Category: Shared Grief (Page 14 of 20)

Goodbye, Excalibur

October 31, 2021 / Mama Fish

This week we lost and buried another family member. Excalibur, my daughter’s leopard gecko died peacefully, surrounded by family. I know it was ‘just a lizard’ but this little guy was with us for 13 years. As Payton came and went with her busy life, mama was left to tend to him, feed him and enjoy him. We were told years ago that he would not live long as he refused to eat anything but dead worms. They are like a chocolate bar the vet told us. He must eat crickets. But he would not. And I was ok with that as the whole non-vegetarian diet creeped me out. I could handle putting a small dead worm on his plate and watch him gobble it up. Easy. He loved to sit on a cushion beside you; he did not run around or away. He reminded us very much of the gecko you find on the TV ad. He carried that much personality in his 6-ounce body!

Our pets, regardless of its type, are family members. They experience life with us, and they become part of our routine. We have memories of shared times with them. We love them. When Excalibur passed, I packed up all his belongings and cried for two days. I would wait to hear him at night and then remember he was gone. I would go to turn on his light and he was gone. Gone, bringing grief to the forefront.

I have been sensitive all week. I have been unfocused and not much got done. I am aware now, with the experience of loss, that I am grieving. And I allowed myself to do so. I cancelled meetings and took a drive to Canmore and sat in the park. The grief of losing Excalibur just adds to my already broken heart.

As he was a pet who lived to an old age, I will not ponder on the events and experiences he will miss out on. I will remember how he made me smile and will not burst into a flood of tears over it. I do not feel cheated as I do with the deaths of other family members. That is the complexity of grief. With every loss, you feel it, but the intensity can be different. Grief can come in soft, more melancholy at times. I guess it depends on the circumstances.

We hosted a small memorial for Excalibur. Just our family, with Zane watching over. Payton somehow found a bit of peace knowing that her gecko’s spirit was now free to roam the realms with her big brother. I came home to feel his absence. And ponder how could I honor this sweet little creature that brought so much love to our family over the years. Rest in Peace, sweet little gecko. And know that you brought such joy to each of us. A life well lived; you will always be in our hearts.

Preplans of our Souls

October 24, 2021 / Mama Fish

It is said that we arrive on earth having already chosen our family and our path as part of what we need to learn and to teach with our days here on earth. When that is achieved, we leave. Earth is a school of the spiritual realm. And a very difficult one at best.

Understanding soul plans brings some peace to me. We fret over the questions of why and what if, that allude to “how could I have controlled this from happening?” Soul plans remind us we have no control over such. Our power of control has only the capacity to strive towards our desires, our goals, choosing our actions and our reactions to what we meet on our path. The big picture we had already planned.

The people who we meet, our families, our friends, even our associates, play a part in shaping us. If we are open to when these people arrive and how we feel around them we begin to understand ourselves better. We begin to see patterns of behavior that we can reinforce or remove. Our connections, on a soul level, are to bring us enlightenment. I think that is a pretty cool concept. Who doesn’t want to be a better version of themselves? Who doesn’t want peace and purpose? According to soul plans, the idea to embrace what life gives you and learn from it and share this with others is why we are here.

I have had mothers ask me, if this is true, why would I choose to be a grieving mother? To which I reply, why would your child have chosen you?

If soul plans exist, I can’t imagine how that conversation would go. This tiny spirit had an agreement with you to come here as your child, knowing they would leave first. Who would agree to such pain? And yet, here we are. I wonder if the mother in our soul, the caregiver we are, agreed because of love. Perhaps we knew this child would need us in the most universal way and we agreed because of love. And perhaps, just as big, we needed them. This love transcended across the realms into this life as mother and son. Love was what brought us together, to experience a multitude of emotions, learning and supporting each other’s spirit to grow.

Pondering this, I wrote a letter to Zane.

“…If what I read is true; if we as spirits make a plan before we arrive on earth as humans, we knew each other before we were mother and son. We each had our lesson to learn, and we chose each other to come together to experience this. Your life of adventure and discovery and pushing the limits, an example to the rest of us, a reminder to live life fully. What lessons you taught us. Thank you. And what, my sweet son, were the lessons you learned…”

We will never know if a soul plan is a real thing. For me, I try to put the why am I in this role on a shelf. I am not sure it will ever make sense. But the idea that I had known Zane before brings hope I will play another role with him again.

