Category: Shared Grief (Page 17 of 23)

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.

Three Years Later

August 8, 2021 / Mama Fish

I woke up August 7^th, the day marking three years since Zane was killed. I poured a tea and sat in the early morning light and wrote to Zane. “I went to bed last night, begging you to stay out, to not be on the road as if somehow that plea could take us back in time and I would wake up from this nightmare”.

At three years, shock is not the right word. Disbelief is better. Anger is still the number one emotion. Hope is the same; that I will be able to have a relationship with him in some new cosmic way. Loneliness has increased alongside heartache. The messages from friends and loved ones who say they hold us in their thoughts are comforting. I am grateful that they remember.

Our family discusses how the last three years have been. We agree that the first was numb; we are only now starting to remember the details of that year. The second was brutal because shock is less which leaves you feeling the pain of grief more accurately. The second year also brought with it the realization that grief will be with us, for the rest of our lives. And that is disturbing. It leaves you to try to come to grasps that you will never be the same.

So, what does the third year bring? I am thinking we should take the learnings and the awareness of our last two years and start to shape our new beings. We can’t escape grief. It is a huge and everlasting part of our make-up now. Maybe the third year will offer us a bit more strength to face our grief and build around it. Maybe it will introduce us to ways we can do that. Maybe we can hope that this is the year grief doesn’t beat us up as often. (Although I will not hold my breath about that.)

Whatever it does or doesn’t bring, it is here. And we summon the courage to face it.

The Place of Delusional Bliss

August 1, 2021 / Mama Fish

I was having a quiet morning in my chair when I heard the sounds of laughter coming through my window. I turned to see a young man opening the door for his friend, entering our building. His friend, whose back was turned to me, was a spitting image of Zane. The hair, the physical build, the clothing style, even the white legs…It was so him. And in that relaxed, peaceful moment my brain went to the impossible place, the place of delusional bliss.

I jumped up and my heart raced a happy beat. Oh, I thought, what a lovely surprise. Zane’s coming for brunch. I can’t wait to hear about his week. I went towards the door, to open it for him, awaiting one of his incredible hugs. This is the place of delusional bliss.

It lasts only seconds before reality comes back to slap you across the face. I stood there, looking at the closed door, the knowledge that there would be no footsteps coming down the hallway, no “hello mama” opening my door. And suddenly my place appeared a little darker and the silence grew a little louder. I sat back down in my chair. I closed my eyes to imagine if Zane had walked in. What would he tell me? What would he want to drink? Where would he sit? I pondered these as the place of delusional bliss was now gone.

Most of us get these delusional blissful moments. It is the first moments of the morning when you wake and your brain has not yet connected you to the ugly truth. It is the sight of a stranger who appears like your loved one. It is the sudden smell of something that was of them like the smoke of a pipe or a perfume. These moments last only seconds. But with it comes the feelings of the joy, the love that we once had when they were physically with us. And these moments remind us that they are still within us. These are feelings that will never be removed or forgotten or replaced. And that understanding brings its own bliss.

I relish in these moments. Yes, the second after I realize it is not real, the pain comes back. But the pain of our grief will always be. We know that. So I will take as many delusional bliss moments as the Universe wishes to send me. And I will take them with a grateful and joyful heart.

We Must Lead the Way

July 25, 2021 / Mama Fish

A mother in my grief circle posted it was her son’s first year anniversary and none of her family acknowledged it. She felt guilty that she was upset with them for this. The overwhelming response (from those of us who know) was that this reception is sad but true. People forget. They move on. They expect us to do the same. And this societal belief isolates us, deepening our grief.

Our society does not know how to handle grief. We like it to be wrapped up with a beautiful tribute at a tearful funeral and we then ‘move on’. This is for many reasons. Our loved ones don’t want to see us hurting. They feel powerless that they can’t make us feel better. They miss the person we were before the death. It is from a place of care that our loved ones try to hurry us along in our grief and get past it and back to ‘normal’. A normal we will never be able to go back to.

This desire is hard on us who are grieving. We too want to be our old selves. We wish life was normal but as that will not be now; we struggle to find new ways to go forward with this grief. It is difficult. It is work to mourn and learn who you are becoming with grief as part of you now. This journey will cause friends to fall to the side, adding to our loss. The friends that stay with us, these are our angels.

