Category: Shared Grief (Page 12 of 22)

Just Ask

July 3, 2022 / Mama Fish

We are told that if we wish for a sign from our loved ones, to just ask. Call out to them and suggest you need to know they are near. Some say you can even specify the type of sign you wish to see. I shy away from this practice because I don’t want to be disappointed. But this weekend, I tried it. And it works.

We were in Canmore. The magic of the mountains that Zane and I both love, poured over me as I stood alone on the balcony. The crisp morning air, the view of the wooden path to town below me. I looked up and said, “I’m here, are you?” Suddenly, out of nowhere walked a man along the path. He wore a royal blue suit jacket and tan dress pants and beige shoes. He had a Herschel backpack on. He looked just like Zane, who had the same attire. I ducked to try to get a closer, longer look but he faded away into the trees that shade the path. I smiled. I imagined Zane off to work and I laughed that my motherly advice of the kids not being able to move past Canmore when they grew up, Zane had honored. There he was off to work.

The night before we left, I was meditating in bed. My window open to feel the night breeze, I lay with my eyes closed and let the wave of gratitude for being there flood over me. I whispered to Zane, “I am thankful for the signs, I know you are here, I just miss your laugh”. A few minutes later a laugh, a belly laugh from outside my window broke the silence. I opened my eyes just as another laugh filled the air. The reality was there was group of young men walking back to the hotel, laughing, and talking. The one laugh was so like Zane’s. I started to giggle. “Thanks, Zane, I needed that” I said.

I believe there is no harm that I imagined the young man that morning, looking so much like my son, was my son. Nor was there any harm that I imagined Zane was part of the group coming home from a party, laughing at the antics of the night they had. We dream of what our children might be doing if they were still living on earth. We dream of who our children might have become, where they would be living. When another human who behaves or appears in some manner like our loved one comes along, I think it is fair that we may dream, ever so briefly, that this might have been them. If life was different. This does not make us delusional. We know better but the comfort of pretending, for just a moment so to feel good but not so long that we become depressed, makes these types of signs playful.

When we ask for a sign that they are present, they provide. Whether it is a feather or a dime or a look-a-like or a laugh, it is a reminder that they are very much present. They are near. They are with us. I encourage you to just ask.

When Our Loved Ones Are Actively Dying

June 26, 2022 / Mama Fish

My friend told me she was off to visit her mother. The nursing home called to say she was ‘actively dying’. “What a strange term that is”, my girlfriend said. Her comment got me thinking about all the wonderful possibilities around having this opportunity to be with a loved one, actively dying.

We all know that death is inevitable, although we ignore it, when it comes to the time where it is the unremovable elephant in the room, we are given a chance to say goodbye. This is a period where we can say what the person meant to us; how much we love them. It is a moment to ask what they would want us to do after they depart. It is a time to reassure them we will remember them, and how. It is also an opportunity, if need be, to mend differences giving both parties peace at the end of the day.

I had the blessing of being able to hold such conversations with both my parents prior to their death. And yet, years later, a memory will come back, and I will think how I wish I could tell dad that or did mom know I felt that way. Even after our loved ones depart, you still want to hold conversations.

Recently I was reminded that it is never too late to converse with our loved ones. True, there is no verbal feedback we can hear if the conversation happens after death. What is important is the action of speaking out loud or in a letter what we wish or need to say. This is good mourning; it offers a prayer-to-the-heaven feeling that some how your loved one hears you and knows. And that is comforting.

When your loved one dies of sudden death, the beautiful experience of sharing discussions before they leave does not happen which adds to grief. It creates a lot of the ‘what if’ questions and ‘if only’ and ‘did they know’ questions that haunt many of us. Therefore, post-earth conversations are even more important.

Choose a quiet spot where you are uninterrupted and take a few deep breaths to relax. Ask your higher power for a moment to feel the spirit of your loved one and then open your heart. Whether you choose to write a letter or just talk, envision your loved one next to you. Picture how they looked, the softness of their skin, the smell of their cologne. Start with an affirmation. (Mine is always, thank you for being here). Begin chatting, as if they were present, next to you, listening to you. Be slow in this process and hold no expectations. End by telling them you love them. I enjoy this practice. Tears are usually a part of it, but I have also experienced laughter through these conversations I have with the ghosts of my loved ones!

Another good practice is to tell those who are not actively dying how much you love them. One never knows the plan life has for each of us. My friend says she is grateful for the time she has, knowing her mother will be departing soon. It is a gift my friend will be able to keep in her heart, forever. And may she find comfort in the idea that her last conversation with her mother here, is not necessarily her last conversation.

