Category: Shared Grief (Page 3 of 20)

An Easter Message from Heaven

March 31, 2024 / Mama Fish

In our family, Easter is another excuse to gather. It includes traditions; my daughter still insists on an egg hunt. We try new things. This year the highlighted cocktail is a ‘bunny mary’ (same as a bloody mary but with carrot juice!). I am sure Zane would approve. It is a fun, light-hearted and simple holiday but with a deep message. It kicks off the season to warmer days and the fresh smells of rain. It represents natures message of new beginnings and religions message of the same, to live fully, the life we are blessed with.

One of my like-life visits from Zane, after he was killed, was he came bouncing up the stairs to greet me, wearing a bright blue jacket. He ran into my room, grinning from ear to ear. I hugged him and squealed, “you’re alive, you’re alive…” and he smiled and then melted onto the rug as I screamed, “come back!” I have never forgotten that dream. It felt so real, and it came at Easter.

The following Easter, I dreamt I had come into the room and Zane was at the end of a table, sorting eggs & treats. I asked what he was up to, and he replied, “It’s Easter, we must get ready.” He seemed content sorting out the different Easter symbols. I woke, disturbed, wondering what I was to be ready for. And each year since, I have had Zane visit at Easter with a similar message. It wasn’t until this year I started considering any underlining significance of these visits when my father came with Zane to tell me, point blank, watch out, for this is a season where things happen. Subtle, but important things.

We have a lot of birthdays around this season. My father passed away at Easter. The kids’ first pet arrived at Easter. We have had friends die at this time of year. Why was my father accompanying Zane this time. In this dream, according to my father, I have not been paying attention. He needed to come with Zane to set me straight! So typical of dear old dad.

My belief that spring is the season to bring into play your best self was something I learned from my family and shared with my children. I am sure my father and son’s awareness of my constant go-go-go, my total disregard for what ails me, and lately, my scary high blood pressure, has them rolling their eyes and shaking their finger at me as does my earthly family. I know this sounds so far out there but I could feel the two of them sitting next to me. Telling me to take some of my own advice!

The Easter visits, the vividness of Zane’s physical body coming through slumber has brought an annual message of hope, of confirmation he is still here, of how he is aware of what we are all doing. And possibly a telling of how he wants more for me. On earth, Zane would joke about my self-care by giving me a hug or a loving slap on the shoulder and say, “don’t die on me yet, mama”. Easter’s message of renewed life and how faith and hope bring this about for all of us, is the reminder my son has been bringing to me each year. An assurance that they are with us and that they want the best for us.

Oh, how the holidays he knows I care for make me miss him more. His appearances as I sleep reflect the communications he had when he lived here. This one I can hear him say, “It’s spring mama, take care of you.”

The Commonalities of Child Loss

March 24, 2024 / Mama Fish

One of my friends was scared when her child was diagnosed with cancer. She survived and is now cancer free. One of my friends is scared as her child is currently fighting cancer. I didn’t have a chance to be scared. Sudden death does not include any time to be scared. It does not bring with it anticipatory grief. This has its own merit and its own pain. The cause of death can affect the grief process.

Our society likes to fit death into specific types, each one dictating the period we are permitted to grieve openly, how we should feel, behave, and move forward with our grief. We are judged by how we grieve. “Oh, she acts as if nothing happened.” or “It was just a dog…what is wrong with her?” or “She needs to be there for her other children.” or “She is too young (or too old) to remarry now”. Society has it wrong. In the end, it is the person grieving that must find their voice and stand firm in the chosen way they need to grieve, often leaving behind family and friends who cannot support this.

One cause of death brought this thinking to mind. I was reading about miscarriages and the impact of how irrelevant our society seems to address this loss. One in four women will have a miscarriage. That’s how we look at it. Another statistic. But what about that woman, the one in four. She was holding life inside her. She was excited about being a mother. No matter the debate on when life begins, if that woman was anticipating giving birth, to care for and do her best for this fetus, she is now a mother. No matter what fate brings or choices she had (or didn’t have) control over, she is a mother.