Choosing Your Tribe

October 17, 2021 / Mama Fish

Recently, with the madness of today, I have found myself in a position where, because of my personal health choice, I am not welcome in many places. Including the home of some of my very best friends. We have spent a lifetime together. We raised our children, buried family members, traveled, got hired, got fired, faced cancer and health scares of all sorts and always over a glass of wine. Until now.

Defending my choice or debating the issue is futile. Their beliefs and perspectives are different. Although we have had differences before, on this issue, they have told me there is no room for compromise. This leaves me to just feel what I feel. I have lost my tribe.

Friends or family who have shared decades with you suddenly don’t get you. They don’t understand what you are thinking and why. They are uncomfortable with your choices. Whatever their reason, we find ourselves having to spend less time or no time with such relationships. This complicates our grief because loss is loss.

As in life, with grief, we are taught to choose our tribe. We need to be surrounded by those who are accepting and who understand us. The people needed in your life; family, friends, colleagues are easily identified by who shows up that does not pass judgement or criticize the means to which you live and grieve. Finding a group of supportive people to surround you may change as you do. We must review who shows up for us that we feel energized by and not condemned by.

Our insight of this, opens the Universe and our time to bring new friends into our lives. New, but more aligned with the path we are on. That doesn’t mean it has to be a fellow grief warrior; no, it is a person who understands and supports your emotions. All your emotions.

I have found new connections through on-line and face-to-face support groups. These people have become like family. I have stronger connections with friends who I would see casually but now relish in their company as their aligned outlook brings me hope and inspiration. And there may come a crossroad in the future where my long-time friends will be and our differences, behind us, we can enjoy a glass of wine together again. I have faith.

Thanks for Giving

October 10, 2021 / Mama Fish

“Well, first of the holidays, Thanksgiving, without your contribution of mashed potatoes and gravy. Some of your friends dropped by including Kat who came with a bunch of bananas! I had told her I couldn’t buy them yet because they were what I bought for you, for your smoothies. It was cool she thought of me. I cried… I am thankful this year for family and friends. And Zane, thankful to you for the countless times we shared. You are my sunshine.”

The above was a letter I wrote to Zane on the first Thanksgiving after the crash. Three years later, we nestle, following the restrictions, in our tiny home to celebrate the first event of the upcoming holiday season. Everything is in order. Turkey, stuffing, treats. The table set. The dog has his bone. Everything looks like a Norman Rockwell poster. The ‘empty chair’ is the elephant in the room. Time does not help heal the holidays.

These are the occasions where you need to practice extra selfcare. We tend to overdo, overeat, overdrink. All things that increase grief. We also notice families, social media happy posts, that remind us of what we are missing. Even if everything else is in place and you are surrounded by family and friends, your broken heart hurts more at these times.

I think it does one good to schedule a portion of the day to remove yourself from the activities. For a short time, find yourself alone, in a park or a room or a walk around the block. Feel the big picture. Look up to the skies. Listen to the wind, or the birds, or the water if nearby. Call out to your loved one. Whisper you miss them and that you invite them to come to the dinner table. Have a cry. A good, soul cleansing cry if you can.

Then, at the dinner table, share some of their favorite things about the holiday. Share memories of holidays past. Laugh. Laugh, knowing that your loved one is with you. Their spirit shines.

I am thankful that I am healthy enough to work and to give back to my community.

I give thanks to my friends that give me time and understanding and love. I give thanks to my family who surround me and give me space when I need it.

I am thankful every day of the year, for Zane. For the signs he brings to me that he is near. I am grateful for the many memories I carry in my heart of my sweet boy and the times we shared on earth. I am grateful for the new ways that I am learning to ‘be with my son’ while we are realms apart.

This year, I give thanks for the things that give me hope.

The Armor We Wear

October 3, 2021 / Mama Fish

A year ago, my friend shared the news that her 32-year-old daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer. This past month, she and her husband walked their baby girl down the aisle, cancer free, to be married to the love of her life. A truly joyous time.

I watched the video. Her fiancé looked much like Zane, similar style of dress, shoes, colors. His groomsmen came up the aisle one at a time and kissed him on the lips, bringing laughter to the moment. I can imagine Zane’s friends would do something like that. Friends who are more like brothers.