Father’s Day Race

June 19, 2022 / Mama Fish

Friends, we met through grief, have a son who loved to race cars. He was good, travelling across the country honing his sport. It was a passion the entire family shared, bringing home photos and trophies. It was a hobby that bonded father and son. So, when our friend announced he wanted to race his son’s car, we were not surprised. We joked about being a part of his pit crew.

In grief, honoring our loved ones sometimes means finishing something they started or taking on what they loved. For our friend, it wasn’t that he wanted to win. It was this need from deep within his soul to get out on that racetrack and run a race to honor his son. It was to comfort his heart, placing him in a time of years past that he spent as his son’s pit crew, driving, and supporting and cheering him on. This is a father who lost his son too soon. This is a father, lost in his grief, wanting to connect with his boy.

He appropriately chose Father’s Day weekend to debut; a time that celebrates the love between a father and his children. When we experienced a few glitches and the practice run got missed, we became doubtful that his wish would come true. But he was relentless, this was going to happen. And when I saw this in him, I understood. The drive we have, when we want to do something for our child, does not end at death. In fact, it becomes intensified.

He needed to be ready because any other weekend would not be Father’s Day weekend. This was an important detail. We called for a couple of racing friends to come over and a small team helped get his car ready to enter the qualification run. The car passed. There were two heats of 10 laps each and a final race of 25 laps. We were ready. Father was going to race for his son.

There is an energy, physical, financial, and of course emotional when honoring our loved ones. It is hard work. It can bring doubt and fear that it can’t be accomplished. It is always a blatant reminder that they are not here. But it also brings a sense of comfort, sharing what they loved, what we had with them and what we still have that death cannot take away. It is worth the agony of grief to experience the moment of spiritual connection. And that is what my friends got.

It was an incredible experience. The other driver’s understanding the purpose of his race, zoomed past him up high while he stayed low and raced his laps. I stood beside his wife staring at the track, thinking of how many times she would have stood here watching her son beside her husband. With that thought, I put my arm around her and looked up to the sky. There, high above perfectly positioned over the racetrack, was a cloud. It was the undeniable shape of a heart. I squeezed my friend and said, “look up!” We both took a picture. He was here; their son was with us.

The race was overwhelming for my friends. It was a race that father and son did together. On Father’s Day weekend. The emotions of being in a race their son loved to do, dad driving son’s race car brought us all to tears. One cannot explain the powerful feeling of being a part of love expressed through grief unless you stand next to it. The invitation to be a part of our friend’s pit crew was a gift I did not see until I was standing next to them, encompassed in their energy of good mourning.

Finding A Room for Grief

June 12, 2022 / Mama Fish

It has been a year, since we moved from the home that I raised my children in. I have friends asking me, how is it? Do you like it? Are you getting used to the small size? This morning as I sipped my tea I looked about and reflected. How do I feel? How has it been moving from 3,000 square feet to 900?

My husband and I have opposite tastes in decorating, entertaining and lifestyle. When you own a small apartment condo these differences are more obvious than in a larger home. There is less room for anything, including compromise. My vision of a small, antique parlor vibe quickly went out the door to become more of an urban eclectic with a mancave twist.

My home office shrunk from a whole room to an alcove that has spotty reception, so I sit in my car to hold telephone meetings. Working from home with a husband who has retired has its’ challenges. Either he must hide in his room while I host a zoom meeting, or I must find a coffee shop to work at when he entertains his friends. I am grateful of the attempt he makes to keep quiet and find things to do during working hours, as much as a guy can keep quiet…and he has become very proficient at grocery shopping and running errands for me. It works, it just was a big change for me. And for him.

The dog, whose backyard is now a busy street that he must run to whenever nature calls, he has even adjusted. He loves the cement patio that he lays on and watches the neighbors passing and the deer grazing on the garden bushes. The smell of the flowers from the Mayday trees fills this community. It truly is a beautiful complex to live in.

What isn’t working is any healing of my grief. My grief is too big for this small place. I struggle with the missing pieces, literally, the things that are not able to be with us, like my aunt’s dresser and my round puzzle table. I miss the ability to go to a different level of the house when I need to cry or scream. Or just be alone. There is no solitude in 900 square feet. I enjoy my new space. My grief doesn’t. It wants its own room.

I take my grief with me, outside of this little place. I take it to the park and walk with it. I take it for a car ride and let it overwhelm me in an empty parking lot. I take it to the mountains when I can. Which isn’t often enough. I am finding new ways to cater to it over the last year while I unpack and purge, trying to carve space in my tiny home to accommodate my very large grief.