I recently had a chat with one of my angels in her new space. I had looked forward to seeing her. She met me with a hug and a tour of her creative room and we sat to catch up on life since we last spoke. She makes things so very natural. We share the frustrations of our current climate, the hopes for new projects at work and the status of what our kids are up to. And the true beauty of her is that our updates include Zane. In her quiet and loving manner, she will speak of him and ask how I am doing with my grief journey. She is interested and asks what I am presently doing to honor him and offers possibilities. Her visit comforts me and I leave with a refreshed calm.

I am grateful, and lucky to have friends like her. I listen to my fellow grief warriors who feel alone that they have no person such as this. I can’t imagine. It adds to one’s grief. It must. It demonstrates there is work we need to do to help our society understand and respond to grief better. We must help our loved ones be brave with the discomfort that comes with speaking of what has hurt us most. We must lead them in conversation, reassuring them that we want to speak of our beloved. That we need to speak of our beloved. We must remind them of special occasions of our beloved and share our desires and our expectations of what we need from them for these dates. It is up to us to lead the way because the alienation that comes from not sharing our grief or ignoring our grief is not good mourning. We need more earth angels, like my precious friend, one of the few whose soul needs no training on how to be such a wonderful support.

Magic at Stampede

July 18, 2021 / Mama Fish

I anticipated the return of the Calgary Stampede and it did not disappoint. Stampede was an annual event for the kids and I. Each year, on Kid’s Day, we would head down to play the midway games, eat mini donuts, shop in the BMO Centre and try the new icky dish and then go home. As the kids grew, I would go home alone and they would stay to meet up with friends and do the rides. And then, as they reached adulthood, Nashville North was added to their “must do” list. Yes, Stampede in our house is the biggest event of the year. A holiday like no other and because of this it is also my biggest trigger.

Stampede was Zane’s gig. He anticipated it like a kid at Christmas and cried when the tents came down. He spent every free minute (and every saved penny) on the grounds. So keeping up this tradition without him is no easy task. The first year we went, every game, every smell screamed at me, “He is not here”. I ended up going home and crawling under the covers. When Stampede was cancelled the following year I suggested it was ok. “If Zane couldn’t be here, Stampede shouldn’t either”.

This year, I looked forward to going, to giving Stampede another try. Jon and I took Payton and her fiancée. We brought ‘the dude’, Zane’s essence, too. This year felt different. Partly because we left the fear (and masks) of the past year behind, but it was more than that. The energy of the people, the sunshine, the live music, the smell of corn dogs greeted us at the gates. We played our favorite games and won prizes. There was chatter about Zane being our lucky charm. You could feel him. And then my biggest, unexplainable sign confirmed this.

The kids were in line to get Alligator Tail bites. Yea, we tried every weird food there and enjoyed them all! Jon and I went to get a table on the roof top. As we were standing at our table, my back toward the grounds, I looked into the construction going on behind the fence. There was nothing there. No people, no stored items, just dug up dirt and cement. As Jon and I chatted, from the side I could see something floating up from the construction site. I looked over to see one perfect bubble floating up. I gasped. Bubbles are Zane’s thing….loved blowing them and always kept a bubble wand in his car! I grabbed Jon’s hand and said, “Look, look over there!” I went over to look to see where it could be coming from. There were no other bubbles, no persons near, no bubbles from another site, nothing. I started to cry. “Oh, my God, Zane is here. He is letting us know”. And the bubble floated up towards us and then up higher into the blue sky. Jon and I were silent. Both of us were smiling. I said to him, “my heart, my heart….it is filled with my boy.”

When you receive a sign such as this, you do not distrust it. You do not check into the realistic possibilities of how it could have happened. You do not question it. If you do, the magic is lost. What you do is accept it as a sign from your loved one. You receive it with a glad heart as a confirmation that they are with us. And you celebrate it. Which is what we did and this magic made my day. It filled my heart with the love of my son and the joy that Stampede brings our family. Even now.

Waiting for the Answer of How

July 11, 2021 / Mama Fish

Recently I was honored to have the opportunity to sit and listen to a fellow mom who lost her son earlier this year. When the police came to tell us about Zane, they began by saying, “We are here on behalf of Zane”. My (new) friend was told, “His death is under investigation”.