I watched the couple exchange their vows and the smiles on the faces of family and friends. It was a happy ending to a scary time for them. And a happy beginning, all rolled into one beautiful, sunny afternoon.

As grief warriors, these are times where you need to put on your full armor. Each celebratory scene bludgeons you with a pain, an anger of why this can’t happen for my child. Why did they have a horrific scare that they could overcome. Did overcome. How is this fair for my son? How is this scene not my life? The armor helps cover the heart so that I can be happy for my friend. This is her moment. And she deserves it. I am thrilled that their sleepless nights and worry is in submission. Worry will always be a part of motherhood but today, she relishes in the joy of seeing her daughter be married. And the fact life has made this an impossibility for us, for Zane, brings bittersweet to a breathtaking, internal scream.

My friend, in her excitement to share has no idea. The invisible armor I wear holds my pain in so all she can see is my smile and all she can hear is “Congratulations, I am so happy for all of you.” And I am.

The scare of the unknown that ravished my friend’s days for a year or so prior to this day also carried hope. There lived, during her daughter’s fight, opportunity to express love and time to share one more hug. In sudden death, this is all taken away from you. One moment life is and the very next you are told it’s gone. There is a cosmic injustice to this. Why God creates miracles everyday and yet saving my child was not one of them.

That night, I find myself alone. I take my armor off and the tears flood. I am so jealous that my fate is not as kind as my friends. And this is the life of those in the grief community. We carry within us the strength to put aside our pain to be happy for our friends’ joys. It fills you with such mixed emotions that we must plan to be gentle with ourselves after sharing their joy. We must find ways that bring a little comfort to the hell of not having the same. The armor we wear, does nothing for this emptiness. The armor we wear is for those around us. It pretends, “I’m ok”.

Sitting Quietly With Pain

September 19, 2021 / Mama Fish

Lately I feel like I am not heard. I have opinions that when trying to share, I’m cut off or eyes roll, or phones are looked at. I’m not sure if it is because my opinion is not the same or they don’t care, or they are just indifferent. Whatever it is, I feel frustrated and more alone.

In grief, this is a common irritation. We have the right to feel and express outwardly our grief. Yet often we are cut off or appeased or hushed by well-meaning listeners. Of course, their intention is with love, and they believe they are helping shield us from the pain no one wants to feel. The truth is it is a lot easier for one to respond in this manner than doing what is really required. To sit quietly with us in our pain.

I believe I am more sensitive to the lack of ‘hear me out’ now that I live with grief. If others were to sit, quietly listening to my opinion, my raw feelings of the moment, I believe I would experience gratitude rather than disappointment. Interrupting one with advice and dictation of what should be said, done or felt, discounts how a person feels. This cycle of being silenced makes grief become louder.

When grief is not heard by others, it is disturbing. When your grief is not heard by yourself, it is damaging. Our grief wants to be heard. All parts of it; the intense, raw, ugly side of reality as well as the gentle loving side of memories. When we give our grief the respect of sitting quietly with it, not interrupting it, letting it have its say, we become more in tune with who we are and what we need to live with this sadness.

I will take this awareness and give my own grief the same respect as I wish from others. I will sit quietly with my pain.

Surrendering to Change

September 12, 2021 / Mama Fish

In my first year of grief, my therapist was trying to explain to me what the milestones of grieving are. Apparently, some moms find their inner voice when a death happens. Usually around the 1.5-year mark. They become less tolerant, practice self-care more, speak their opinion and most importantly, know their truth. They become more assertive with a “this is who I am, take it or leave it” attitude. I had forgotten this.

Consumed with grief, I feel like I’m just trying to get through each day. But for about a year now, I have been experiencing less tolerance with those around me. I have insisted on me time. I am asking, who is this person as I shout out another opinion that I wouldn’t have shared before. I was blaming the ugly nature of our current times. Which I am sure has contributed to these feelings. But it has not created them. Grief has.

When our child dies, we do too. We are left in shock and pain, changing us into something different. We can never be the same. We can’t because nothing will ever be the same again. This unbearable knowledge we can try to deny or resist but change will happen. Death changes us. How it does, we have some control over.