Grief is like an over packed room, chaotic and unsettled. If we treat our grief like a move, finding places for it and clearing the way to put comfort, love and hope on our shelves, our grief might just settle in amongst these things. Grief never goes away. It requires its own space. I must find room for it and perhaps then, it will become a less noisy roommate.

young plant growing in garden with sunlight

Season for Planting Plentiful

June 5, 2022 / Mama Fish

June. The beckoning of summer. My favorite season up to 2018 because it was also Zane’s favorite season. It doesn’t seem right enjoying one of his favorites when he is not physically here to do the same. Alas, it will arrive, as it has each year and bring with it missed celebrations with my boy. I have grown to hate summer.

Summer is all about life in full bloom, alive and colorful. It depicts everything I am not. It brings with it Stampede, D-Day and birthday. It brings with it the memories of Zane reading in the back yard or sipping his coffee in the mid-morning sun. It brings with it the memories of BBQ’s and tasting his newest recipe, or meeting to enjoy a cold drink at a local patio bar together. It brings the sounds of his laughter coming through my window as he arrives home from work or a night out with friends. Summer was his season. It belonged to him; he is the essence of summer.

I feel as if I get pulled kicking and screaming through summer. My life is now full of award-winning performances as I pretend, I am ok with any of this. But the toll of summer, it has an effect on my physical and spiritual being that cripples me. I need to change. I need to do something different. I go back to my learnings, what we are taught to do to face the day with hope and strength. How can I take these lessons and implement them into each day, all summer long, that might support my grief?

We are taught that grief is softened when we are honoring our loved one. We are taught to spend time quietly with our memories. We are taught to place things in our lives that are what our loved ones were about, what they liked. And I know this. My better days are when I bring Zane into them. True, they are bittersweet, but I will take bittersweet over just plain bitter any day!

So, how do we do this? Well, this is the season of planting. Let’s plant things. Let’s plant a tree or a flowerpot or a garden of all their favorite things. Let’s plant a new tradition that brings family and friends together to celebrate them. Let’s plant ourselves in a spot with pictures and memorabilia of them and create a memory album. Let’s plant an idea in our own circles of how to gather and remember our loved ones as a community. And let’s make a point of finding and planting ourselves in places that bring us serenity. Whether that is a park or a coffee shop or a friend’s living room. Let’s remember how plentiful life can be. Let’s plant the seeds of good mourning. Let’s create a season of plentiful in honor of our loved ones.

Strength Arrives When Needed

May 29, 2022 / Mama Fish

I had a conversation this week with a mom whose youngest son is graduating from high school. She reminded me of all the things a mother does to ensure that this day is one he will celebrate and think fondly of for years to come. It is a ‘duty’ that most of us go through. The challenge she has is that her oldest son didn’t get this chance. He died before he graduated.

Her son wishes to include his brother in his graduation as much as one can incorporate one from the other side. And thus, the shoes, the outfit, the plans his brother had for his own, the younger son now wants to have. This is good mourning for him. And his mother gets it. So, with every task, every detail, she plans and creates with her son. There is a smile on her face and a let’s do this attitude that her son needs. However, inside, she is screaming so loud her head pounds. The pain of having to face and recreate what her oldest wanted, should have had, penetrates with every breath. This is when strength is needed.

Grieving requires strength. You are straddled between two places. You are here, on earth, a life with responsibilities, the people who count on you, but you are also on the other side. The place where your loved one has gone to, and with them a piece of you has gone too. We are to focus; we are expected to continue to be the adult, the caregiver. And we must, it is our role. Parenting, while grieving, requires extra strength.

There are many times that your grief must be ignored, must be put on the shelf, for the sake of your other children. You tell yourself that you will go on for the other kids. You tell yourself that they need you. And they do. They REALLY do. But they will need you when you think you can’t possibly get out of bed. They will need you when you want to be alone. They will need you to help them mourn, even if their way is not the best way for you.

Strength in grief is what gives us the power to see each day with hope. It enables us to help our children mourn. This type of strength comes from the parental need to protect and provide for our children. It comes from deep within our soul. It comes from our heart, the love for our precious family. It comes when needed, giving us the energy to be there for those we love.

Graduation day will come. It will be beautiful; full of rituals and tokens that bond two brothers for eternity. And mom, after all this, she can take a walk into the fields of her back yard, thanking God as she cries, for strength when it is needed.

Goodbye Ellen and Thank You

May 22, 2022 / Mama Fish

My husband informed me that the Ellen DeGeneres show is over. I knew this was her last season, but I could not bring myself to accept this. Not because I watched her show. But because Zane had. He loved her show. And her show ending will become one more connection to my son that will be forever gone.

