Category: Shared Grief (Page 19 of 20)

Can Gratitude be Found in Grief?

October 11, 2020 / Mama Fish

A Thanksgiving tradition around our table was to state what you were most grateful for that year. Zane would always include mashed potatoes and dressing in his list. Any other side dishes were unnecessary.

It can be hard to feel grateful, especially during the holidays. The deep, sincere feeling of true gratitude is tainted with the ache of not having your loved one physically sitting at the table. “Count your blessings” is harder to do when one of your biggest blessings is not here to mash the potatoes.

I am told that actively seeking things to be grateful for helps your grief. When we are grieving it is difficult to see past the pain; but if we can try, there are small and big things that we can be grateful for.

As a mom I know that the once happy traditions still need to go on. It is very important that we keep up the celebrations of yesterday. Yet a big piece is missing. So each year I play with tradition just a bit; I try something new, tweak how things were done to ensure I am honoring both my family here and my family of the other realm.

Of course I am grateful for my daughter, our family and our friends who have sustained us during our grief. I am grateful for the professional care and the fellow parents I have met through group counselling. And I remind myself, as I set the table, that each place setting there will sit an individual that I love and that shares this life with me. There is comfort in that. The fact that I have conjured up the strength to be with others, I am grateful for that.

I believe that we grief warriors can find gratitude. It is different than the gratitude I felt before Zane was killed. It is softer. It carries an awareness of how fragile special moments are. It can remind us of the many things our loved one brought into our lives that we will always be grateful for. Seeking gratitude is important; it gives our heart hope to carry on.

Building a Life of Mindfulness

October 4, 2020 / Mama Fish

In the spring of 2018 I was under the care of a Professional for high blood pressure. She wanted me to practice mindfulness. Her theory was that if I was ‘more in the moment’ that I would feel less stressed, less anxious and less worried about things I have no control of. In August (2018) at my appointment, she asked me if I was practicing being in the moment. I shared with her my summer. In July, my daughter was driving my car home when a man ran a red light sending her to the hospital and my car to the salvage yard. As I dealt with insurance and her physiotherapy appointments while looking for another vehicle, I was also waiting for the results of a biopsy to rule out I had ovarian cancer….and then Zane was killed…what particular moment did she want me to be in? Which one of any of my present moments did she think would bring me less worry and more peace? Mindfulness was not a priority or a desire. She agreed.

When you are grieving it is VERY difficult to be in the moment. It is unbearably painful. The present sucks. And mindfulness is all about being and appreciating the present moment. Mindfulness is for the blessed.

So how does a grief warrior use mindfulness as a tool to mourn? You create a present that you can live in. You fill your calendar with things that might bring you joy like music or movies or wine with a friend who listens. You create habits that support your mental and physical health like a walk in the park or a bike ride along the river. You say yes to more cuddles with your pet and afternoons reading a good book. You collect and fill your home with things that bring you peace…pictures, plants, blankets that belonged to your loved one or that your loved one would have liked or that you yourself feel good about. And you continue to honor and speak of your loved one.

By filling our days with as many things as we can that ground us; we can begin to build a present we can be mindful about.

Remembering Autumn Leaves

September 28, 2020 / Mama Fish

As I walk our dog in the park, the ground is covered with the colored leaves of Autumn. As his little feet toddle along our path, the rustling sound of the leaves pulls me back to a time when Zane was just three.

We would walk down to the neighbourhood park while we waited for dinner to cook. Together, we would make big piles of fallen leaves and then jump into them, lying on our backs and laughing. We would look up at the skies and take turns pointing at clouds and naming what they looked like.

I can still remember the crunch of the dried leaves underneath us. The musty smell of the ground tickled our noses. The sound of Zane’s young giggle as he jumped back up to say;

“Mimi, let’s do one mo time.”

I can remember the deep joy, the love of those afternoons together. He was my little buddy; it was the two of us. The memory of those fall afternoons live with vivid detail forever in my heart.

This particular memory hit me hard this season. I am not sure why. I have walked through the leaves many times before. But this time, something about that memory filled my heart with the cold ache of missing the past.

