Category: Shared Grief (Page 3 of 26)

When Grief is Blinding

September 7, 2025 / Mama Fish

August was rough on all of us. Especially for my daughter, in ways she is aware of and in ways she has not yet come to understand. The story begins two days before her brother’s death day. A friend of Payton’s lost her brother, and then another friend lost his best friend. Payton found herself consoling each friend of the impacts of losing a brother to sudden death. She was strong, supportive and present for both and their respective families.

This was the catalyst of her angst. Grief arrived heavy. And angry. It was too much to bear, so close to the anniversary of her own loss. It birthed an intense desire to go over her own life and what she wants. More importantly, what she needs. And the answers to her introspection are different than anything any of us had imagined.

She admits she is afraid. She has come to an intersection of many unknowns and that is scary. What she isn’t seeing yet, is the drive behind her, the reason why she wishes to move every aspect of what is to what might be. It is because of the past seven years. The cyclical wreckage of holding it together and then falling apart. Her physical, emotional well being are nonexistent. Her soul is screaming, intuitively pushing her back onto a path she was derailed from when her brother was killed.

What she can’t clearly see is the love and the support of those around her to which will be her refuge when she awakens. When the pain of her decisions softens, the current blindness to how deep her grief is will become clear.

As grief warriors, we sometimes fall into the trap that others expect of us. The “I should be better by now” stage. My daughter felt that she should be healed enough to be counsel to her friends, that her grief, after this long, should be in check with the expectations of her present life. Time allows us to become blind to our grief. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, it shakes us hard, reminding us that we are changed and insisting to examine if the changes fit into our current day. It is a distinctive process of grief. It cannot be ignored.

That is where my daughter now finds herself. Intensified by the deaths of her friends’ brothers, her own grief has insisted that she see the areas that she needs to change. The necessity of shaping a more comfortable, loving space to live with all her losses.

Her reality is paused by her latest quest. Paying homage to a tattoo she has, “give me a lifetime of adventures”, she is enjoying a trip she planned to take seven years ago. Before her plans, all our plans were blown up. This trip is her need to revisit her life before grief took over. Her soul knows that the black sands under the northern lights will soothe her heart. As her mother, it is my hope that this trip will be the reset she needs to follow her true north, alongside the energy of those who guide her from above.

Bucket List Bound

August 31, 2025 / Mama Fish

When I was a young girl, I was fearless. I jumped off higher ledges than any boy. I drove the go-karts faster than anyone else. I fought for the underdog without any thought I too would be beaten up. I loved to explore everything. I had dreams of far away countries to visit. And then I grew up.

Adulthood, specifically motherhood, brought the realization that I was not invincible. I now had little people counting on me. I had to be safe. I had to be careful. If there were glimpses of maybe I could be more daring, they were shattered when Zane was killed. His death glued me to the belief that nothing can happen to me because my family really needs me now. It’s not ego that this comes from. It is pure fear.

So, this upcoming trip to meet my husband and daughter in Ireland has me scared. I hate to travel, but I am now travelling alone, over the ocean. Anxiety is at an all-time high. Nothing about airplane safety, the reassurance from my friends, or my brain telling me it’s going to be ok is comforting. I asked my Guides for signs. I need spiritual convincing that this trip will be a beautiful earthly experience.

I was cleaning out a box of old journals and one book drew me into opening it and reading some of the passages I wrote from decades ago. Included in it was a bucket list, and on this list was to own a VW beetle. I smiled, remembering the time after that list, when I was looking for a car and wanted a beetle, but it was impractical. It wouldn’t fit my multiple event supplies, or the kids golf clubs. It was Zane who said, “mama, you have always wanted this car. It’s on your bucket list. Get the damn car. Dad can drive our clubs.” I bought the car. It was the same car that I drove all over Alberta and Montana in. It was the same car my children learned to drive in. It was a bucket list item I loved, no regrets.

I continued reading the list. It was simple, motherly things like a home my children felt safe in. A quiet afternoon to enjoy nature. To write a book. And to visit Ireland. I stopped. Ireland? Where did this come from? I don’t remember writing down Ireland. I laughed out loud.

I think my spirit guides are playing with me. What better sign than to stumble across an old diary page that tells me I wanted to see Ireland. I’m off to Ireland. And I believe with the blessing of the Universe to have a safe and magical holiday. As only the leprechauns of this fair emerald country can bring.

A Toast to Zane

August 17, 2025 / Mama Fish

We made it another year. August is our toughest month. We relive the day Zane was killed. We celebrate his birthday. We battle through, holding each other and feeling our heartache, the bruises of this journey. It is what each grief warrior experiences with the death day and the birthday of their loved one. Our family is no different. This is how we have chosen to deal with it.