When you are grieving, all losses become big losses. Grief warriors are forever sensitive to anything or anyone else leaving. The loss of a person or a sentimental object or even a habit can bring us back to the center of our grief and the intensity of our pain. We are left to face it, examine it, and find a place for it within our broken hearts.

Knowing that Zane enjoyed the Ellen show and that he would be sad it was over, regardless of any accusations as to why, I felt compelled to write to her. I needed her to know how much, as his mother, I appreciated what she had unknowingly done for him.

Dear Ellen,

I am not sure that this letter will find you amongst the millions of fan mail you receive but I needed to thank you for the joy you brought my son. Up to the day he was killed, Zane watched your show. It gave him a reprieve from the stresses of work and school studies. The hour spent with you was more therapeutic than entertaining. I would be in the kitchen, the sounds of his laughter filling the air. “Mom, listen to this…” he’d say to tune me into the piece of wisdom of the day you spoke of. He enjoyed you because you are real. You are not afraid to be yourself. You promote kindness and try to walk your talk. Genuine. That is what Zane loved about your show. He felt as if he was spending time with a fellow spirit whose lightwork on this earth was of the same cloth. You inspired him to face the day, deal with the negative and find happiness in all things.

Your show ending plays with my grief. It is one more thing that will be gone that reminds me of my boy and the joy he found in this life. It is why the urge to write to you. On his behalf, thank you for bringing the sunshine to so many gray skies. Thank you for being the one responsible for the enjoyment my son experienced through your show, the sound of his laughter as he listened to you, forever imbedded in my heart.

Were you aware of the influence you had on people like my son? Were you aware that some days you were written in the gratitude journal of what enabled him to make it through the day? Of course not. This is why we, your fans, love you so much. You offered us strength. You connected us to optimism. You showed us how to dance through life’s challenges and to always be kind. You connected us to a higher calling. Thank you.

I look forward to watching the reruns!

I don’t think Ellen will ever see this letter. I am not sure that is important. What is important is that I have faced my sadness and honored my son by writing to a woman who he was a fan of. And that is good mourning.

The Hope of a Visit from The Other Side

May 15, 2022 / Mama Fish

I recently signed up for an online group reading. The medium, Matt Fraser, is America’s top spiritual connector whose waiting list for a personal reading is over two years long. I am sure it is because of his popular TV series ‘Meet the Frasers’ and his uncanny accuracy of knowing our departed. His alternative is to pay a very affordable price to be a part of a large online community where your loved one may show up and you may get a reading. I understand the odds of getting one are slim to none, but I do find his readings entertaining so thought, why not?

The night of the show I was excited all that day. What if, by some small chance I did get a reading? What if Zane did appear on screen behind me and Matt noticed and told me? I felt like the first day of a new school year. I couldn’t wait for the show to begin.

When it did, you were instructed to press the ‘raise your hand’ icon if you were interested in a reading. You were told that you could not see the others until such time that Matt called you to turn on your video, which suggests that your loved one was there. No promises but he would try to get to as many readings as he could in the allotted one and a half hours. He said he was excited about the spirits in the room as he viewed the one-sided screen of all of us looking back at him. He said, “there are spirits here from health issues, from sadness and a terrible car crash…” I sat up straight.

The readings began. Matt is gentle with his readings, comfortable with his connections and truly sympathetic with those he speaks for. I laughed at Matt’s sense of humor as he spoke of the person of whose name the audience member didn’t seem to connect with and then would remember and exclaim “oh yes, that’s so-and-so” and Matt would shout “Hello, pay attention!” His bright smile engaging you as if it were two friends talking about a common relative. I was enjoying listening to these readings and then my screen lit up, “the host has asked you to turn on your video”.

Suddenly there I was. In the waiting room of a famous medium awaiting him to tell me of a spirit who wanted to speak to me. You are forewarned it might not be who you wish it to be. One of the readings earlier proved that when the women’s ex-boyfriend came through and she wanted someone else. I didn’t care who was coming to speak to me, although Zane would be my first choice. I have lost so many; a visit with any one of them had my stomach turning in knots of happy anticipation.

As I sat anxiously waiting, my computer screen glitched. It went dark and then a screen popped up I had left the meeting and another screen popped up; re-enter the zoom meeting. I found myself in the main group, my hand icon unlit indicating I did not want a reading. I gasped. I hit the button to say I did, and a sudden disappointment coursed through my being. I had missed the opportunity. I could sit back and listen to the other readings but there would not be one for me.

