Category: Shared Grief (Page 21 of 22)

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.

One More

July 26, 2020 / Mama Fish

I am longing for one more hug with my son. One more “I love you”. One more touch of his manicured hair. One more listen to the sound of his laugh. Oh how I loved his laugh.

For those of us grieving, the wish for just ‘One more’ is a popular wish.

We ask for ‘One more’ for reassurance. Did they know how special they were? How much they were loved?

We ask for ‘One more’ for closure. What did I need to tell you?

We ask for ‘One more’ for forgiveness. Did I do enough? Was I good enough?

We ask for ‘One more’ for love. That needed hug and touch of our loved one.

Why do we choose to cry out for one more? Why not a hundred more? Why not a million more? What could there possibly be in ‘One more’ that would make this grief any less? The truth is one more would never be enough.

Don’t ask me how I am

July 19, 2020 / Mama Fish

I recently had coffee with a friend, a fellow grief warrior. She brought up a pet peeve in our community; the simple and well intentioned question, “how are you?” Our answer would like to be “how the hell do you think I’m doing?” However, our answer is usually some version of, “I’m ok”, when in fact we are not. We will never be. OK, is the acceptable answer? It’s the answer we think you want to hear. Grief is not accepted in our culture as a lifelong sentence. But it is. And sure there are good days and even moments of joy as we move forward learning to live with our grief. But OK left when our loved one left.

I said to my friend, perhaps it is our responsibility to inform others how we want to be asked. We know the question comes from a place of love and concern. It’s just this question makes us feel guilty. Do I tell you the truth? Can you handle the truth? Is it appropriate? And some days, I don’t know how I’m feeling….I’m just getting by. I don’t have the energy to actually answer this question.

Maybe the question to someone grieving should be “how is your grief today?” This recognizes grief is a part of us and questions how much, at that moment, we are consumed by it. The response could be easier for us to express; “it is killing me” or “it is quiet today”. Acknowledging grief is important because it is a huge part of what we now are and the elevator question, “How are you”, does not fit in this community.

Personally, when I’m asked how are you, my go to answer is, “I’m here.” And I change the subject.

Journal Power

July 12, 2020 / Mama Fish

A great tool used by many grief warriors is the journal. I have used one most of my life. I taught my children to use one. And I use one now. Journaling is different than a diary. Journaling is writing about how you feel with a particular event, situation, day, emotion. It is about recording the moment and your reaction to it. The healing comes when weeks or months after you write; you go back and read your journal entries. And it reminds you of something that you might have forgotten. It reconnects you to how you felt then. It can illustrate a theme of behaviour or issue that you now see and can address.

When Zane was killed, I couldn’t write. My last journal entry, I wrote the date he was killed and one line. “My life came to an end.” There was nothing else to write about. So my therapist suggested I write a letter to Zane. I bought a new journal, one that had a phrase Zane loved and I took one of his pens he used to write in his journal. I cried. And then I wrote;

Dear Zane,

It has been 8 weeks since the crash. Payton said to a friend; “dad is sad, mom is mad and I am the strongest”. The fact is we are all stronger than we thought, maybe stronger than we want to be. But none of us are ok. Nothing is ok.

Each day begins with this ache in my chest. The ‘what ifs’ are so loud they overtake all else. And then, on auto pilot, the day unfolds. Each of us in our own stage of grief and each of us in pain.

I am told that this pain, this reality will have me live the rest of my life on a different level. I don’t know what that means really. I guess I will find out because there is no option but to be here.

Love you,

Mama Xo

I have been writing to Zane ever since. I write like he is away at summer camp. (My other journal I write the raw messy feelings and thoughts no mother would want her son to hear). Letters to Zane are about missing him, reminiscing, talking about what’s new with his friends, sharing conversations we should be having aloud, together. It is therapeutic. It helps ground me and it keeps a record of past and present to not be forgotten.

Sun, Dirt & Peace

July 5, 2020 / Mama Fish

I spent the first sunny afternoon we have had in a while, in my garden. We are told that Nature is the best place to begin to mourn. There is something about being in a park or by water or by your potted flowers that slows your thinking to a mindless focus. Spending time in your garden or with your potted plants connects you to the simplicity of life. You can feel the earth in your hands and the sun on your back. The fragrances of the flowers as you weed and trim floats up to greet your nose. I was joined by my favorite chipmunk who watched me as he ate the peanuts I left for him. Momma Robin dropped in looking for worms in the shade. The sound of a lawn mower in the distance and the bees humming were background music. No one else was around. I could completely zone out.

This type of solitude is therapeutic. It is physically exhausting and at the same time mentally calming. When we are grieving, you can feel over stimulated by the stress and expectations of life loud and moving around us. An afternoon in nature allows you to step away from all that. Wherever you live, try gardening in your yard or patio, tend to a few potted plants or make a little terrarium to care for. Gardening is good mourning.

Happy Father’s Day

June 21, 2020 / Mama Fish

My Father found death very difficult. He once told my mother, at a time when one of his relatives died, that he would not attend the funeral. My mother said:

“Norm, you have to go, it’s family”

To which dad replied, “Why? He won’t be coming to mine!”

He was a builder. He built everything from tables to cars but his specialty was relationships. There are some people who love unconditionally and without reservation. My father embodied this. He believed that a stranger was a friend you had not met and that family and friends were one and the same.

He taught us to laugh. In his last year, their roof needed replacing and the salesman was explaining the difference between a 20 year roof and a lifetime roof. My father stopped him quick and said;

“Good God man, I don’t buy green bananas, why would I want a 20 year roof?”

My father was my hero. He left this earth just before his first granddaughter was born. I believe he went to pick her out for me. That was 25 years ago.

We keep him alive through stories and he lets me know he is near with a fallen feather found on my walks. He is always loved, always missed.

On this day, the day to celebrate the man who helped raise us, I just want to say; “Thank you Dad”.

Signs

June 14, 2020 / Mama Fish

The last kiss I gave to my son was at the crematorium. I whispered into his ear, “Please find a way back, I need you.”

As we were leaving the building I stepped over a piece of paper lying in the middle of the doorway. My husband picked it up and handed it to me. First, it was odd to see; the building was quiet and it was an extremely clean, new building. I’m not sure how the paper got there at all. Second, I didn’t understand why my husband felt the need to pick up a piece of litter and then hand it to me to deal with!

By now we were in the parking lot and the sun was shining. I looked down at the paper and it was a sticker. It had a little boy on it that had Zane’s hair color and a dog beside the boy, much like our own dog. And the sticker read, “Just yelp for help.”

I laughed. Our whole family laughed. I looked up to the skies and said;

“Ok Zane, I ask for signs you are still with us and then I step over the first one! I promise I will always look for your signs!”

When you are grieving you always look for signs. The need for confirmation that our loved ones are still with us becomes an obsession. Signs bring comfort, they bring hope. Not many of us grief warriors will accept a more rationale like once you start to notice something you see it more often. We believe that the signs come from our loved ones to remind us they are near or that they have a message for us. This belief is much more palatable.

I call them postcards from my son. Some of them make me cry, some of them make me laugh and all of them make me feel more connected to him.

Hello

April 26, 2020 / Mama Fish

Have you ever had something go so wrong, it blew up everything you knew to be true about yourself and the world around you? Grief does that. It beats the crap out of you, picks you up and throws you into the new day. Every day.

My son was killed. It catapulted my family into a community of mourners. It is where I live now. If you know love, you will also know loss. Here, I share stories of great loss, the struggles of mine and my fellow grief warriors. This is also a place of hope and discovery. It is a place to explore how we might be able to one day whisper, Good Mourning, to our grief.