Seven years ago, when our world changed forever, we asked Zane’s friends how they wished to celebrate him. It was unanimous that the 7^th was to be quiet, individually pausing, no fanfare but the 13^th, the day of his arrival to earth, well, that day had to be cheered. And thus, each year, we are blessed to have many of his friends join us for a toast to Zane. This year was very difficult.

Other recent losses our family is experiencing are loud this month. But before these new hardships entered, I was already feeling the angst of August. I think mostly because of the number. There is something about seven that bothers me. It seems so long ago and yet we don’t feel that way. This year’s celebration was held at Zane’s first favorite pub and twenty of his friends came to play pool, catch up, enjoy the night and share stories of our unforgettable boy.

Each year I make a toast. This year I had to write it down. I was afraid of not remembering what I needed to say. Each year, I give out a little token, symbolic of something Zane would like or do. This year it was a key chain, a compass with a quote from Henry Thoreau that Zane loved. The line, “Live the life you have imagined” was one of Zane’s last journal entries. It is the line we had on his celebration card. It is what I reminded his friends to do in his memory with the following toast:

Today is Zane’s 34th birthday. A “seven” in numerology. No coincidence that it happens to fall on the 7th year since he was here physically. There is some magic, some supernatural cosmic underlying energy about this year.

7 is a heavenly number. A vibration of introspection and connection. Something Zane was all about. It is about paths becoming clearer. Direction becoming clearer. A push to move toward purpose.

In that number, action needed includes all things Zane loves. Exploring, discovering, lighting the world on fire.

Let’s use this year, the magical number 7 as a message of hope. A confirmation that our loved ones are forever connected to us. Death does not change that.

This birthday, let our gift to Zane be what he said 7 years ago, “Live the life you have imagined.”

And with that toast, we continued laughing and crying until my family poured me home to bed, taking the next day off to recover. Another year, our tribe continues to survive. Together.

Connection Through a Wind Phone

August 10, 2025 / Mama Fish

I came across the story of the Wind Phone a few years ago and called the woman who brought this novel idea from Japan to the U.S. It is a symbolic phone booth built and placed in a public spot, for those grieving, giving them the experience to call their loved ones. A healing concept I felt should be brought to Calgary. Time marched on and when I investigated how this might happen, I found out it was already here.

I waited to experience it, choosing the day before Zane’s ‘death day’. I found this simple undecorated wooden telephone box on stilts, with a black push button phone inside. This wind phone is found in the lovely and peaceful Union Cemetery. I walked up and picked up the receiver. I dialed Zane’s cell number. I imagined him picking up the other end, “hello?” and I began to speak into the phone.

“Hi Zane.”

“Hey mama…”

“So, here we are. I keep saying to everyone, can you believe it’s been seven years.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe this. I am at a loss pooh bear of how I have not yet awakened from this madness. I keep searching for you, waiting for you to come home.”

“Mama, I’m good.”

“I know.”

“Do you see the signs I send you?”

“Yes, I am grateful for them. Thank you.”

“I’m always close. You can’t forget that.”

“I know. I won’t forget. It just hurts…”

I continue, telling him about the latest events in our family. And after a few minutes, I said,

“Well, I’ll let you go, but I’ll call again soon.”

“Love you mama.”

“Love you more.”

And then something happened. It was time to hang up. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to end my conversation. Suddenly, I felt like I had this real connection through this unplugged phone to the heavens and what would happen if I hung up? It was a bizarre feeling of not wanting to say goodbye. Again.

I just stood there, holding the phone to my ear. Finally, I whispered, “please stay in touch.” I gently placed the handset back into place. I sat on a set of cement stairs next to the booth, placed my head in my hands and cried. When I caught my breath, I stood up and began to walk through the cemetery, accompanied by butterflies and a blue dragon fly. It was a beautiful, quiet, grounding experience to walk in the gardens amidst the markers of so many souls.

I am grateful for those who took part in the placement of a wind phone for all of us. The opportunity to be able to call a loved one and to hold conversation with them is therapeutic. Spiritually fitting, the phone, in a setting that holds so many stories and has witnessed so many tears. The same place that now connects hearts across the realm to be able to utter, “I miss you.” And the wind carries the message home.

Dancing In the Dark

August 3, 2025 / Mama Fish

I was invited to attend a musical to which my nephew was working at. This was his first professional gig aligned with the secondary education he has achieved. We are all so pleased for him. When the invite came, I was excited to be there, watching him in his element. What I wasn’t sharing with anyone was the anxiety I had over the idea of sitting in a room full of people listening to music for two hours. Music is my biggest grief trigger.