I hate technology. It works until it doesn’t, and it doesn’t at the most needed times. I must trust the universe. It was not meant to be. Why it wasn’t meant to be goes into my big bucket of similar questions that an answer to will never be found. I went to bed that night feeling sick, sad that what might have been a reading of my life turned out to be my computer needing a zoom upgrade. Which it has now. My reservation for the July show booked. And another lesson in patience, trust, and hope received.

Mother’s Day Message

May 8, 2022 / Mama Fish

A mother in one of my support groups asked, “when speaking of your child who has died, do you say, I love them, or I loved them?” A profound question but one that brought up the struggle of where your child is now. They are not here, so past tense is appropriate, but they are here still in spirit so present tense feels more comforting even though it is more confusing.

This same question falls into the category of other questions that are difficult to answer. How many children do you have when one has died? How old is your child? Do you refer to their current age, if they were still alive, or do you refer to their forever age? And the biggest question, am I still a mother.

In grief we learn that we must take our time and that every path is different. We know that what works for one, might not work for the other. Let’s take these lessons into account to answer the tough questions. I have found what works for me one day might not work for me another day. It depends on my energy, where I am, and who I am speaking to.

Here is what I believe. First, no question, I am his mother and will always be. No one takes that away; it came as my eternal right when I chose to give birth to him. And because I gave birth to him, he will always count as one of the children I have, no matter what his mortal status is! The other answers require a bit more self-reflection.

How old is he? I find that in my grief community I am very comfortable to say Zane is forever 26. They get that. My answer changes with those I don’t know. Currently my reply is, “I have a son who should be 30 but was killed when he was 26 and a daughter who just turned 27”. This reply is to the point, the truth and tells the story of me as a mother.

Being comfortable saying that, I realize that I do keep Zane in the present tense. I HAVE a son. I LOVE my son. Why would I put such an important person into a past tense? Because our society does. When our loved ones die, our society dictates that they are gone. They have left for a better place, to be with God, whatever your definition of ‘eternity’ is. They are in the past. But as a grieving mother we know better.

Every breath we take we are painfully aware that we cannot hold our child. But we also know, and we receive signs to assure us of this, that our children are still here. They are connected to us through a spiritual umbilical cord that death cannot sever. Being a mother of a child who is on the other side requires new learning of how to connect, how to care for them (through honoring them) but we learn, because we are their mothers.

My message to you is simply this. You are your child’s mother. That has not changed. That will never change. You are mother of their body and now their memory, their spirit, and their legacy. Your work is the same as that of mothers of earthly children. We listen and watch for them, and we send our love to them through thoughts and wishes and actions. Your love for your child will always be present tense.

Ducky’s New Adventure

May 1, 2022 / Mama Fish

Zane loved beanie babies. He collected them and would wrestle with them on the trampoline as a kid. Up into the sky they would fly. Down onto the bouncy tarp to have Zane land on them and pretend he was the wrestling champion. Many of the beanie babies lost limbs. The majority lost their name tag, which makes it impossible to resell; and some of them are worth more now than the $10 we paid twenty years ago.

When we packed up his beloved collection, we had two large boxes full. Payton, in charge of the purging process, allowed me to keep only one box. The other box had to be given away. Who would appreciate these creatures? How do I give up something Zane loved and brought him joy? I came up with a plan. I hand picked a beanie for each of my nephews, nieces, and young children of close friends. I wrote a little note about where this beanie came from and a wish that they would enjoy them as much as my son had. Then I released them to their new owner.

Yesterday, I woke to a picture on my phone from my sweet niece in Ontario. It was of her son, holding the beanie baby that I sent him. Her text message read, “made my heart very happy how much he loves ducky”. I burst into tears. The picture was proof that Zane’s fuzzy ducky brought happiness to someone else.

I am aware that these toys are just things. And if Zane was here, they might have been given to charity. But that is what happens to us grief warriors. We become possessive of our child’s belongings. The importance of each toy, piece of clothing, picture…these things are all we have left. What happens to them becomes a big deal. Parting with them becomes difficult, if not impossible.

No one can say when you should depart with your loved one’s personal belongings. No one can say what you should do with them. If there is a way that their belongings can be shared, renewed, and treasured by someone else, it helps honor our loved ones, sharing the joy and memories of these things with another. My advice is, if possible, to hold on to them until your heart tells you what to do.

My wish for you is that some one lets you know your child’s treasures are still enjoyed. Because that, as I experienced yesterday morning, is a gift returned. Ducky is on a new adventure. And in some weird way, it makes me feel that the energy of Zane’s childhood antics is alive and well through the repeated play his cousin now shares.