So why do we not stand next to that family like we would if it had been born and lived for a longer period of time. Why are we advised not to ‘celebrate’ we are pregnant for the first trimester? The medical answer is because that is when most miscarriages happen. Perhaps this is our society’s way of shielding others from the pain of a potential loss. It is absurd when you think about the instructions to not hope until you know more, when we never truly know the fate of our children. Ask any grieving mother. I personally had no idea of the trauma, the pressure to accept and move on mothers of a miscarriage or stillborn baby endure. Not until I started hearing their stories. A mother’s umbilical cord connects her to a soul, transforming her life. That cord is eternal.

As a mother who lost her child, I can relate. One can argue at what age is more painful to lose a child, but every age brings with it the same feelings of loss, of deep anguish. Each of these deaths, regardless of the child’s age, brings the questions of ‘what if’, and ‘could I have done something different’. The only concrete known is that the heart is now broken.

The ugly and truly sad common denominator of every mother who has lost a child is that it brings with it the anger that fate has stolen our opportunity of more time with our child. It robs us of memories, dreams, hopes we had for this child. It replaces a future with a past we long for and a bitter-sweet present.

We are taught that loss is loss and the greatest loss of all is your loss. Whatever loss that was. The cause of death does bring different elements with it but what is important is that we have ended up in the same place of eternal sorrow. How we got there is minimal compared to the long journey ahead. Grief is universal.

Are You Prepared?

March 17, 2024 / Mama Fish

We have been visiting our friend in hospice for a month or so now. Everyone is aware that treatment of his brain cancer has stopped. There is nothing else that can be done. We listen as the doctors tell us what the next stages will look like and to be prepared. Be prepared? How does one truly do that?

Each morning begins with a trip to visit him. He smiles, we chat, he tells us he loves us. We say it back. The conversations are light, about a morning walk he had (in his mind as we know he has not left the room). We read to him the daily verse of ‘the big book’ of A.A and we analyze that. He continues to inspire us, coach us as he lays there talking about life, about how he wishes to live. “…And then some,” he says.

Ice cream, diet coke and tapioca pudding. These are some of his favorite things. As we sit one morning watching him eat a drumstick of chocolate and peanuts, he says, “when I don’t want to eat ice cream, you can start to worry about me.” We laugh.

One visit I asked if he felt his prayers were heard. He said most of them. I asked what do you do about the ones that are not answered? He said, “I pray harder.” I hugged him before I left and noticed the color of his eyes, the new way he was breathing. I leaned in close to his face and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” He nodded. I asked, “can you let me know when I won’t be able to?” He looked at me, silent, then he squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’ll try.”

Things have started to really change now. His desire to sit up, to walk, to chat for longer than ten minutes has vanished. “I had a long walk this morning, I need to just rest now” he would say as he closed his eyes. Our cue to leave. Visits are still daily, but now we find him sleeping and he falls back to sleep as we chat. I think on some level, our friend is trying to prepare. Silently, I am sure his talks with God and the realization he stays dormant weighs on his mind. These thoughts take space with his tumor. There is an irony to all this; staying mentally positive so that you may live while the reason you are dying is found in the same organ.

Who knows when your last breath will be. But we know it is sooner than later for our sweet friend. His son calls to share his visit, how hard it is on him to see his father like this. He asks if we are aware his father is not here for long. Yes, we know. We talked about how he feels about that. He believes he is comfortable with what has been said. We have all shared memories and thoughts and endearments of how important he is to us now and forever. We have prepared ourselves for the inevitable. There’s that word again. Prepared.

When grief arrives, it rips you apart and ‘prepared’ crumbles into a million tears and questions about was it enough. I don’t know how to prevent this. I just know it happens. My heart aches for his children, his siblings, his friends, for us. His son says he knows one cannot be fully prepared, but he will find strength in knowing his father is not in any pain. I smile. It is that small but comforting truth to which we will cling to. It might help us to be prepared for the moment that anticipatory grief becomes eternal heartache.

