache was a tinge different as I took that walk. I was caught up in the moment of finding and placing each stone in a spot, that my grief became a sweeter melancholy.

When we are mindful about remembering and honoring our loved ones, grief works with us to see life in richer deeper colors. And although there are tears and the missing them does not relinquish, spending purposeful time thinking of them, becomes a hug from heaven.

The Murder of Monday

September 6, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

For a year now, I have had the pleasure of spending Monday afternoon with my son-in-law. As we all navigate the transition of happily married, to newly separated, he and I would gather at one of our three favorite bars to share our grief, swap stories and basically hold each other up. One can argue who this was more important for. In the early days, I think it was both of us. That has changed.

Recent events and I guess time have created a shift. The pain of connection to what reminds him of what he had and has lost, has become too much. The slim possibility of reconciliation happening only for a moment here and there has supported his decision that to remove everyone reminding him of the past is what his grief requires. Including me.

I believe and respect that each has their own path to travel with grief; that each of us needs to do what our grief commands to survive because ignoring it brings major complications. So, I must accept that there has been thought, and this decision is necessary. For him.

For me, I feel like I am being punished for something I did not do. I have enjoyed his company, his quirkiness and his big heart for over a decade. He was Zane’s buddy that slept over; the two of them eating pizza and playing video games like twelve-year old boys. After Zane was killed, he instantly became a member of our family and from the first day was the steadfast rock in the shock and grief that consumed us. There was never a moment when I didn’t send a text or pick up the phone to say I need you, that he didn’t come running. Unknowingly, he became the buffer to the pain of not being able to hold Zane.

This last year, I felt we had our own deepened relationship, albeit complicated by the past, it was unique to the drama of our family. We share private jokes, compare stories about Zane’s adventures and because of our history, I can vent to someone who understands. Our Mondays became a sacred and anticipated hour of laughter over chardonnay and martinis.

There was a part of me that knew as life carried us forward our relationship would change, but end? That was never a consideration. After all, he was and will always be one of Zane’s best friends. Yes, we would move on, finding new opportunities and I felt these might be the stories he would share that would cause me to feel nostalgic about what might have been. Not once did I think that murdering our Monday afternoons would be an option.

The decision to ‘create distance’ to soothe his grief has increased mine. It is one more change that I did not choose. It is one more loss that I now hold. And, if I am being honest, it is one more person that I love that has estranged me to support their own emotions. This is heavy. I am not sure where in my universal soul plan, I agreed to hold grief so many times, so many ways, and with such vigor. I only know that it is loud and continuous. Like a bad movie, playing over and over.

Alas, I have no control but to wait, wishing, for an invitation to resurrect Mondays. In the meantime, I have a heart filled with memories of the antics we shared. It is what it is.

The Arrival of September Mourning

August 30, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

My daughter has instilled upon us the notion that September is the month we strive to reach each year. August is behind us; we have made through another year of anniversaries related to our grief. September brings new scenery, a different vibe, and a hint that soon we can hibernate. I have anticipated this month coming with hope until I recently read of how September is the worse month for grievers and that hit me. Have I got it all wrong?

The ‘experts’ state that September brings grievers a sense of dread. They suggest this month begins the anticipation of what hasn’t got done yet, what do we need to let go of. The energy of the new year, far behind us, tasks seem a bit more daunting. The lazy days of summer turn into the hustle of work, school and the upcoming holiday season. September shouts change. The kryptonite to grievers.

Even worse, September brings the awareness of the year ending and a new year beginning without our loved one. I remember thinking I didn’t want 2019 to arrive. It would be the first year without my boy (physically) a part of it. That had an emotional impact I still feel every year.

The articles I was reading all allude to this, that mourning requires special attention in the fall. The suggestions are obvious, take care of yourself, know that this too shall pass…things one would practice every day. And then there’s the idea that we focus on that ‘we are alive’. To Bounce Not Break writes, “Your person may be gone, but you are alive. You have a responsibility to not only stay alive, but to actually live. Your mother or father or beloved person who died wouldn’t want you to stagnate. You have the gift of more time. It’s okay to use it.”

Although each of us understands that in our minds, our heart struggles with this, especially in the early days. And the article does not further explain how one might do that with the guilt and the non-desire to try that comes with losing a child. So, I will take the last sentence, “It’s okay to use it”, as a reminder that I do have a life to which I can use to honor Zane by living a life he had imagined for me. Strength can be found in the notion of permission.

