Category: Shared Grief (Page 18 of 20)

Filling the Empty Chair

December 20, 2020 / Mama Fish

The holidays are here. It is a time of year when all messages are about hearts coming home, being together, cheer and joy that becomes, to those grieving, a LOUD reminder that there sits ‘an empty chair’. The pain is compounded when your loved one was born or passed this time of year.

This morning, friends from our grief community dropped by to bring us a piece of cake, napkins, chocolates, a sour candy cane and pictures of their sweet son. Tomorrow he should be turning 27. I know they have planned this for the last while. A distraction from the empty chair, they chose to create a celebration that had components of what would be happening if he was still living here on earth.

Celebrating what should be but cannot be isn’t easy. It takes a lot of energy to which we have little or none. And how do we celebrate one that can no longer be physically here to enjoy it? We do, by reminding ourselves that our children are still with us. However you wish to define it; in spirit or energy or in your heart, our children are still with us. And keeping special occasions, including their favorites in your gatherings, is important. I believe our children want us to celebrate them. I believe it is a way to honor their life. I believe it is a way to create space to remember them and the unique place they have in our lives.

I know, in the moments of planning a birthday sharing for their son, it brought my friends some comfort. It created an opportunity for them to share stories about their son. I now know sour candy is his favorite. I know blue is his favorite color. By creating a birthday remembrance for their son, and then sharing it with us, he is recognized and celebrated. And that is good mourning.

Forever, I will speak your name

December 14, 2020 / Mama Fish

Yesterday was National Candle Lighting Day. My on-line support groups blew up with pictures of loved ones no longer on earth. I am always shocked at the number of children who have finished their journey here, too early and whose moving to another realm has left so many here, lost.

Our own support group gathered in a park. Bundled to face the cold, cold weather, we huddled and shared how we were feeling with the upcoming holidays. Covid was a big topic; how it has brought in the walls and the isolation heightens the loneliness of grief. The ‘empty chair’ at Christmas was an acknowledgement; how this time is so different now. There were tears. There was a nodding of agreement to the feelings shared. We wish we didn’t know the people holding their candle and speaking their child’s name. Oh how we wish we didn’t belong here.

But we do. And as I looked around and listened to my fellow grief warriors, sharing with raw honesty, I also felt strength and love. This group gets me. This group walks the path I walk. Suddenly, I could feel the presence of our children. Through speaking their names and sharing some of the reasons why their child loved this season, the chill of the evening seemed to melt away.

The hour together reminded me I am not alone. And the hugs we shared reminded me I am loved. It also reminded me of the importance of human contact. We must find ways to keep in touch. It is essential for our mental health.

We reminded ourselves too, that we need to speak our loved one’s name. Forever. We must honor them. Forever. And we did that by showing up and speaking about them and lighting a candle to send a message to the heaven’s, to our children. You are loved. Forever. You are remembered. Forever.

Zane, you will always be the light of my life. Forever.

Examining the ‘What Ifs’

December 6, 2020 / Mama Fish

This past week a neighbor lost her 36 year old daughter to a diabetic complication. As we all do, she is experiencing anger. We want to blame something or someone for this terrible injustice. She believes that if our current times were different, she would have been visiting her daughter more and would have been able to support her better, avoiding this outcome. It is the beginning of her ‘what ifs’.

My ‘what ifs’ with Zane are long and complicated. What if I had listened to his fears more? What if I had insisted he not go out? What if he had stayed there a little longer? What if I had sent him to school away from here? What if….and each time a ‘what if’ comes up, it brings with it a gut wrenching agony.

‘What ifs’ are about examining what control we might have had and why we didn’t exercise it then that we might not be here now. ‘What ifs’ are all about how things might have turned out differently. The problem with ‘what ifs’ is that they can’t be answered. We don’t know. We will never know. So the possible outcomes of the ‘what ifs’ only create regrets or exaggerate a regret we already had. And regrets complicate grief.

So how do we stop the ‘what if’ scenarios that play over and over again? I believe you can’t and I also believe that sometimes facing the pain of the ‘what ifs’ can bring a little healing.

Some ‘what ifs’ we face are about things we couldn’t control in the first place. What if I had insisted he not go out? He was 26; he would have called me cute and told me he was going. By facing this ‘what if’ and understanding this was never in my control, I can let it go. I am so sad that he chose to go out that night, but why shouldn’t he have? He was enjoying a beautiful night with a beautiful friend. If they hadn’t been killed, I would have wanted this night to happen for him. There would have been no ‘what if’.