Grief has no pattern of what memory may bring comfort and what memory may bring you to your knees. Memories often come in random fashion and the day, the mood, the level of grief has the memory leaving you smiling or crying or both. It is called ‘riding the wave of grief’. Sometimes it is a gentle whisper. Sometimes it is a hurricane, crashing in and leaving you to gasp for breath. There is no play book of which memory will come in as a whisper and which will come in as a storm. There is no set schedule. We must be ready for either.

I hope that your memories fall gently this season.

What are you really wishing for?

September 21, 2020 / Mama Fish

I bought a battery operated pillar candle that had a timer. I placed it on a small patio table by our front door. I had it timed to go on a little before Zane would come home from work, around midnight. He enjoyed listening to podcasts sitting next to its artificial flame as a way to unwind after a long busy shift. For the first year, after the crash, I would go to the door before bed and see it shining, waiting for him to come home. And I would whisper, “Love you, miss you, wish you were here”.

The number one wish for grief warriors is “I wish you were here”. Lately I’ve been thinking about this. Does this wish negate our belief that our loved ones are always “here”? If we believe, to any depth, that they are at peace, in a better place or free…is it selfish to wish them back to here? We want them here because we miss them. We want them here to share (more) life with us. We want them here so that we can hear their voice, their laugh. We want them here because we miss hugging them. But when we say “I wish you were here” we are telling ourselves they are not here…and good mourning is all about looking for signs that they are still with us. Our loved ones are always here with us. We must believe this.

Perhaps our wish should be more about what we are really wanting, really missing. Maybe the wish is actually for us. Perhaps we should reword this wish. Perhaps we should be more specific. Maybe the wish YOU is really about I. I wish I could hear your voice here. I wish I could see you here.

With my grief, I have found it helps when I believe to my core, Zane is still here. Although his (new) spiritual form I wish was not reality, it is a form to which I am still his mother and he is still very much a part of my life. And for this belief to be solid, I can’t say wish you were here. I must tell myself he is here. So I have changed my wish. And at night, when I look out the door, I now whisper, “Love you, miss you, wish I could hug you here”.

The Silent Demands of Grief

September 14, 2020 / Mama Fish

I have always been an A-type personality. It has caused physical illness and mental struggles and yet I keep living my life like a squirrel caught in traffic. The upside has always been that I get more done than the average person. I am organized and I take on the world, so lots to do. But is this an upside?

I have been told by everyone in my life, current and past, that I need to slow down. How do you do that when you are engrained to do all for all in only a 24 hour period each day? That has been my struggle.

Now, with grief, it is so much more difficult. It is complicated. My grief demands my time. It demands me to sit and cry and ponder the ‘what if’s’ and pine for yesterday. It does not take note of the growing task list and the time ticking to the deadlines for work projects, social engagements or personal goals. It shows up unexpected, it never leaves and it is loud.

When I try to ignore it and focus on what needs to be done, it becomes tricky. It messes with my memory and I begin to forget obvious things, like my friend’s name or that dinner was in the oven an hour longer than needed. It seeps into my muscles and bones causing arthritic flare-ups. And yet, I move on, ignoring it and the side effects it brings. And when I do that, my grief becomes angry and I become short tempered, snapping at the poor dog because he is taking too long to sniff the grass. And if I don’t pay attention to how busy I am, my grief then crushes me with a tidal wave of emotional pain, triggered by something I didn’t expect and the tears come and the day shuts down. And the guilt sets in.

Grief cannot be put into your day timer at a convenient time to experience it. You cannot schedule grief. If you try life becomes complicated and harder to cope. Grief demands that you pay attention to it. Thus, we must plan our day to be gentle. Our schedules cannot be over loaded. Our social life must be simple with a plan to exit if need be. Our calendar needs room, every day, for grief to be addressed.

As a text book A-type, I must accept that my grief keeps me busy. And my grief is a priority. It is ironic that through my grief, I may also learn how to slow down.