At the end of the day, I have decided that September is different for our family. Each of us, for years now, looks forward to having the hell of summer pass. Fall soothes our pain. The changes of color, represents what we can’t control but the transformation is beautiful. The crispness of the air wanting us to cuddle up and pour a pumpkin spice latte are self care actions we look forward to. Intuitively our family has treated September with the ideals suggested. Not for the popular reason it is a hard month, we missed that memo. No, for our family, September is about victory. About celebrating our tenacity, our resiliency. September is our month to exhale.

I Took My Soul on A Holiday

August 23, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

We all need time to be alone, but no one wants to be lonely. A danger of loneliness is it deters healing, while being alone gives space for soul introspection. Being alone, does not mean you are lonely. Lonely wants you to think they are related and brings distraction, the cousin of loneliness to ensure you don’t figure this out.

Distractions are the everyday happenings that turn our attention away from our soul. In the beginning we are told to look for distractions to ensure that our grief doesn’t overwhelm us. Perhaps that is where it begins. We put our grief on hold to focus on whatever the distraction is and when we do this enough times, we find ourselves looking for distractions rather than quiet moments. Our grieving soul is ignored.

There needs to be a balance between facing our grief, caring for our soul and following interruptions that take up all our energy. Often, my soul has asked, “can you find some time to be alone with me?” It received no reply until fate intervened and I was asked to house sit for a month.

With the blessing of my family, I packed my bags, grocery shopped for one and moved in. I brought reading material, tarot cards, projects I have been meaning to do for years, and some work. I did not pack distractions. Each morning, I would meditate in the sunny backyard sipping a hot lemon water. I would take walks in the community, exploring the shops and the quaint houses along main street. I had no one to report to and more importantly, no one to care for but my own soul.

The first couple days were easy; I am burnt out, so I just read and slept. As the days turned to a week, I found myself journaling, pondering my needs, sketching possibilities of what could I change or create to support my soul better. I accepted only a few distractions; invitations to meet family for happy hour, to which I enjoyed with excitement. Then I would re-enter silence.

In the quiet moments, we feel our loss; we cry, we sit with the brokenness of our heart. We know not how long it will last, so we bring in a distraction. When you are alone, there are fewer distractions and the uncomfortable feelings knock and enter easier. When you commit to being alone and letting those feelings run amok, the results are surprising.

A strange peace began to replace the anxiety of a jam-packed day. It was easier to identify what was a clear no rather than a muddled yes. I learned that I need the tranquility of nothing. I gained a deeper insight into my grief. I was never lonely; my soul kept me company.

By the end of the month, I found myself looking for inspiration, rather than distractions, limiting my commitments and harboring my new routine of sun, meditation and aloneness.

As I packed my bags to leave my short sabbatical, I questioned if I have the answers to how to keep this pace when I return to the demands of my true reality. I do know that how I feel after this reprieve is what I need. My soul had a holiday to which nurtured every part of me. With that, I promised my soul to find more ways to hang out together. Alone.

Traditions of August

August 16, 2026 / Mama Fish

August is a tough month for our family. Zane was killed on the seventh, and the thirteenth is his birthday. That year, we held his celebration of life on his birthday; a fitting way to honor the impact of his infinity. Since then, we have had the annual pleasure of Zane’s friends gathering with us to celebrate him on his birthday. Each year is a bit different, but food, drinks and memories shared are the main components. It has been a bittersweet tradition.

My sweet sister’s annual ritual is a bit different. On the seventh, she buys three bouquets of Lilies. She drives out to the site of the crash and places two of the bouquets at the unmarked cross that marks this spot. She then drives to my home to give me the third bouquet.

This year, we did a ‘reset.’ What that means is there was no collective cheer. We are at a cross point where a few key members of our family have chosen to step back to address their grief (and their love for Zane) differently. I must honor that. There are a few more members that were away this year…yes life continues and does not stop for this one day. When one of my ‘favorites’ said it was too much to bear, I threw in the towel and decided that this year we go our separate ways, honoring him as individuals.

As we got closer to the birthday, my inability to let this year go by without any form of commemoration, led me to an idea. I took a trip to the liquor store and bought semi-bottles of gin, cans of Fever-Tree soda, lime slices, Doritos and bottles of bubbles. I made grab bags with a card explaining that some time on the thirteenth, if they could have a toast to Zane, snap a picture and send it to me, that will be our celebration for this year.