When we realize that we can still have a (different) relationship with our loved one if we ‘vibrate’ higher, self-care becomes mandatory. When our energy focuses on healing, we become intolerant of irrelevant things that distract us. When we have experienced such injustice, like the death of a child, keeping quiet becomes a very hard thing to do.

If we know that grief changes us, if we can feel the change stirring within ourselves, then perhaps how we change, who we change into could be the focus. Surrendering to change does not mean we lose connection with our child or what we hold dear. No, surrendering to change empowers us to explore how we can connect more, deeper. It gives us a cleansing of what wasn’t working to leave room for what might work. It can be inspirational rather than depressing or frightening.

Who do we want to become to honor our children, to respect ourselves and to impact our community? Let these questions motivate you to trying new things and exploring new ways to be you. Let the strength you carry be the catalyst. Let these discoveries bring with it hope. And let the changes show the world the eternal love you have for your child.

When Angels Cross Your Path

September 5, 2021 / Mama Fish

As grievers, we are taught to be open to the idea that our loved ones will send us signs that they are near. We are taught that there are guardian angels that will guide us. If only we believe. I choose to believe. I can’t imagine not wanting to receive messages from your loved ones. I am wide open to any possibility, any venue of achieving this.

I hear stories every day of fellow grief warriors who have received signs and what form they came in. Rainbows, butterflies, rocks, birds, feathers, license plates, social media posts…these heavenly messages comfort and soothe our broken hearts. Often, one can connect the sign to a request that had been asked of the Universe to provide. I have such a story.

When I am over scheduled I feel a loss of connection to Zane. So, I try to practice work-life balance every day. In a morning meditation, I asked my spirit guide how I can reach him better, more often, deeper. Later that morning, as Jon and I walked the dog in the meadow, we watched afar as a person was walking on the same path toward us. The sunlight from behind us illuminated her, she looked like an angel. We both commented on how beautiful and serene she appeared. As she got closer, we noticed that she had taken off her runners and was walking barefoot along the path. I said to Jon, “Oh, she is on a meditation walk.” (I had just read about how walking barefoot increases mindfulness.) We noticed that the ‘wings’ was a large bunch of wild foliage that she had picked and stuffed in a backpack she was wearing. She carried a smaller bunch in her hands.

As she approached us, she commented on how cute our dog was (that happens a lot, he is cute!) and Jon told her how we both felt she looked like an angel coming down the path. She bowed her head and said, “you see that because I am finally united. You understand me, right?” And I did. In that split second, I knew that she had, some time ago, a near death experience and was now enlightened and quite spiritual. I don’t know how, but I knew. So, I said yes. Jon asked for clarification.

She said it was a long story and proceeded to tell us of how she had been in China and went outside to answer a call and was hit and in a coma and came back to Canada with a brain injury that has taken her over a decade to heal. But that it had healed and that her journey had opened so many new things and that her energy, her vibration level was so very acute.

Then she turned to me and said, “I see your energy. You are on the right path. You need to just feel, be more and focus less. You understand, right?” Again, I did. Somehow, she was the answer to my meditation. I felt my sweet son, who knows I have gone to this field for hope and guidance for so many years; I felt him come across our path in the form of a small Asian angel.

The whole thing had so many serendipities to it that a flood of spiritual connection came to me, and the tears came, and she bowed her head and opened her arms to me, and I hugged her, the smell like eucalyptus circling me. I whispered, “thank you, I love you” and she said, “I know, you know, I can feel your energy”.

She continued, barefoot, along the path into the sun. I walked the other way, tears streaming down my face. What had just happened? I didn’t make this up. This happened. Jon witnessed it. My body felt like it was in shock. Surreal. There was not a single doubt that her message was from Zane. A direct call.

I believe that communication between the realms exists. I believe our loved ones want to and DO connect with us. And this connection is a gift, a heavenly gift we receive from angels who cross our paths.

An Upside to Funerals

August 22, 2021 / Mama Fish

When a child dies, you have no idea where your grief will take you. And yet, you are expected to plan and host a ‘celebration’ for your child right away. This is our culture. We followed protocol as most families do. I have one fellow mom who could not and has not in the past two years held any sort of ceremony for friends and family to gather and remember her son.