What if I had sent him to school? I don’t know his life plan. This ‘what if’ understanding is powerful. Only God knows the plan and thus many of our ‘what ifs’ are known by God, the Universe, whatever your higher power belief is. So a bigger picture is in place; one that we don’t see or understand in our grief. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I try not to soak in the ‘what ifs’ because there are no answers. If I do go there, I ask myself, do I know for certain that ‘what if’ would have kept him alive? No. My ego may think it can, but the truth is, I will never know. So I shift my thinking to what I do know. I think of all the things I did do, we did have and my mind begins to move on to more pleasant memories of our life together.

‘Tis the Season to be MADD

November 30, 2020 / Mama Fish

Recently my daughter asked how do we make change or increase awareness about the way Zane was killed. “If it was cancer”, she said, “I could be a part of a number of things to help promote, prevent and belong to…people get it. But what do people do about drugged driving?” Well, there is MADD and there is National Drunk & Drugged Driving Prevention Month (which happens in December) and there is Safe Driving Week…there are options. It got me to thinking, why have I not joined one of these? The truth is, I’m not sure which one is for me.

When the officer told us that Zane’s death was not an accident, that they were killed by a drugged driver, that it was a collision that could have been prevented, anger was the first emotion I felt. How the hell did this happen? How did anyone not notice? How could this man’s friends let him drive drugged? Why would he get behind the wheel when he was high? Why did no one see them and report them? Where were the police? How can something so avoidable be the reason that, not one but three people died on that road? Oh, the insanity, the utter grief that my son was killed by a man who shouldn’t have been driving in the first place.

I felt such hate for the driver that took away so much from so many. And then I stumbled upon a social media page of his. It had pictures of him, of his family, his sister who is my daughter’s age. It was the picture of his mom that I stopped scrolling and stared at her. There she was; the mother of the man who killed my son. I thought to myself how she would be sitting in her home, planning her son’s funeral, looking through his pictures and remembering happier times. I am sure she was a typical mother who loved her son and did her very best to ensure he was safe and healthy and happy. And with that, the anger melted into sadness and all I felt was pain for her. She was another mom who had just lost her son. This was a fellow mother who will live the rest of her life without hugs and the sound of her son’s laugh. Whose dreams of what he could have been will never come to fruition. She was sentenced to live in the same community as I do. It was not her fault. The rest is just details. Messy. Ugly. Details.

The year my son was killed there were 4,423 drug-impaired driving charges and 4,633 deaths due to drug overdose. On average, 4 Canadians are killed each day in alcohol/drug related motor vehicle crashes.

My daughter is right; we need to shout this out loud. Whether it is addiction or the victim of drugged driving, drugs are killing more of our children than any other cause. My question is why is this? And maybe that’s the focus we should be taking. That is the cause I want to join.

Reaching Out to Grieve

November 22, 2020 / Mama Fish

One of our closest friends lost her husband to cancer this week. As I write this, the smells of soup and banana bread fill the air. These comfort foods will be packed and delivered to her later today. We will cry and laugh and share memories of her sweet Bill.

When Zane was killed our home was filled with friends bringing over cards, meals, gifts and hugs. Although the shock and the grief blurred all that happened that day and the months following, I remember the love. My nephew and his (new) wife brought over a Booster Juice each day, knowing I wasn’t eating. A close friend brought a Chai Latte over every morning for me. Our neighbour brought food and our friends cleaned our home, brought tents and chairs for the back yard and fed everyone that was visiting. When we decided to have Zane’s celebration in our back yard, our friends came over and rebuilt our old deck. One of those friends was Bill. With a tracheotomy and a feeding tube, he worked in the hot sun for days alongside our other friends. He was the foreman. I was afraid the heat would kill him! He showed up and built us a deck that became the dance floor of dozens of Zane’s friends dancing to the sounds of the Back Street Boys! This love cradled our grief. It kept us from falling apart.

When a loved one passes on, the need to celebrate and honor them comes through the rituals of a funeral, a celebration of their life. It is a time to share stories about them that made us laugh. It is a time to express our sadness with tears of understanding. It is a time to honor our loved one with a sharing of song and prayer, pictures and readings. It is a time to gather and share mutual grief. It is a time to reach out and comfort each other; to hug and hold on to each other. When you are unable to gather and celebrate altogether, where does this grief go?

As humans we need the therapeutic touch of others. We need to break bread together. The current times are difficult for everyone but for those grieving, these times can be unbearable. If you are grieving, reach out. Don’t let your grief become isolated. If you know of one grieving, do what your comfort level will allow you to do to reach out. Bake bread, cook a meal to deliver. Send flowers. Call them or write them to let them know you are thinking of them. Share with them a story of their loved one. Reach out. Even if we can’t hug, reach out.

I will offer to give my friend a big hug. I hope she takes it. Her husband gave the very best, tightest hugs. When he hugged you, you knew you were loved. And I know my friend will miss those. I will too.