Never Forgotten

March 10, 2024 / Mama Fish

Three years ago, I sat with a mom who had just lost her son. We shared the feelings of shock and despair, and she looked at me and asked, “does it get any better?” I reached over and took her hand and said softly, “No. It doesn’t. Whatever you begin to read and whatever people will tell you, this pain does not leave. You learn to live with it.” She started to cry. I joined her.

This week, as I was scrolling through Facebook, I came upon a post from her. She wrote about her son’s angelversary coming up and what she was planning to do to honor him. She wrote about how she has learned that people expected her to ‘get over it and move on’ and she has experienced friends and family not wanting to talk about her son anymore. She writes, “…he existed, he was full of life, he mattered…” as if she needed to defend her feelings and the life of her son.

I have never forgotten her son. He was a friend of our family’s, and we mention him often in our home. Reading her post, I was encouraged to visit his grave. I bought a St. Patty’s Day necklace with a rapper style medallion I thought he would like. He was born on the 17^th of March and enjoyed writing and singing rap songs. I poured a little Jameson’s into a vial and invited my husband to join me. We did a toast to him and the beauty of his earthly being that brought us all so much joy. We placed the necklace next to the grave and drew a heart in the snow.

The biggest fear of every parent who has lost a child is that they will be forgotten. Our culture encourages us to say goodbye and then move on, leaving our loved ones in the past. It may be because it hurts too much, or they feel tentative to share their feelings as if saying their name reminds us, they are gone. The thing is, we need no reminders and speaking about them makes us feel strongly connected to our loved one. In the grief community, we are taught that to say their name, to keep the memories alive, is healing. They will always be a part of us and including them in present day conversation can be soothing. That is what this mother was telling her Facebook friends. A reminder that she lives with grief but honoring her son, brings her comfort and strength.

I called her later that day to ask how she was holding up. She said, “you are right, it does not get better, you learn to mask your feelings and carry on with a fake smile.” “I’m sorry”, I replied. And then I assured her that her son will never be forgotten. For as long as we are here, her boy’s name will always be spoken. His memories, his laugh, will always be a part of our St. Patty’s Day. We are lucky to know him. And I thanked her for the reminder she wrote publicly, letting others know. Our children lived and they are never to be forgotten. Say their name. This is how we keep them alive.

The Lesson of Repeated Loss

February 25, 2024 / Mama Fish

I don’t think God got my message. After our family endured so many deaths last year, I thought he and I had an understanding that we would get a bit of a break this year. However, we lost another two members last month and two more this month. It reminds me of a meme Zane posted, “I know that everything happens for a reason, but WTF?”

Del was a colleague of my mothers. I grew up with him. He was a true family friend that coaxed my mother to let her hair down and have some fun. He had a love for life, a faith in God and a laugh that was contagious. You could not hear Del laugh without joining in. His kind, inspiring manner brought the best out of everyone who sat next to him. Yes, he had a full life and his celebration service confirmed that through the stories shared. He will always be with us. We just have to close our eyes and hear his laugh. As his friend said at the funeral, if you do this, you will open your eyes smiling. He was 88 years young.

Our other loss does not carry with it such a happy tone. My girlfriend lost her husband, her companion of 37 years. It was an intense battle with cancer that not only took him but abruptly ended the ongoing retirement plans they made together. They had moved to BC from Calgary years back and so our monthly breakfasts to compare notes on raising two teenagers each were shortened to letters, email, and the annual visit when she would come out. In no way does that reduce the importance of our friendship, in fact it alters it as time together was not something we could take for granted. I so enjoyed her smile, her soft voice telling me about her latest adventure with her beloved. The plans for their next trip, the travels to see their children and hang out with the dogs. Her life centered around this man, her partner in all senses of the definition. Grief has arrived at her door and brings with it the comfort of shock and denial that this is happening. My heart aches for her. There is nothing to be said.