Her child’s friends have complained about this; about not being able to have some closure. For mothers there is no closure and if this mother chose to not have a memorial, for whatever reason, let her grieve her way. Then I attended a funeral for a mom whose son passed in March and because of circumstances, we gathered just this week. And his friends came. And I saw a different side.

Somehow, this ability to gather as a larger group and remember their friend was very important. The ability to cry openly, and share stories and hugs was therapeutic. The opportunity to give their condolences to his mother and to share her grief of a loss that affected all of us was necessary. We went from the church to the graveyard where more tears and more memories followed with us.

This mom had gone an extra step. She had taken his best friends to the cemetery prior to the funeral to share and receive feedback of the plot she had chosen. One of the stories from a young man who had been a part of this day, told us of how they had asked for a sign that their departed friend was with them. And in the skies, the clouds spelled his name! All who there that day nodded, they had seen it too. And they all smiled. Smiled. Yes, this is good mourning.

The strength this mother demonstrated was inspiring. She was a strong woman before his death. Her strength has only grown from the love of her son and the innate understanding that he needed to be honored and his friends needed to have some sort of forum to grieve.

She asked me if a funeral is just a technicality. I said yes and no. For us mothers, it is just another terrible day, an event to gather our strength and show up. Every day is a funeral after you have lost a child. However, for the friends of our child, it is a necessary step to begin healing. I knew this but had not witnessed its importance until I attended her sons’ funeral.

I do believe we all choose what we can do and how we do it to honor our children. Judgment is not found here. What is here is a comment that our society has this neat package around death. We are taught that funerals are the main event which enables us to move on. If we could create a culture where living with and bearing witness to pain outside of a funeral is reality, perhaps then we wouldn’t need them as much.

Maybe funerals are avoided because the pain is too great but that is the funny thing about pain. It doesn’t go away so we need to tame it and somehow the upside to funerals is that it creates a place that can start that.

When 30 Comes Without You

August 15, 2021 / Mama Fish

It is just three years since Zane was killed. The 13^th of this month (August), we gathered for his 30^th birthday. I was having a really difficult time with this one and not sure why, I wrote to Zane.

“30 years old. An age you knew instinctively you would not get to. Why, and why you knew this are the questions that haunt me. I am beginning to understand the ‘new reality’, that you are in the light, released from any anxiety and sadness of this realm. I know you are filled with pure joy and peace. I know you are free to visit and have the power to leave signs that you came by. I have experienced that. I am grateful for that. I try hard to hold onto all this to help ease the pain of not being able to hear your voice or see your face or hug you. Except in my dreams.

Alas, you knew this day would not come and I think that is why it is an extra hard one for me. Although you were robbed of ages 27, 28, and 29, the fact that you should be turning 30 today shouts your fate at me and causes me to scream at the injustice of you not being here. How is this possibly a life plan for you? 30 brings with it so much of what should be and what we knew wouldn’t be and here it is. It is mocking me.”

Writing to our loved one is an expression of mourning and suggested by the experts to help deal with grief. As I wrote this letter, to why this birthday was bothering me so much, clarity was the gift I was given. This was more than a birthday. This was the milestone I expected my son to reach. I needed Zane to reach this birthday to prove he was not destined to die young, that his nightmares were only that. Nightmares of what should never be.

I think it is why I had such a drive to have 30 be the theme at his celebration. 30 friends were invited, 30 donuts, 30 things to do in his honor. And at the end of the day, over 30 friends gathered to laugh, cry, to share stories of all that he continues to mean to them. Symbolic that there is more to Zane’s life than the number 30.

When everyone had left, our neighbor asked if we noticed the large group of crows sitting on the roof watching over our party. I had seen them fly off but had not noticed them gathering, as if they were joining our party. I read crows gather for social, feeding and funerals. Zane’s party covered all three of those reasons they would gather here! They are supposed to be messengers from the Gods, appearing as a method of divination and prophecy.

I chuckled at this. I wonder if Zane had a role in this. If somehow this whole day was a message that 30 is just 30. Birthdays, even the milestones are just a measure of how many years your energy has filled this earth. Their energy lives on even after death. Zane’s energy is now 30 years old. This is worth celebrating. Perhaps the crows were another confirmation of this. And a message that our loved ones are here, and we can connect to them; they are as close as the crow flies.