Covid Complicates Grief

November 16, 2020 / Mama Fish

Let me start by saying that I am in no way trying to minimize the seriousness of our current pandemic. We are all trying to learn the new rules and navigate through these unknown times. Having said that, I am consumed by the real and troubling ‘side effects’ of keeping safe.

Recently, a friend’s daughter was diagnosed with cancer. Another friend has had to move her husband to a hospice. Within my grief community I am connected to several moms who have lost their children during these times. These are sad and cruel realities of life in any time. With Covid, it gets complicated.

Face to face support groups have been moved to on line chat rooms. Funerals are limited to less people allowed to attend. Visiting hours are for family members with restrictions. You are told to keep your distance, share nothing and gather socially in small groups only. So we now meet around a fire pit where one bottle and great conversations have been shrunk to one glass and, off I go because I’m cold. As a social being, it has me edgy.

We all need support, especially when grieving. A Zoom meeting cannot replace the magic and healing power of human contact. There is no better cure for grief than a hug from a friend who cares. And yet, here we are. Deep, heart to heart conversations seem to be replaced with a quick high level, how are you doing. We know social distancing is not emotionally healthy; anger, depression and anxiety are all on the rise. These difficult emotions are a part of grief and with the scare and protocols of Covid, they are compounded.

I asked my friend how her daughter was doing. She told me that they had gone wig shopping that day. Sitting our safe 6 feet apart, parka and mittens on, I started to cry. I tried to reassure her by saying that perhaps shopping was a positive way for her daughter to take some control of a potential side effect. To which she replied; “I know. I just thought I would be shopping for a wedding dress for her. Not a wig.”

Our conversation, had we been snuggled on a couch together would have continued. Yes, more tears would have flowed and for sure a long hug would be had. And perhaps that would have given a bit of comfort to her; an acknowledgement that she is not alone in her grief. But, outside around the fire pit, we were interrupted and the conversation ended and she left before we could pick it up again. A moment lost.

Covid complicates grief by increasing isolation and removing human touch. We need to find some way of supporting each other better during these times. If we are safe physically but emotionally suffering, we are not well.

I believe that there are still occasions that mask on, fear aside, I need to hug and be hugged.

I Always Remember How You Like Your Coffee

November 9, 2020 / Mama Fish

Zane’s friends wanted to come to his celebration wearing his favorite color. The consensus was blue. Then it changed to dress blue or dress how you think Zane wanted you to dress. The joke was who would come naked. Thankfully, no one did. I remember thinking to myself, is that his favorite color? Oh yes, yes, of course it was. What was I thinking? Memory goes out the window when you are fresh in your grief. And we struggle with it forever after that.

Forgetting the little details of our loved one is one of the biggest fears. We want, need, to remember their laugh, their face, their voice. Grief does give you a foggy memory and that creates worry that we will wake up one day and the memories of our loved one has faded.

It is compounded by the awkwardness of others not wanting to bring up your loved one’s name. There is a hesitation of including them in present conversation when their physical life here is in the past. But if we believe they are always a part of our life, then they should be included. And the more we talk about them, the more we remember. And that is a good thing.

Then there’s the tricky concept, do we remember correctly? It goes to say if I acknowledge that I am having trouble remembering current things, then how do I remember the past with accurate detail?

I remember my mother started speaking of things about my father after he passed that I doubted were true. I would call my sister to say, “hey mom said this….is that what really happened?” Usually it didn’t or it was a twisted version of the truth. We would laugh. Maybe the fact my mother ended up with Alzheimer’s made it worse. I’m sure it did. But you get the point. Our memories don’t get sharper with age.

So how do we keep the details of our loved one from becoming fuzzy?

Start writing! We need to record all that we wish to hold onto. Start a list of their favorites, their milestones, their habits, hobbies and dreams. Maybe it’s a journal or a list on paper or a video you do. Maybe it’s a letter you write to them to capture the favorite memories. Whatever you choose to use and the style to record isn’t the focus; it’s having it captured to ensure that when we are having a moment we can go back to it and remember with clarity.

Is it important to have clarity? I believe it is another way to honor our loved one. Zane insisted on having 3 sugars and lots of cream in his morning coffee. Every time I make my coffee, I think of that. It makes me smile. There was more cream than coffee in his mug. Our loved one’s life had value here. They made mistakes, they had accomplishments, and they had a personality, a way of doing things that made us laugh and cry. The details should be remembered vividly, as it is the details that make them so very special.

The Agony of Bittersweet

November 1, 2020 / Mama Fish

My daughter received a marriage proposal that she has been anticipating all year. Her boyfriend did it right. He asked her father first, then carved a pumpkin with the words “will you marry me” and presented the ring in a tiny black casket. Creepy? Not if you know my daughter; she wishes to be married on Halloween.

I met them at our favorite watering hole to make a toast to the happy couple and to call family and friends to let them know the good news. It was a glorious, happy moment; a very sweet moment.