There are many levels of grief. When Zane was killed we were told what happened. There was no question of how he passed. The coroner’s report came back relatively fast with what we had been told in black and white. We had those awful answers and knowing the cause of death, our questions became focused on the why and what if. We had the answer of how.

How is the one first answer you need; the manner to which my child left this earth. When you don’t have an answer, grief is put on a whole other level. All the other questions arrive and are complicated because you can’t begin to comprehend when you don’t have any idea of what happened. It is sheer madness exaggerated.

As we sat in the sun sharing stories of our children, of how the police came, of how our other children found out…we shared tears and a few giggles, creating a bond that ‘others wouldn’t get’. There is comfort found in shared grief. We talked about how we honor our child and what we do for ourselves to make it through the days. Grief is a solitary journey. Yet when we share our journey with those on the same path, we discover similar happenings and we begin to understand we are not totally alone. This awareness brings a silent strength to face our grief better. And she has to confront this grief, while waiting to hear what happened to her child. That takes extra strength.

I admire her beauty. She carries her head high and lives with a trust that the answers will come. And while she waits, she puts one foot in front of the other with her son as her driving force, wanting to honor him and do right by him. She is a noble example of how one can practice good mourning.

When No One Knows Your Truth

July 4, 2021 / Mama Fish

At our new place, no one knows of our truth. No one here is aware that we have ‘lost a child’. One neighbor, who has seen Payton come by a few times, asked if I only have a daughter. I said, “oh no, we have a son too”. It is the truth even though the assumption would be he is alive. And that is what I like about here.

There is some sort of peace that comes with people not knowing my story. It doesn’t include the apologies or misguided questions and comments. Grief, even when shared with friends, has a solemn energy. The energy is different with the illusion that our life is normal, even though it is far from normal. And it isn’t that I have lied; it is that no one has asked any questions that I would have to share our story in order to answer them.

And then it happened. We were taking Tango out for a walk and our neighbor had a friend over. The friend recognized us. Her daughter dated Zane for years and actually lived with us for almost two years before they broke up. They stayed friends and I took her in as my own. To this day she keeps in touch and is like a big sister to Payton. The mother hugs us; we have not seen her since long before the crash. She tears up but says nothing about Zane. I am relieved. We comment on how long it’s been, how fabulous we all look and then we leave to walk the dog.

I told Jon I was a bit saddened. We know she will tell our neighbor what happened. My bubble is no longer and my new community will know of the hell we live with. I am not sure why this bothers me. I have no illusion of what my reality is. Perhaps what I have enjoyed is the fantasy of others not knowing and therefore thinking that my boy just hasn’t come over yet for anyone to see. This unawareness was ok for me; it was an unexplainable cushion for my grief. It was a feeling that I will miss.

I will carry on, anticipating the “I just heard” to which I will reply (yet again), “thank you, yes, it is unimaginable….”

Grief and Gratitude

June 27, 2021 / Mama Fish

I kept a gratitude journal for over a decade. I taught my children to do the same. In some small way, recording five to ten things of what you were grateful for that day seems to put things into a better perspective. When you are grieving, gratitude is difficult.

As we unpack in our tiny condo, I came across a journal of Zane’s. The first entry, he had written, “today, one day becomes day one” and each day he had written 10 things he was grateful for. His family, his friends were at the top of the list on many days. Some days he was grateful for a social day on a summer patio and other days his gratitude included having a home and a thick woolen blanket to snuggle in. What I enjoyed about this journal was that he counted his blessings and his life was full of big and small experiences that brought him comfort and joy.

He had a months’ worth of writings in this journal. I pondered ripping the pages out and giving the journal away. I am trying to create more space in this small home; every item needs a place and a purpose to stay. I would keep his writings, which would take up less space than the whole journal would. And then I remembered what I am learning; if you want to see signs, you have to be open to them.

I have not been very grateful lately. I am consumed with move, work and complicated grief. Actually, I have become quite good at complaining. Zane was always telling me, “you have to do with joy” and that, quite frankly, has been lost in the last years.

So I took finding this journal, specific to recording gratitude, as a sign. Here is my boy reminding me that I have a whole pile of things to be grateful for…and I better start writing them down daily to refresh my attitude. I am picking up where his last page ended. And each day, I will list what I am grateful for.

Zane, you will always be top of my list. Thank you.