Category: Shared Grief (Page 16 of 23)

Healing Messages from Hallmark Movies

December 19, 2021 / Mama Fish

I am a sucker for Hallmark movies. They are my brain candy. Zane would laugh at me, as I would tape and then binge watch into the summer months! He called me cute. I now believe that the messages of these gentle and comforting movies are sent from above.

Since Zane’s death, I have found that there is some sort of cosmic coincidence that I choose a certain movie from the collection of recordings on a particular day, that has a specific message I need to hear, on that day. Such was the movie, “Debbie Macomber’s A Mrs. Miracle Christmas”. A story of loss; a woman who lost a daughter, and recently her husband, her granddaughter, having lost her mother at six and most recently her foster child (although the foster child did not die, he went back to his biological mother) and even Mrs. Miracle, obviously the angel sent to ‘fix’ their broken hearts…she too had lost a child. The irony of watching all their broken hearts, stuck in grief, and trying to move forward. Who can’t relate to this? I was crying before the first advertisement.

What I love about Hallmark movies is that there is always a peaceful ending. There is always hope. This one did not disappoint. The obvious messages: have faith, lean on your friends for support, honor your loved ones (here and those who have passed) were loud and clear. It is the subliminal messages that, if you watch closer, are the messages from heaven. Or, for me, come from Zane.

This movie told us of an angel who knew firsthand the impact of losing a child and yet she continued, serving others, holding her faith, experiencing joy in her every day. And why? Because she knew life was eternal. She knew her daughter existed, and that they would see each other again. There was the message for the granddaughter who is reminded that her role is of mother. Mother is a role that is shared with your own children and those children who ‘show up’ in your life for however short a time that might be. You are always mother. And Grandma…yes, she heals and moves forward but the more important, quieter message is that she moves forward because she embraces her grief and finds ways to make friends with it.

Oh Hallmark, I don’t know what I would do without you. Your movies have become a lifeline to tuning out the current reality for a bit and immersing myself in the hope and joy found in your characters. Whose message, magically, sticks with me and gives me strength to go on.

Thank you, Zane, for picking out just the right messages that I need to hear. Or be reminded of. This last movie was a doozy; I needed to be reminded I am always mother, that you are here if I just ‘see’ you. And that my grief will one day softly live in the ways in which I honor you. There is hope I will feel joy again. And that is the Christmas gift from Hallmark.

The World Lights a Candle Today

December 12, 2021 / Mama Fish

Oh, how the heavens must look on world candle lighting day

The billions of tiny flames, lit by those grieving

Small lights flickering towards the sky, waving to you,

As a symbol that we remember, our love is eternal.

Do you see it?

Do you gather there, like we do here,

As we look up, are you looking down?

As we stand by the little light of love,

Do you see the tears, the pain, the emptiness we feel?

Does the candle bring that message with it,

Because that is part of it; you are missed.

Do you feel the warmth from the light of this candle,

Like the warmth of the love, we have for you

That grief cannot take away

Does its scent bring memories to you of our times together?

This candle, this small beacon, sending a message to you

In its flame, of hope that we will continue to share life

In some other, estranged but meaningful way

We will still have moments together,

There will be laughter, amongst the tears.

I believe you see the lighted candles,

The message is received, and you reply to us,

With your own candle, lit from where you are,

We see as the twinkling of the stars

Which send a message of assurance,

“Mama, we will always be connected”

The Arrival of Anticipated Grief

December 5, 2021 / Mama Fish

I’ve been watching my sweet little dog start to stumble as we walk, and I realize he is closer to the “rainbow bridge” than I want. Or need him to be. He has been the lifeline for me, for 15 years, especially after Zane was killed. I expect him to live to a ripe old and unrealistic age of 40. At the same time, my sister calls to share that her husband has cancer. The doctor has told them there is nothing they can do. In his professional opinion, he has another six to nine months. This is the arrival of anticipated grief.

The magic of anticipated grief gives you a false sense of security. Shock, mixed with a bit of denial gives you the impression that you have more time. I mean the dog still runs like a puppy and my brother-in-law still goes to work. They look ok. For now. The beginning of anticipated grief is the sense that everything looks ok so must be ok. We still have time.

The hope of anticipated grief brings an illusion that this is not happening at all. I mean they are still here. Both dog and brother-in-law. And we have learned through painful, firsthand experience that the only true expert to dictate when you check out is God. It is this hope that anticipated grief dangles in front of you like the golden carrot. The conversations become what if and what can we do and is this true. How can this be right?

The beauty of anticipated grief is that it gives you the luxury of planning. As my sister and her husband go about the daily routine activities of life, there is time to think about the afterlife. What do we want for a funeral, what bridges might we mend before we go, are the wills in order? This gift of time enables you to prepare for things that must be handled, that if you were dealing with a sudden death, they become priorities and not a lot of consideration to choices. My brother-in-law has a say in what he would like to have included now and after he leaves.

The agony of anticipated grief is that you know it is coming to stay. When I think of my little dog not here, I pick him up and cuddle him. As a sort of way of telling grief, “See, you cannot come, my dog is here, go away”. And yet, my heart knows that there will come a day, when it will be grief’s turn to say, “I’m sorry for your loss, I have come to live with you. Again.”

The Tipping Point of Grief

November 28, 2021 / Mama Fish

With the donations that my work received, in honor of Zane, we agreed to create a community project that would benefit youth. We chose mindful photography because of Zane’s passion for taking pictures and how he believed that getting behind the camera reduces anxiety and improves mental health. There were many people along the way that made this happen starting with a close friend who creatively named our course #zaneography and single handily arranged all the pieces to make it happen. Last week I attended the wrap up of the first class. I was not prepared.