It is funny how tradition plays with our grief. When a loved one passes, we are taught to tweak or change or cancel the traditions to accommodate our feelings. Or we build new ones. And that is what I did. I made Zane’s birthday be about gathering EVERY year to ensure he was remembered and that we stayed connected to his friends. I knew in my heart the year would come that it would end, but I wasn’t sure when and I didn’t want it to. I am once again feeling the pain that the loss of a tradition brings.

In my sadness I forgot about my sister’s tradition and when the call came in from her that the Lilies were on their way, I was filled with such gratitude that something was still the same. One of the traditions surrounding how our life has played out for the last eight years still happened. Somehow, those flowers smelled sweeter this year. She has no idea what her actions do for our hearts. Especially this year.

The thirteenth did arrive with hugs from his friends as I dropped off their goody bags. My son-in-law bought me lunch. My husband and I ventured out to our favorite watering hole for one, and then to a gin distillery, a new place I felt Zane would like, and then to a bar we enjoyed with Zane. The mixture of grief and drinks, sent me to bed early, accompanied by a headache in the morning; that part of tradition, I could do without!

My favorite part of the day was receiving pictures and videos from those who toasted Zane. I have a fabulous collection of beverages from all over the country that I will print and place in this year’s family photo album. Each one reminded me that he is fondly remembered. That, through him, we are connected. The tradition of celebrating my boy continues.

Eternity is Ours

August 9, 2026 / Mama Fish

The police came to our door on a Tuesday morning, bringing devastating news that no parent ever could imagine receiving.

“On behalf of Zane…”

What do you mean ‘on behalf’?

“…. there was a collision, he was killed….”

NO. NO. NO.

That was eight years ago. My heart shattered into sharp, angry shards of glass. I have tried putting it back together since. It is a mosaic at best with large cracks that metaphorically are supposed to let the light in. I think that these cracks let the whole universe in. I know that my heart will never be the same. My cardiologist agrees.

How can my beautiful boy be gone for that long? I continue to wait as if in some magical Hollywood moment, he will return. I search for him everyday in the face of strangers, in the places he enjoyed. When my mind tries to say he is gone, my heart says different. He is still somewhere.

Zane shared with me a quote: “In some other life, we are standing and laughing, that in some other life, we are apart.” This ideal that we are together somewhere, brings me comfort.

No parent ever gets over the unnatural order of their child leaving earth first. Life becomes a search to find the elixir to keep present for our other loved ones, our own lives, and for the legacy of our child. I have found time does not make it easier. It does not soften the fact that there are no more physical hugs. Time becomes the biggest tease, and part of grieving is finding a way to endure this.

Over the last years I have clung to the ideal that our loved ones are not truly gone. I have immersed myself in courses that teach how to connect to the other realm, to recognize angel signs. It has led me to a desire to be more comfortable with the unknown. To understand and share with others, that death is not the end.

The belief that we are energy and that energy cannot be destroyed is the only scientific fact that I hold in my heart. If this can be true, as even Albert Einstein believed, then my son is still here. And albeit different, I can still have a close relationship with him. Forever.

The evidence is in the signs; a saying that comes across my computer when I am thinking of him. The small feathers that float out of nowhere to land in front of my path. The dragonfly that flies next to me on my walk. The scent of his cologne late at night or our song playing on the radio.

These are confirmations, celestial proof our children are still here. Messages from heaven are felt by the soul; the foundation to keeping us connected to our loved ones. For eternity. Death cannot subdue this.

There is consolation in the belief that Zane and I have a connection that will stand the test of time. We experienced this life as mother and son and I believe we will find each other in the next life. In the meantime, I will continue patching my mosaic heart, trusting that love never dies, it holds us tight. We are bound for eternity, morning, noon and night.

Loneliness Is the Enemy

July 26, 2026 / Mama Fish

Grief can become a very lonely space. We fill our days with work, our nights with social gatherings, our weekends catching up. We may not recognize lonely because our time is filled and moves quickly. But it’s there. It’s a part of grief. It’s the solitary ache of what we once had. Most of us can admit we have experienced loneliness, but the impact of what loneliness does is far worse than just being alone.

Loneliness alters the ability to think rationally. We begin to seek connections to replace our negative feelings without the ability to understand if these connections are supportive and healthy. Often, they are not. We form friendships, relationships, ideals to feel comforted, ignoring any signs that our actions are not in our own best interests. We see these new relations through a filtered light; these persons ‘take away our loneliness’ and we bring them in closer; we consider them family and that is okay. Until it isn’t.