We have reached the stage of life where we can expect more funerals than weddings of our friends. To know this, doesn’t make it easier to say goodbye. But what I was reminded of these past months, is that there are four friends who I spoke to suggesting that we ‘get together soon’ and failed to do so. I’m not beating myself up about this. Life is busy for all of us. Foolishly, we always think there will be more time. This year, the message seems to repeat itself. We don’t know when the time will run out. Do not put off to tomorrow, what matters today.

When loss, of any size, is experienced, the body goes through physical, emotional, and mental stress to which we need time to slow down, grieve, and heal. I am not sure how we do this when the hits keep coming. Maybe it is a good practice in accepting that death is a part of life and if we fully feel this way, perhaps then the loss could be condensed to, we are truly sad but not devastated. If death is a part of life, then we continue to be with our loved ones, in a different but still meaningful fashion. I think this is a lesson our clan is presented with to which we continue to learn.

The Proof, Written In the Cards

February 18, 2024 / Mama Fish

The hectic, never-ending list to do caught up to me this week and I landed in bed with a cold. I’m not sure if it was that my daughter had it first and I looked after her or that it seems EVERY time my husband goes on a holiday, I get sick. Whatever the reason, I took it as a Universal sign to unplug. Well, not so much a sign, I had no choice. Remaining vertical caused my sinuses to explode so I stayed on my back and went through a box of cards my friends had left behind when they died.

“The sweeties” were the classic love story with a twist. I wrote about them before, and their chosen way to leave earth. It will be a year next month since they departed. The box of cards and pictures was one of the last things I had promised to take care of for them. How to disperse of their treasured memories in a way that honors them. It has been no easy task. They had bins of photo albums of trips and family events and childhood gatherings. We kept a lot. I gave some pictures of their golf buddies to the course they loved and belonged to for years. We mailed some to friends and a bunch to her sister. It was the large box of greeting cards that surprised me how hard they would be to dispose of. I read each one. Birthday cards from friends, get well cards and thinking of you cards but most of the cards were from each other. Every Valentine Day, Anniversary and Christmas card was kept. And each one had the same message. Eternal love.

This couple, with all the trials of combined families and complicated health scares, truly loved each other. Forever. I mean they died together. Reading the cards reminded me of that love. The partnership they held tighter than anything else in their lives. They were soul mates. His signature on every card was “Love your DA” with a heart and kisses drawn. In the early years, the signature and the drawing were clear and as time went on, the signature was messier and the heart not so clear. Still, one can see, his heart was always for her. Her signature, on every card was “Love always, your sweetie.” There was no mistake, they belonged to each other.

I have had mixed feelings about how they left, when they left; the time leading up to their departure was not as ideal as any of us would have liked. This made grief come with mixed emotions, like anger and worry if we did enough or could have done things differently. Alas, there is no options for a repeat, so we continue to grieve while we attempt to answer these questions. The truth is that it was as it was to be. The cards proved that.

In the end, I have two great friends that faced life together, always together, always ‘yours’ and they left here the same way. ‘FOREVER YOURS’. How can I be anything but happy for them? And I am. When I look past the anguish of not having my ‘sweeties’ here to share a glass of wine with me, or to hear their laugh, or hear her tell me, “Love you, love you, love you” …. I just need to remember that I witnessed, a one-of-a-kind love between them. Like all loves, it did not come without its’ bumps and bruises, but the cards reminded me, at the end of the day, they always chose each other.

I See You Beside Us

February 4, 2024 / Mama Fish

The annual staff party was a highlight of Zane’s. It started with pre-drinks at his friend’s house to which the boss and another friend joined. They would laugh, play video games, and ‘prepare’ for the night ahead. I would drive him over and knew it would be a late-night cab ride home for him. He loved it. The tradition continues and Zane still attends in spirit.

As the favorite video game was played, his boss, yelled out, “here’s the part that I move in and beat Zane. Every time”. He laughs as the game cheers his victory. A toast follows. When I was told this, I could just see them all gathered around the TV, chanting each other on. Including Zane. This is the same group that has adopted the Jameson shot (to be had at every gathering) in honor of their buddy. It has been five years since my son was physically with them and yet, their celebrating him through memories, shared stories, and chatter as if he was here, really brings him here.