I sat on the sidelines watching the beautiful, skilled facilitator talk about the pictures that the youth had taken. Her words were kind and motivating, capturing the blossoming talent of each participant. She had printed their work on a black background and had them hanging on the wall. The participants showed pride and commented on how they enjoyed this experience and how they want to continue shooting pictures. Oh, how my son would enjoy hearing this. And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

As the youth chatted over pizza, I stood up and went over to take a closer look at the pictures. They all told a story, illustrating the lessons of using dark and light that they had learned. One photo, taken by a youth that I felt had a similar energy to Zane, took a silhouette picture of himself under a lamp pole. It captured the light and mood perfectly and it reminded me of pictures Zane had taken of himself under a streetlight at a construction site. And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

I said my goodbyes and the facilitator hugged me. As I held her, I thanked her for her very large and important part in making this happen and I realized just how this desire to honor my son was something that I had not been sure would ever happen. And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

I left, barely getting to my car before the tears came. Sitting in my car, sobbing, the pain of my son not being here to take more photos, to enjoy another adventure of finding the perfect subject, the perfect light to capture a moment. Oh, how he loved photography. How the camera soothed his soul and excited him to find new ways to look at life. I sat crying and shouting to God where was his justice until I was hoarse.

We are taught to honor our children. We are told that good mourning is about finding ways to continue to do what they loved. We are told of the importance to share their passions with others; to remember them through the sharing of what they enjoyed in life. What they didn’t tell us, or what I seemed to have missed, is the pain that comes with this. The sharing, experiencing first-hand what they loved without their physical presence is the tipping point of grief bursts.

The ‘bitter-sweet’ they call it; happy to see it happen but sad that your child is not a part of it. That part. It has a cutting edge to it that does not comfort you but rather slices you open to reveal the pain and injustice of your life. It is raw. It is painful. And yet, would I change it? No. Because the other thing we grief warriors have learned is that the pain of grief only equals the love we have. And for Zane, there is a whole lot of love.

The Need to Switch Up the Holidays

November 21, 2021 / Mama Fish

I continue to think about the holidays, and how to shake them up so that joy is found. How do we plan this festive season, filling in ‘the empty chair’ that is the elephant in the room?

We are taught to honor our children, especially during the holidays. So, each year I think of creative ways that Zane would appreciate to celebrate his energy and his love he had for this life. His birthdays are easier. We have tied ribbons to trees, played stampede games (with prizes), and passed out pay it forward cards. His last birthday I made a ’30 things to do for Zane’ in honor of his 30^th birthday. Christmas seems harder and why is that?

It might be because birthdays seem to be about the individual. We celebrate the person, who they are, what they did or do and how that makes us feel. Christmas is melancholier. This holiday is promoted about being together and ‘coming home’ and it all working out in the end. All things that are not possible for us. And it is this overall innuendo of what Christmas should be that I think makes it worse than other annual holidays.

If there is truth to this theory, then what can we do to soften it? I think the suggestion of what we do to honor our loved ones plays a different role here. Maybe the past holidays I have tried to ‘bring him home’ too much. I have his own tree decorated and his culinary favorites forefront at every meal and his gifts (that he should be enjoying) bought and wrapped. Crazy? Well, I was told to do whatever makes you feel better. And the truth is, nothing makes me feel better. And that realization, struck me. Hard.

Christmas will always be a holiday that will not, with all its magic, bring me back to any time before Zane was killed. Christmas must become something different. Christmas must be revamped so that I can be present with those that are here and not deaf to their joy because of my own pain. So, I ponder what will I do different. And whatever I decide to do, Christmas will come and go. And this fact gives me the freedom and the permission to shake it up.

Finding Joy this Holiday Season

November 14, 2021 / Mama Fish

Every year I try to be ready for the holiday season so that when it arrives, I can enjoy it. It is a perennial battle that I have yet to win. This year, for some reason, I have higher hopes it might work. It might be because it is our first Christmas in our little home. I must scale back including no fresh tall tree…it gives me permission to shake things up. And perhaps with small edits to our family traditions, I can find some joy this holiday.

I remember Zane teaching me about the difference between joy and happiness. He said happiness is fleeting. It is a quick moment in time you feel elated because of something or someone. Joy is eternal. Joy is a deeper, quieter, peaceful feeling of contentment. It is the emotion one should seek.

Once, when I told him about doing something I wasn’t happy to do but that I had completed it and had done a great job, he smiled. He said, “but mom, you did not do it with joy”. If I had, the experience would have been so much more. How did my son get to be so wise? These were the type of lessons he taught. I must remember this one; that joy is found in everyday, simple things.

What I hope he does know, is the joy he brought me. I wrote to Zane.

“…How much joy I have had in raising you, sharing life with you, watching you morph into this beautiful, caring empath. Oh, the joy you brought me. The laughter. The insights to life. The love. My soul is filled with the love you shared with me. I have enough hugs and kisses from you that will sustain me while I live here on earth. I was looking for more joy and the truth was, with you, I had enough.”

As we prepare for the holidays, and even beyond the holidays, let us try to remember that there is joy even in grief. We can find that soft feeling joy brings in the memories of times spent with those we love. We can feel our hearts warm to the recalling of conversations and adventures we had with our loved ones. And the joy that these thoughts bring us, will always belong to us. Even when our loved ones are not physically here, they will always be our joyful memories. May that awareness help ease your grief.

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.