Zane loved music. As a kid, he played the piano and the guitar. He had thousands of songs on his playlist. He went to every concert. His ear pods were an everyday necessity. Music was his therapy. At his celebration of life, his video eulogy played to his favorite tunes. His friends danced to Back Street Boys in our back yard. Music and my son are one. I cry, even now, every time a song that he would enjoy begins to play.

The theme of the night was music from the 1980’s. It was my hope that this genre would not strangle me with memories. I had a plan of how I would leave if it did. I put on the ‘big girl panties’ and set out to enjoy the night and celebrate my nephew. He deserved this. I wanted to be witness to it.

The show began. The actors were brilliant. We were encouraged to sing along, clap and shout. We obliged as the songs from the era I enjoyed filled the room. At one point, I looked over to see my nephew owning his role and my heart filled with a sense of joy. I reached over to the empty chair that was next to me and tapped it, whispering to myself, “see your son Dan? How proud are you?” Suddenly Bruce Springsteen was singing Dancing in the Dark and coming my way!

He reached out his hand and pulled me onto the floor and we danced to the verse, “you can’t start a fire sitting ‘round crying over a broken heart…” and when I was back in my seat and he was singing his way to the next guest, I knew Zane was also there. He wouldn’t miss a concert. Even in spirit.

That thought brought me strength. I laughed silently at the idea that my son found a way to reach out to me to remind me there was a time I too enjoyed music. That I am going to hurt no matter what. Would I rather shy away from the things that once brought me happiness because they now bring me sadness. Or am I brave enough to start a fire to spark change. Changes that may transform my sadness into moments of enjoyment. As did that evening. Bliss can be present, even if we are dancing in the dark.

The Heart Continues

July 20, 2025 / Mama Fish

I have had high blood pressure most of my life and it has always been easy to manage with diet and natural supplements. However, since May, I have struggled, and I am now in the care of cardiologists with my weeks spent in medical offices or at home preparing for more ugly tests.

After several exams, and the wearing of a heart monitor for a 24-hour period, the tests are inconclusive. What was found is that there is a spike in heart activity in the moments where my heart should be resting which seem abnormal. Especially around three in the morning. More tests have been scheduled.

Since 2018 I have woken early each morning around three. The time Zane was killed. Sometimes I fall back to sleep but often I lay awake. I have gotten used to this routine, never thinking how hard on my heart it might be. It has become an odd routine from the day-time reality. I have accepted that I will wake, I will remember, I will feel a pain in my chest. So, when I do, I whisper into the night, “hello, who is here to chat with me” Someone is always there. It is my red thread to the other realm.

The red thread or red string of fate is seen as both a physical and spiritual entity, the nature of human relationships that are tangible and deeply rooted in the metaphysical. Original folklore stated the red string was about meeting the person you were to marry. Over time, it has morphed into something deeper, related to all connections of the heart. Simply, the red string ties you to those you share destiny with. It goes beyond time and space. It is meant to be a reminder to reflect on relationships with mindfulness and gratitude.

Our heart hurts when we experience grief. It is bound to shake up the electrical wiring of our being. We are told that grief brings with it complicated emotional and physical symptoms. Why then would it be so unusual for my heart to become abnormal, living with such loss.

Grief warriors are taught that pain inside the heart can be a loved one reaching out to you. A physical tug to say, “I’m still here”. I like to believe that Zane pulls on that string. Letting me know that I have not lost him. He is still with me, connected by the abstract idea that the red string cannot be broken.

As my doctors continue attempting to pinpoint a cause for my heart’s tribulations, I wonder if they could diagnose the effects of long-term grief. Of grief so heavy that the heart screams with each beat, “I miss you”. A heart that continues, although shattered by so much sadness. Maybe the question should be, how long does the heart go on before it starts to show the wear and tear of its brokenness. Apparently, for me, it is coming up seven years.

Loss Through Divorce and Death

July 13, 2025 / Mama Fish

It is hard to sit next to a loved one and watch them continue to make decisions that will extend or accentuate their state of sadness. One of our own has been trying for over a year to ‘save’ their relationship. Although, to all of us it seems very one-sided, I find patience in the fact that to the truth, there are always three sides. Then, recently I overheard a conversation of someone we don’t know, which made me think about the correlation between death and divorce and the role of loss.

A couple was arguing of his whereabouts. I heard him defend himself, explaining in detail where he had been and what had happened. It seemed simple. His lack of patience and tone increased as her refusal to accept his explanation continued. Screaming ensued and she left. I don’t know the full story, I do know neither were happy.