Recently it has become evident that one of the people I have adopted as my own has betrayed me. Maybe that is a tad dramatic, but it is how I feel. I have loved this person, cared for this person, been in their corner for years, cheering them on and supporting them in every aspect. They became a part of our family. Their recent choices are not in the best interest of anyone’s well being. They were selfishly made because they did not want to be lonely.

The choice was like a punch in the gut to me. I was reassured it was a short-term fix. I trusted that and have discovered this choice is more than that. This choice goes against the advice of family and friends. This choice has ripped apart the ideals, the roles, the hope I once had for this person. Their inability to tell me, to try to hide this choice from me, is a slap in the face.

I have spent sleepless nights going back and forth from how this happened to how did I not see this happen. The idea that this is the person I brought into our family, that I fought for when questioned why I was so close to them, is the same person who may now bring more pain to us, makes me want to throw up. In my grief, loneliness diluted my ability to fully comprehend if trust and transparency were part of our relationship. I had fooled myself to think that it was. Or maybe it once was. I will never understand how the choice made was one they had promised would never be and is now the only option they want.

Their poor decision has been made, and the consequences of their choice are heart breaking. Not for them just yet. No, their actions have masked the loneliness that brought this on. They relish in this new ‘lifeline’. They have criticized or alienated anyone who might not agree.

I am left to sit at the sidelines and watch this happen. I listen to their new plans; I watch their distorted days. There is no healing, no moving forward, there is no awareness of the trouble about to come with this decision. There is no concern that those who truly care for them are in turmoil because of their actions. There is only the escape from their loneliness that is the encouragement to keep walking a path of destruction.

Oh, loneliness, your ability to enter as a newfound friend, cuddling up to our grief and offering empty promises of better times…. how many lives have you ruined?

Clean Up Your Crap!

July 19, 2026 / Mama Fish

When grief arrives, it comes in selfish. It blinds us, disabling us to look past our own pain to see the needs or fears of another. We truly become self-absorbed. What’s wrong with this method of coping is that the concerns of those who love us can be misconstrued, thus received as criticism or rejection. And perhaps there is a bit of negativity, or a lot, my point is that grievers tend to project their needs onto others disregarding any attempt to stop and ask themselves, “what’s my crap on the sidewalk?”

Recently one of Zane’s friends broke up with his girlfriend. We are all sad about this but have seen it coming for a long time and after the pain subsides, it will be best for both. He shared with me a text his girlfriend sent him of how his actions had impacted her. He was distraught to think that he had caused someone he loved at one time to feel the way she did. He did not want to be responsible for that. Of course not, crap on the sidewalk is painfully ugly. But if we want to become better, we must clean it up. And therein lies multiple problems.

Nobody wants to claim crap. It is difficult to admit you put crap on the sidewalk by a wrong action or a failing. It is significantly easier to ignore it or make excuses for it, or my favorite, pretending someone else put it there. The first step is to claim it, “this is my crap!”

The second problem is the hard work it requires to clean up crap. It’s messy, it stinks, it is all the ugly. Crap isn’t the glitter of our personalities; it’s the raw expressed emotions, the childhood traumas, the unlearned lessons needed to grow. Life presents personal trials, and the crappy ones, until we face them head on, never go away.

Furthermore, to clean up your crap, you can lean on others for support, but they can’t clean it. A lot of people wish to have someone else clean their crap. Can’t be done; your crap is your crap. It’s an individual thing and it requires strength, bravery and endurance to face it and clean it. That’s the next problem.

Often, we can’t see that we carry within us all that is needed to clean up our crap. Instead, we choose to wallow in the labels we or others give us. We get stuck in self-pity when we should be focused on the desire to change. This confused thinking results in decisions that usually brings more crap. The cycle thickens and continues. We must stop the negative thinking that clouds our vision to see the truth. We can’t resolve what we refuse to see.

So, what’s the crap on your sidewalk? Because we all have some. Figure out whose crap it is. Ask those you trust to point it out. Be open to hearing about it; it’s just crap. It isn’t the entirety of you, so keep offering positive affirmations to yourself and to others that you’ve got this mess. Clean up your own crap, and for God’s sake, don’t try to clean up someone else’s crap. That defeats their whole soul lesson, causing that same crap to return. In bigger piles that we are all going to step in.