It was also a bitter moment. Her brother should have been the one to make the toast. He should have been the one to give her boyfriend the ‘big brother lecture’. He should have been the one to post on Instagram how happy he was for his lil’ sis. For grief warriors, sweet moments are tainted with a sad bitterness. I think this, feeling truly happy, is one of the hardest battles of grief to which victory may never come.

When you are grieving, happy times are complicated. You might feel guilty to feel something lighter than despair. You might feel anger that your loved one was robbed of this moment. You might feel jealousy that you can’t share with your loved one happy moments your friends share with theirs. True happy has become bleak. And that just brings on more guilt.

How do we fight bittersweet? How can we relish in the blessings that life brings to those we love here? We can try to include our missed ones. We can speak on their behalf; if they could talk what would they say about this moment? We could include a picture of them as part of the celebration. We could give a gift that symbolizes our missed one. Actively bringing our missed ones to the celebration is a way to honor them and to emphasize they will always be connected to our current moments.

I believe that we also need extra self-care during happy moments for others. It takes a lot of energy to join a celebration. Give yourself some down time prior to and after to rest. Let go of the guilt that feeling bitter brings. Remind yourself that, if grief and love are intertwined, then bittersweet is the emotion of the two.

Adopting Cultural Celebrations of the Dead

October 25, 2020 / Mama Fish

Not until I became a grief warrior did I discover how much western culture dismisses death.

The grace period seems to be about a year. During that time you are expected to return to work and other obligations but there is a naïve acknowledgment of how hard life must be. There is also an outpouring of sympathy around every holiday. Whispers of, “Oh this is her first Christmas, this is her first anniversary….” cards arrive in the mail box and friends drop by. I am told that some who grieve are given less than a year and others no attention at all. That is a whole other level of grief. My heart hurts for those suffering alone.

When year two arrives, there is an expectation that, since we made it through year one, the rest of our time on earth without our loved ones is quite manageable. Some have even suggested to me that by year two, “I should be over this now”.

Our culture does not like to acknowledge the ugly face of death. Nor does it like to celebrate it. In fact, we seem to do everything we can to bury our dead and move on quickly. This is accepted as normal bereavement behavior. Our culture sucks.

Somewhere in my first year, I learned of Día de los Muertos, a day to honor our dead. It is a Latin American celebration; an invitation to our deceased to join us from their spirit world for a night of song and food. What was not to like about this idea? I put out Zane’s favorite drink and a glass and gave a toast of cheer to him that night. Later in the season, I met a friend of Zane’s who, from Mexico, said this is her family tradition. She shared with me how and why they host this annual celebration and suggested I watch the Disney animated movie “Coco”.

She said, “They nailed the representation of Día de los Muertos. If you want a simple understanding of this holiday, watch the movie.”

Our family watched the movie. I cried. I suggest you watch it. It encouraged me to do this each year. So here we are. The pumpkin carving begins. The décor of bats and witches brooms adorns porches across my community. But inside, I have decorated my china hutch with orange and yellow flowers, candles and a couple sugar skulls. I have hung pictures of Zane and my other relatives who no longer live on this earth. I have called the family to join me for dinner on November 2^nd to sit around the table and celebrate those who we miss. I will serve their favorite foods; there will be wine and a Jameson shot (or two) and there will be laughter.

I believe that part of our war with grief is that we are told to move on, get over it or push past it. Death makes people uncomfortable. We need to create a culture for ourselves and others, where we are not only able to speak of the dead but to celebrate them and keep them an active part of our lives.

Dia de los Muertos is good mourning.

I’ll meet you in the Mountains

October 19, 2020 / Mama Fish

I have always felt better about life when I visit the mountains. It is something my children and I share.

I’m not sure if it’s the crisp air or the majestic scenery or the quiet sounds of nature.

Maybe it’s the combination of all these things. It is soothing. It is calming. It gives you permission to slow down and take deep breaths. The pressures of life are left behind in the city, as the snow capped mountains encircle my view. They seem to say “welcome home”.

So, when my grief overcomes every aspect of my life, I pack up an overnight bag and head to the mountains.

I usually travel with my sister and the day will be filled with some retail therapy, a bottle of wine and heart to heart conversations that go well into the night.

By morning I have a renewed hope that I will be ok.

The beauty of these short but necessary trips also make me feel closer to Zane. His love of this area and trips to experience Zen meant so much to him. The mountains have always been magical for me; as he knew and encouraged me to go often. In the mountains, I feel his presence beside me.

I think when we visit a place our loved ones treasured, we can energetically feel the shared joy, the positive experiences had and it reassures us of the connection we will always have with them. When we visit these places, we are in essence, reaching across the realms to spend time with those we miss.