Relationships should end when there is abuse or reconciliation is impossible. It’s when do you say enough and go your separate ways. That is the tricky part. Relationships are hard. There should be a gallant effort to save the love that once was, that might still be there. But when, at the end of the day, there is a divorce, that is where loss steps in. And grief soon to follow.

Some of the books I have read, the author shares their story of loss through divorce. It contains all the aspects of grief; the emotions, the struggle to accept this change, the emptiness of reality, the search for identity of who they are now. If the heavy pain of loss becomes too much in this scenario, there is an urgency to get the relationship back. Regardless of the notion that together might not be better, for one or both.

With death, they are not coming back in physical form. The only option here is we must learn to live with grief. As I pondered this detail, the obvious difference between the two types of losses, I realized how important the mantra, “loss is loss” truly is. There is a different strength required to let go of something that has died but that still lives elsewhere. I believe that it has its own unique bag of questions, challenges and heartaches.

I’m not comparing the two. Not in the least. I am only suggesting that it is important to recognize the loss, more so than how it came to be. My loved one, as they struggle with an unwanted breakup, is focused on how to fix this, hoping for reconciliation. The use of energy is spent working out the odds of maybe. It is an option, rather than selecting loss. When sitting still, my loved one can admit this. Their brain comprehends ending this relationship is for the best. It is the heart that is unaccepting.

True loss is something is gone, regardless of why. With death, loss is very clear. Grief arrives with it. With divorce, loss is misconstrued, accompanied with necessary decisions that make it messy. It is only when loss stands alone with no other options that grief arrives in its entirety.

What is needed, with any loss, is to focus on the exquisiteness of the love that was once and shape this into something beautiful to carry in the heart, honoring the memories and the impact of the time shared. That may not be simple. But it is all that we can do. That we should do. Because loss, no matter how it arrives, stays with us forever.

When Purpose Must Change

July 6, 2025 / Mama Fish

The art of finding your way, your purpose, who you want to be when you grow up is often lost in the day-to-day busyness of life. Major events are the catalyst of bringing us back to the attention of what am I doing here. Most often it is a milestone birthday, an achieved goal like graduation, a proposal or retirement. And for mothers, often, it is the birth of their child.

I was visiting a friend of my nephew’s, who has recently had a baby. She was telling me that she had an epiphany in the hospital as her partner wheeled her to NICU to see their son. She told me, “I am thinking that I am a mom now. I can’t just be. I have to save the world or something. For him.” I smiled, her sweet baby nestled in my arms, his big eyes looking straight into my soul. “Yes, motherhood does that to you”, I said. She went on to tell me about how she has gone back to school and her plans for a business degree. I am so proud of her.

Motherhood is a purpose. It is the driving energy behind a lot of movements. The maternal, mother bear instinct to protect and to nurture. To be better, make better, live better. And when you lose a child, that huge purpose in your life feels like it too died. Who am I now?

It is perhaps the reason why, with grief, there is a shift in our attitudes. At first, we are strangers with ourselves, not wanting any difference from before. Slowly, we begin to realize that the choice is not to stay the same. It is not possible, it can’t be. This acceptance gives us the freedom to seek out what our new purpose may be. It gives us permission to take our time to ponder who am I with this life on earth and my child in spirit. What now is my purpose.

Death is the mother of major events that stop us in our tracks to review who we are. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross once said, “…you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to”. Death insists on us finding a new or altered purpose from the one we had before. It’s another piece of grief work to do which takes energy and time. It is an exploration of what it is now to be, with you as the sole explorer of this new journey. Who do you want on your path, who will walk and sit beside you. Who will you become. It is scary, but it can also be liberating.

I believe that purpose is born out of love for something or someone. Such that, when grief enters, it shakes up the purpose, it makes you redesign your purpose, but it doesn’t take it away. Our purpose is shifted. It might be shifted to bring justice for our loved one’s death, or an awareness to others. It might be shifted to others needing you. It might be shifted to a past calling or a reconnection to the person or life you had once imagined. Purpose, like love, does not die. It just changes energy.

The Souls of Rotary

June 29, 2025 / Mama Fish

Our city welcomed Rotarians from around the globe to visit and celebrate community service through the annual International Conference. My husband’s Rotary Chapter hosted a BBQ for fifty delegates to which we were invited to. A beautiful moment with old friends meeting new friends and sharing stories of personal experiences had through the involvement of Rotary. It was enjoyable, to which many emotions were felt as I caught up with people who I have not seen for years and some whom I will never see again. Surreal might be a good word to describe the night.