Pictures Immortalize

September 6, 2020 / Mama Fish

It took one phone call to one close friend of Zane’s to fill our home that day. In a matter of hours, over fifty people came through the front door, bringing food and drink and tears. I watched Zane’s friends, many who we knew since they were babies, have a shot of Jameson’s in honor of our son. They laughed. They cried. They hugged. They shared stories of Zane and reassured us how much our son loved us. “We were his all”. They stayed until late that night. One friend, as he left, hugged me and said;

“Thank you for opening up your home to all of us. It is the only place we can find comfort right now.”

His words reminded me that we were all in pain.

Zane’s friends are inherited blessings. They brought pictures of Zane and the adventures they shared. They brought letters and stories Zane had written. They left them with us. The pictures adorn our walls now and the letters and memorabilia given to us bring us comfort. We would not have these without his wonderful friends.

Some people have troubles with pictures. We have one friend who asks us each time they see Zane’s picture up if it is slowing our healing down. Some grief warriors can’t look at any pictures. It’s kryptonite. There is no right way to grieve. For us, I have Zane’s pictures and his belongings naturally scattered around the house. As if he was still living with us. I find comfort in these reminders that he is and will always be a part of our life.

Pictures and items of our loved ones are filled with their energy. They hold the essence of our child. They are a snapshot of an experience they had, one of their stories. These stories are now one of our shared memories. His pictures bring me back to that happy time and place. I can feel grateful that he laughed and had such fun times.

Yes, certain days his pictures are painful when my grief is crashing in. But it is not the picture that brings this grief on. I don’t need a picture to remind me that there will not be another snapshot to frame. Zane’s things are proof that my son was involved, adventurous and loved. And when I hold his things or look at the pictures, I tell my grief that.

Don’t Change the Dishes

August 30, 2020 / Mama Fish

Recently my husband bought a brand new set of dinnerware. And I lost it on him. Flipped out, shouting what the hell do we need another set for? Why would you do this? Typical, just go out and buy stuff we don’t need. The truth is we did need another set. Our current dishware, although in relatively good shape was old and we were down to 3 plates. So why the inappropriate melt down?

I came to realize it wasn’t about the dishes at all. It was about change. Whether you like change or not, and I don’t, when you’re grieving, change of any kind can be unsettling.

Every little change screams at me that things are not like they were before. Things are different. Zane is missing. Time is moving on without him here to experience new things with me. It isn’t the dishes. It’s another change in my life. The dishes were a reminder of all the meals I served him on the old plates…that he will not have on the new plates…. It’s these types of changes that taunt me and pull at my grief bringing it to new levels of pain. My rant towards my poor husband demonstrated that change can bring on ugly grief spurts. This is the complexity of grief.

I have accepted the new dishes. I took the old ones out of the cupboard and took a picture of them. I then carefully wrapped them in tissue and boxed them to give away. Someone else can enjoy these dishes that my kids and I chose for our family years before. I washed and put the new dishes into the cupboard. They are beautiful; I am happy they look like a set my mom had before she left. I rationalize change by connecting it to something that I enjoyed in the past. It helps soften the fact it is still a change.

A Birthday Gift from Zane

August 16, 2020 / Mama Fish

August 13^th gathered dozens of friends in our back yard for a BBQ and a toast to Zane. It should have been his 29^th birthday. “Good food, good drink, good company”. Zane’s 3 key ingredients to happiness. We honor him by including these things in every celebration.

Earlier this year I had ordered a memory bead. I wanted a custom designed pendant that represented the calming nature of our favorite areas. I gave full artistic leverage to Laurel. I trusted her to work with my son’s spirit to create a piece that would bring me comfort.

The night before Zane’s birthday, Laurel called me. She asked; “where will you be tomorrow, I need to see you”. I told her I’d be home. She came over that afternoon with a small box and a story that gave me goose bumps. She had not been feeling well and had laid down for a nap. She had this sudden pull, a calling to get up and get working. She went into her studio and pulled out some glass and the little bag of Zane’s ashes and had in her mind an idea for my pendant. What she thought and what ended up the piece she put in the kiln were two very different pieces. She felt guided by something to do this piece. Could it be Zane? She had never experienced this before.