In our family, talking about our loved ones who have passed, as if they are still present, is common. We have relatives who have never met my husband’s mother but talk of her as if they had a lifetime with her. I never met her, but I know she and I are friends. I can hear her laugh as she pulls out her next room temperature beer from the carton on the floor. She was golden. She is golden.

Our clan includes family that are here and from across the realm in our daily living. They will forever be family. We celebrate their birthdays with all their favorites, and we speak to them, aloud or through prayer, for guidance. This is the power of storytelling. Of remembering. Of saying their names. We know they are the stars above us that are watching out for us. Still.

My heart is happy that Zane’s boss and his co-workers include him. Through their continued actions, their love of their friend, a culture of respect and inclusion has formed. The idea that Zane is not physically with them is subliminal to the joy he brought and still brings. My son is very lucky to have comrades that refuse to let death separate them.

Break From Current Reality

January 28, 2024 / Mama Fish

Lately my soul has been yelling louder than usual. The stresses of life are paramount and although I would not want to be doing anything differently, I needed a break. So, I ran away to the mountains. With the blessing of my family, I went solo. When I arrived, I had to unpack my overnight bag including the guilt for wanting to be alone. I am complicated. I opened my journal and wrote to Zane.

“I have run away to the mountains. Our refuge. My sis worried why I did, “it’s not like me”, she said. I did feel guilty that I wanted this to myself for a decadent two nights. But it was more a need than a want. My soul is screaming so LOUD lately and I have not had one second of solitude. It is the quiet I need to recharge. I had to go. And the silence of the condo here is blissful. I can feel my heart slow down. Here, my thoughts are realizing that I will get to each of them, one at a time. There is no need for them to push and shove! The mountains are powerful, and I can feel their magic envelop me.”

My stay included listening to my soul and following her lead. I slept in late. I ordered a breakfast smoothie of strawberries and basil. I did a bit of work and then closed my computer and went into town to shop. I lingered. I came back to pour myself a gin and tonic. Not any gin and tonic. The gin was Zane’s favorite. Hendricks. I sipped it as I walked around the trails that we took Tango on. I cried unapologetic tears for the past walks here, that I had with my son and my dog. I cried, for the new walk I was on this moment with each of them in spirit. I took pictures of my moment. I shared them with my husband and daughter, grateful that this moment I am taking they approve of. They wish this for me. It makes me cry harder.

My stay included laughing at a (non-Hallmark) movie, a little condo housework, magazine reading and meditation. All things I have identified as things I need to help me keep friends with my grief. It also included things I didn’t think I was capable of in my emotional state. I ordered take out at a local restaurant and rather than having it delivered, I sat at the bar and waited for it. Something Zane had taught me. He had said, “Mom, if you are feeling insecure going to a bar by yourself, walk in, walk up to the bar, and sit down at the bar. The bartenders like to chat, and you look like you own the place.” I had a wonderful conversation with the young man who took my order, about his life in this town since he moved here in 2005. Thank you, Zane.

The other thing I noticed was as I waited for my dinner order, the music playing was a song that was upbeat, one Zane would play. My family knows that I can’t do music since his death. They politely turn it off when I enter the room as listening throws me into an emotional meltdown. I heard the song, and before I could react, I noticed that my foot was moving to its beat as I gazed at the mountain outside the bar window. I was ok. My boy was with me. So, I listened to it. With no tears but rather a bee bop of head and shoulders as the song played. Yes, I am ok when I am in the mountains. It is where my son lives.

This reprieve confirmed what I already know. One must listen to what one’s soul needs and oblige. For me to be my best for me, my family, my friends, my career, and this earth, I must take time to spend with those I love on the other realm. Each of us needs a break from our current reality to recharge, reflect and redirect. For me, the mountains are calling, and I must go.

Old Blue Eyes

January 21, 2024 / Mama Fish

There was a holiday season, a long time ago, where we visited two friends often. Then health, travel and kids took priority and we saw each other less. Every time we got together it was like picking up where we left off. That is the way of good friends. Time means nothing. Until it does.