There were the new introductions which included how I was connected to Rotary and what did I do and how many children did I have. For the most part, easily answered. As I was chatting with one of the wives of Jon’s Rotary group, another joined us. We exchanged pleasantries and then she asked me, “what are your two kids up to?” She had remembered, we had the same number of children but had forgotten what we have gone through. I smiled and told her about Payton getting married and her upcoming trip this summer and then moved the conversation back to her by asking about her son’s recent travels. When she left, the woman I was previously chatting to, noticed my tattoo as I reached for my drink and asked, “was this for Zane?” Yes. “Do you have other tattoos?”, she asked. Yes. “May I see them?” As I pointed out each tattoo I have in memory of my son, she nodded. Her sincerity was genuine. It was wonderful how she remembered. And I realized why she did that. She was ensuring me that Zane was not forgotten, as was seemingly the case from the previous conversation with the other woman.

I was not angry with the other woman; I knew that it was an oversight on her part. We are not close, and we see each other seldom. She is a wonderful caring being who came over to say hello. The beauty in the innocence of her question was that she will always remember me as the mother of two children.

Another mother who has lost a child in this small Rotary family, came over to give me a hug. Our hugs are different. They are more of a “I see you are still standing” hug with never the question, “how are you”. I remembered this was the time of year she had lost her daughter. We had attended the funeral, with no ability, at the time, to comprehend the horror of what she was going through. She told me of how they celebrated her this year. I reached out to hold her hand. She squeezed back and said, “it’s been sixteen years, and it still feels like yesterday”.

The night carried on, catching up with others of their own challenges with health, family, retirement and as I listened, I thought of how it has been over thirty years that I have associated with this group. When Jon joined, we were all so young, starting families, buying a new home, eager to help change the world. And now, we stand, together, much older, each carrying the scars of experience that life has bestowed upon us.

The fellowship of this group is steadfast. We have celebrated happy times and stood behind each other during hard times. It is the Rotary way, “service above self.” It is how we live, how we raised our children. A surge of gratitude filled my heart that night, to be a part of a collective whose soul purpose is to shine their light such that others may see the way.

The Yin and Yang of Grief

June 15, 2025 / Mama Fish

Men are different. They are built to be problem solvers, strong and non-emotional. And yes, ‘modern men’, are more in touch with their feelings and many do not shy away from tears. Yet, there is a difference in the make up of grief between men and women. It has been a recent discussion amongst my female grief warriors; how their husbands handle, or don’t handle grief.

Grief being a very personal and often lonely journey, can also be blinding. We get immersed in our own pain and instinct takes front seat. Researchers have confirmed this and have identified it as two different types of grieving, masculine and feminine.

Masculine grievers keep to themselves, they appear in control, getting on with life, believing they need to fix their grief. Feminine grievers want to tell their story, feel their way through the pain with support and connection. Feminine grievers often have a deeper feeling of guilt when life pushes them to move on. It is important to note that these patterns are on a spectrum to which individuals can exhibit both styles.

I didn’t handle my grief when it first arrived. I focused on my family, their needs and how I could help. I ignored mine. I watched my husband pack his car to visit friends and family, following his energy with social and solitude. I watched my daughter try to cope with a combination of remembrance and finding new relationships. My family needed to gather for the holidays, and I arranged the details. Looking back, I was a mix of masculine and feminine. More masculine in the early days; I wanted to fix the pain my family was feeling. I wanted to control the tiny, shattered pieces left of our life. But in no way, did I want to get on with life. What was life without Zane?

My true grief, the grief I have come to know and am trying to honor, is feminine. I want to share my story, to connect with others walking this path for support and to support. I still do not want to move on. That is the part of my grief that I believe will always be within me and why I struggle with giving up anything that is related in any way to my life before Zane was killed. That complicated concept of feminine grief makes so much sense now.

It is the reason why my mother friends can’t change the bedroom their child lived in or discard the boxes of personal items from their apartment. It is the reason why my mother friends showcase a tattoo symbolic of their precious child. It is why they wear their child’s ashes in a charm or bead. The feminine side of grief shouting out for remembrance.

Within the conversations of my friends who have lost a child, there are common denominators. One of them is that they worry their husbands are not ok because they appear to be discounting their grief. The truth is that they are grieving, just differently. Understanding that there are generalities around gender and grieving sheds light to why we sometimes are not on the same page.

The important factor is to recognize that the grief journey is a solitude one to which we may not understand the path the other chooses. When we respect the yin and yang of grief, which is felt within each of us, we can then respond with love in the knowledge that the essence of all life is trying to find our own balance.