She told me, as I opened the box, that she felt so strongly that she had to get this to me today, the 13^th. “It is a gift for my mama”, she heard. Inside the box was a glass pendant. Half of the pendant was cream and beige colored glass, like a river edge. The other half was ice blue with bubbles and swirls and inside a streak in the shape of a feather. It has 3 green, tiny fir trees, symbolic of me and my two babies. It is perfect. It is our happy place captured and threaded onto a silver chain that hangs just over my heart.

Laurel did not know it was Zane’s birthday. She never experienced artistic channeling before and she said that it was a bit unsettling, but really cool. She said I have a son whose spirit is loud and engaging and knows what he wants. He directed the whole thing.

I laughed, seems death has not changed his personality.

Resolutions for Good Mourning

August 9, 2020 / Mama Fish

The New Year or birthdays are the popular times to reflect and set new goals. When the kids were young I was told September was a good month to set goals for moms. It’s back to school, summer rest behind and the pace quickens; fall was a good time to set new plans, hopes and goals for the family.

For those of us grieving, I think D-Day, the ‘anniversary’ of your loved ones departure, is a good time to set new resolutions. We are different now. Our plans for the future forever eliminated or changed. Goals are around surviving, remembering, battling grief and figuring out how to live with this pain for the rest of our lives. Resolutions can bring hope and action to what you need to battle your grief. I believe some resolutions are made unconsciously; our very first one was “you will always be remembered”.

This week marked 2 years since Zane was killed. I spent the week reflecting. What have I done over the last two years to mourn? What have I done to honor my son? The past is blurry from grief so I sat to make a list:

I went to grief counselling, took a photography course and a blogging course. I am learning as I grow.

I write letters to Zane, write poetry and journal. I bought ‘the dude’-that’s another story.

I got a tattoo. His printed words forever inked into my forearm bring me comfort.

I honored my son by advocating for his degree so that it is recorded he graduated from University (he was two courses shy of getting it). I paid off his beloved car (well insurance did, but that’s just a detail). I started a therapeutic photography project and a bursary in his name.

We host a BBQ on his birthday that provides a forum for his friends to come over and eat, drink and share stories of their adventures together.

As I reflect it appears there is a close link between honoring your loved one and mourning. When we honor those who are no longer physically here, it is an expression of our love for them. It enables their existence to continue. Yes, in a different way, but honoring them gives new memories of how they are a part of your life. Still.

These types of action are defined as mourning; an eternal expression of your grief. So honoring your loved ones is mourning. Take a moment to reflect and add to your resolutions, whenever you make them, how you will practice good mourning.

D-Day is here

August 2, 2020 / Mama Fish

August long weekend is the weekend that calls and cards and well wishers let us know that we are being thought of. “This is a tough weekend. We are thinking of you.” I appreciate their acknowledgement of our struggle.

In our family we call it D-Day. My daughter chose this word for us. Anniversary is something that should be happy. Angelversary was suggested and she indicated none of us will be celebrating that. She wants her brother here, not some invisible Angel. Nope, she said we will call this day D-Day, short for Death Day. It is accurate, it is blunt, raw and it does not celebrate he is somewhere else. It simply marks the day to which Zane was ripped out of our lives.

This D-Day marks 2 years. I have no idea how I got here. The pain of missing my son was more intense this last year. I’m not sure if it is that the shock has worn off or that people expect you to be better. The first year you spend in fear of how do you get through each holiday, special occasion, ordinary days. But you do. There is support for you; friends, family, grief counsellor…it’s like the first experiences without your loved are unfathomable but if you can get through ‘the first year’, you will be ok.

Then the second year comes along and screams at you;

“This is now your life. Every holiday, every special occasion, every day there will be grief.”

More strength is required. More anger is felt. The heartache continues to dig deep into your soul. It is not ok. Not even a little bit. It is a battle, and you fight to get through each day. And you do.

Maybe this is why, as friends stop by to check in, I smile. Their thought that D-Day is the most difficult day for us illustrates the innocence, the blessing they have to not know or understand the life we have now.

D-Day will come and go. And I will begin my third term as a grief warrior.