The last time I saw our friend, we were walking Tango. He pulled up beside us and we chatted about life, the age of our dog, the battles we all were going through with our health. He was concerned about my cancer; how my recovery was going. He didn’t want to talk about his own battle with cancer. His health “was pickled with the scotch I drink” he’d laugh. His blue eyes twinkled. They were always filled with a light, a love for those around him. It earned him the nickname, ‘old blue eyes.’ “We must get together soon,” I said as Tango pulled on his leash to let me know it was time to keep going. “Yes, we will”, he waved goodbye.

The news of his death came as a shock. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Another friend I somehow felt would be around forever. Or at the very least until we had that next drink we were planning.

His physical absence will be missed by a very large community. His soft demeanour, sense of humor and love for family and friends attracted a big group of admirers that relished in his company. We were lucky to be a part of that. He is the man that sent a card to us, each birthday, death anniversary and holiday of Zane’s, letting us know he will never forget him and how lucky we are to be loved by our son. I treasured his kind gesture, honoring our son in such a tender, personal way. That was so typical of the kindness he showed. He was always just a call away and if the porch light was on, the door was open to come in and enjoy a drink.

His passing hit us all hard. Even my daughter burst into tears. That’s how special he is. That’s how deep the impact of his friendship is. We are taught that grief is the price we pay for love. And as we sit quietly together, grief joins us. And yet, somehow, the love our friend had of this life spills over us, washing us with a sense, a reminder, that the game is not over, only the course has changed.

“In golf and life, it is the follow through that makes the difference.” My sweet friend, you were a sure hit, making a difference as your soul gathered many to enjoy the beauty of this life. May we continue to see you at tee time!

Savoring Tiny Moments of Clarity

January 14, 2024 / Mama Fish

This week has been nothing I had written in my calendar to be. It all changed when I answered the phone to hear the frantic voice of my friend’s son. “Dad went for a walk and got lost. We can’t find him.” The local weather dictates staying indoors and somehow my friend has chosen to go for a walk and is nowhere to be found. This is brain cancer.

His son did find him, and we began to work as a team, spending a whole day in emergency, pleading with doctors, and then working with home care, social workers, lodge staff, trying to put parameters in place to ensure my friend is safe. It has not been easy, and it has been all consuming.

One afternoon, it was just him and I. We talked about doctor appointments and what results we hope for. Memory recall lasts only minutes, so the conversation is repeated. He is so very positive about life, about finding a cure. “One step in front of the other,” he says. I ask him, “have you given any thought to if the doctor says there are no more treatments they can do?” I ask this because we know this is the case. He looks into my eyes, and I gently touch his arm. “Just for a minute, go there and tell me what you think.” He ponders this. I am not sure how much understanding he has about this notion. He looks up and says to me, “well, what will be will be”. I lifted my coffee cup, and we clinked as if to toast the moment.

The doctors have said that the end-of-life stage has begun. But we know better. End-of-life does not exist. It should be defined as end-of-earth. We knew 16 months ago when he was diagnosed that this day would come. Somehow, all that knowledge does not make it any easier for us. And the person who we love we now watch, slowly, losing his brain power, not knowing what is happening in his own life. It doubles the grief.

The days are spent in hyper mode calling the experts, driving to appointments, the worry about support…it makes the time go by fast and at the end of each day, we are more like caregivers than friends and family. My friend senses this. It confuses him as to why we have all these new people coming to visit. Why he must spend time in hospital waiting rooms. Why he must spend the cold weekend at his daughter’s house. He doesn’t understand it is because he can no longer rationalize what is best for his own safety and comfort. This is pre-grief, the early stages where we know the inevitable is near, but we are too busy in the present to be present.

I suggested to his son that we need to focus on the moments of clarity. These moments are few and far between and will continue to become fewer and farther but right now we have these moments. We must stop thinking in these moments of the grief, of the future. We must open our hearts to feeling the moment. Really feeling the blessing of the moment. These moments will become the memories, kept in our heart, for the days after grief arrives to stay.