Until Next Year

July 12, 2026 / Mama Fish

Stampede gets me every year. This was the first year that ‘mama’s day’ was one kid only. When Zane was born, I took him down for games, mini donuts and shopping in the BMO. Payton was born and it was the three of us. As the kids grew, their significant others joined. Each year one day was my treat to a day at the Stampede.

This year, it was just Payton with me. No partners, the first year Roydon did not join us. I wasn’t sure how I would feel. My daughter and I have a lot of fun together and if I ask my ‘old lady ego’ to step back, I am more in the moment. So, I put this request into my subconscious as we waited in line to enter the grounds. Fun, food and songs filled the day making it one I will remember forever.

I ate the corn dog and devoured the mini donuts. We played games, trading up prizes and shopped the BMO, taking selfies of the two of us pretending to be racing horses. We got matching tattoos (spray on only this year) and ended up at Nashville North to enjoy wine and a Drag Queen Show.

Bubbles followed us along the midway, Zane’s sign he was with us. We ended the day, intoxicated and carrying BBQ ribs and chicken shawarma mac and cheese home for supper.

This year also says goodbye to the Ranchman’s Cook House and Dance Hall. An iconic building to which generations experienced country in all its glory and then some. For 54 years, this establishment has created memories that we all hold dear. We went with friends to say goodbye to this Cowtown staple, enjoying lunch and beverages on a hot sunny patio with Samantha Lee and David Duncan playing music on the stage. I walked through the old dance hall before we left, taking a few pictures and leaving behind a few tears.

We enjoyed the rodeo with family visiting, fantastic in-field seats to witness and cheer on the semi-finalists. Today, we will take them to see the chuckwagon races and the famous Young Canadian show. It seems this year, the Universe arranged to have my first day bonding with my daughter and then filled the week with short, happy visits to the grounds, finishing it off with fireworks.

When grief blows up one’s life, forcing changes to be made, it brings with it a resentment around why this is happening and a fear of what might happen now. How will it be ok. But when we surrender to it, when we stay in the moment asking for life to keep us open to new ideas and experiences, life delivers. In magical, surprising ways.

The Calgary Stampede is a big holiday in our family. It carries an energy that stirs our souls. I enjoyed attending as a child, and I still do. I am delighted in the fact that my children have inherited the same desire to never miss this annual excitement. It is a tradition that brings sentimental sorrow each year, when the circus tents come down. “Happy trails to you, until we meet again….”

The Light from Del

July 5, 2026 / Mama Fish

The first time I was introduced to Del, one of the residents in the building we live in, she asked me to lean in so she could see me. “I’m almost blind”, she giggled. If there is any truth in the saying ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’ Del was proof. Her eyes sparkled with a love and joy for life that drew you in. She became an instant favorite to everyone she met.

At our condo socials, I got to know her a bit more. She was a long-time local. She had a close family, grandchildren, friends of all ages. She loved a full glass of a bold red. She said she was lucky. She shared the story of how she met Bob and would giggle when we called him her ‘boyfriend’. If you asked how old Del was, the answer was young.

When her cancer returned and the doctors offered no hope, she booked a cruise and sailed off with Bob. I saw her in the hall when she got home and asked how the cruise was. “Fantastic! We had so much fun and then I came home and ended in the hospital, but I’m out now!” She giggled and toddled off.

When news came that she had chosen MAID as the way she wished to leave this earth it was no surprise. Visits with her while she waited for the day were filled with laughter and cheer making it difficult to truly comprehend how sick she really was. A group of us got together and decided to each write our own letter to Del about her impact on our lives. We bundled them in a pile and tied them in a pretty silk bow. They were delivered to her with a bouquet of roses three days before the scheduled departure, only to be told that she was leaving that day.

We were in shock. We thought we had more time with her. Through the tears and the disbelief, we stood by as the doctors arrived, left, and then the unmarked hearse pulled up. I stood on our patio with a coconut tequila, raising my glass to her as her body was carried away. We agreed that her final choice to be ‘sneaky’ about her own death, was so Del. She had decided that she wasn’t going to let us be sad. She was leaving while there was still life; while there were still sounds of laughter in the room.

Massive thunder arrived that evening. It was as if the Angels sounded the trumpets for one of their own returning home. A colorful rainbow was seen cascading from the clouds, our sign from Del that she will continue to spread a beautiful light over us.

Del, how you grabbed life each day with positivity and joy is motivation to the rest of us to be more, do more, laugh more. Or at the very least, giggle. Thank you for sharing your soul with us.