Category: Shared Grief (Page 4 of 20)

Conversations of New Year’s Eve

December 31, 2023 / Mama Fish

New Year’s Eve always took me along for the ride. When Jon worked, I would drive up to the club to hang out with friends and members, bringing in the New Year with him in between his duties. I grew tired of that and opted to stay home later, spending New Year’s Eve with the dog and a bottle of wine. It was blissful. Payton would want to spend it with us if there was no boyfriend in her life. Zane almost always worked that night but would never miss sending a “happy new year mama” text from wherever he was. Somehow those nights didn’t feel lonely, they felt peaceful.

Our tradition, since Zane was killed, is to spend the evening together, the three of us, huddled in the keg lounge at the ‘early seating’ to enjoy our favorite foods and a great glass of wine. It is a time we talk about what we want in the new year. The conversation is light and enjoyable. We then come home to watch a movie or chat some more…I’m not sure where the endless conversation comes from. But it does and I am grateful. We are all tucked into our own beds before midnight, and I end the night with a meditative visit with my son. As in the past, this year will go something like this.

“I wonder what you would be doing this year”, I ask him. “Probably working”, I hear him laugh. “Really?”, I ask as I run my finger along his picture, “would you not have a day job by now?” I smile at his smile. I continue to talk out loud about what I think I could do to honor him in the upcoming year. “It’s going to be hard to beat your modeling gig of this year.” I wink. “Maybe your photography needs to take a bigger spot.” I watch his face, happy, looking back at me. I can see the twinkle in his eyes. The room is quiet. The nightlight, his nightlight, softly illuminating my room. My thoughts go to what the new year might be like. What worries it will bring. What sadness it will bring. And I send a little prayer to my angels for strength to handle it. And for sight, the ability to see the joy and newness the year also brings. I don’t want to live in the worry. I want to live in the possibility.

As I think of these things and feel the hope of the new year, I notice it is midnight. I close my eyes. “Happy New Year Zane”. “I love you mama,” I feel him say. As was always my reply, I whisper, “I love you more.”

May 2024 be gentle. May it bring with it what each of us needs to relish in this life we have. May it bring supernatural experiences, proof that those we love are chatting with us each and every night.

Hello Santa, Are You There?

December 24, 2023 / Mama Fish

Last year I wished for silence to help me heal. And it came, but in short spurts and not often enough. Maybe I was to be more specific. Or maybe that was all I was to receive. I’m not sure. But this year has been a challenge. We lost eleven members of our tribe. And more members received unwanted medical news. So, this year, I will try to be specific.

Dear Santa, my wish is for strength.

The strength needed for those suffering

to wake and face the day

with courage and faith.

The strength needed for those grieving

to look past the pain and see

signs sent from the ones they miss.

The strength needed to face the mirror

and believe there is hope,

that another year

will be ours to share.

The strength needed to walk the souls’ path

and choose the very direction at each crossroad

that will bring us closer to who we are to be.

Dear sweet Santa, I believe that strength is what is needed.

Mind, body, and soul

to move us forward.

I’m not sure how it comes,

In pretty boxes with bows

Or more of a quiet wash over,

leaving one with a sigh and

sense of determination.

That’s your job Santa, as the season’s messenger

of the unknown, have your elves create

strength in the form needed for each of us

to travel into the next year with optimism,

with joy, with peace and love.

Strength, to feel the meaning of this season in the heat of the sun

and the magic of this season in the torrent rains.

Strength that gives breath to our purpose

and actions to honor this life we have.

If I Stop, I Might Get There

December 17, 2023 / Mama Fish

I have a friend who has mailed a greeting card to me, every month, sometimes twice a month. The written sentiments are like hugs reaching out from the paper to let me know she is there for me. She has been doing this since 2018! It is her way of showing me, she is aware of my eternal loss, and she is there for me.

In the grief community such acts are the threads that keep us together. Meeting parents who have experienced the same loss we tend to unite on a level that is profoundly different than the friendships we have with others. Nothing bonds you like the sharpness of grief. With it comes a sense of responsibility to be there for them, at birthdays, at anniversaries of the death, it becomes an internal part of your calendar. And when something comes up; a conflict in scheduling or a family emergency, and you miss an occasion to grieve together, guilt joins you. It recently happened to me.

I had promised my friend that I would be attending the ‘birthday party’. I had full intentions to be there. And then life happened, and I chose not to. I sent an apology to my friend and have received no reply. I know that feelings are hurt. Worse, this month contains another ‘anniversary’ that I should be at, but the busy holidays have been pre-booked, and I will be missing that date too. Ouch. My life has become such that what I want to do, what I feel I should do, and what I end up doing conflict almost always.

And then I remembered Zane telling me, “You have to take care of you too mama, or you are no good to anyone else.” It’s good advice for all of us but even better if you are not well, emotionally, or physically. Lately, I am not well in either department. So how do we do it all when we have no energy to do anything? And how do we keep our promises and our obligations when life’s pressures surmount.

When I meditated on this, I reminded myself that I am that A personality that always takes on too much. A mother hen my sister calls me. And it becomes difficult when you feel responsible for as many people as the old woman who lived in a shoe. That is who I seem to have become. Only half of my good intentions are fulfilled, and I feel like I am letting down those I care for more often than I like. This is typical for we that are titled ‘the caregiver’ or ‘an empath’ or other labels along the same. We have an ingrained expectation to be all for all. I have always said that my goal is to save the world and still be ready for cocktails at 4. How does one change the habits that have been cultivated, in good faith, when they become destructive to your own health? As the saying goes, ‘we are our own worse enemy’. I want to be friends with myself.

In the break of day, I am going to ask myself, what do I need today to serve my family? The answer to that must be the priority of the day. How can I support my family and friends? That answer must not be by being there all the time; there is not enough of me to go around! It must be a way that honors their needs and respects my energy. And I must act in that manner, believe I need not do more and tell guilt to go away.

My girlfriend, the card sender, does that well. She has found a way to be there for others, including me, that respect her energy, her time and yet, the ways she chooses to be there for her family and friends, it is meaningful. I look forward to my monthly hug in the mail. It seems excessive that she continues to do this and yet it I can’t imagine my mailbox without one of her cards. I’m going to apply her kindness as a model to develop ways that I can support those I care about and still have enough energy to smile at the end of the day.

Your Candle Calls to You

December 10, 2023 / Mama Fish

Zane loved candles. He had different scents, different sizes, different containers to which he would choose one to light, or several, depending on his mood. His candles were his message to the night skies that he was awake and aware of the universal magic. I have ceremoniously burnt his candles over the years, leaving a little bit of each to which I have stored in a paper bag. This year I have repurposed them in honor of Candle Lighting Day.

My daughter and I bought small vases and wicks and a pot. We chose the candle stubs of white, pink, and red and placed them in the pot. We melted them and poured the new color into the vases and set them to cool.

I had a lot of fun doing this. Repurposing what Zane had lit years ago. Keeping his favorite scents and melting them into another form of ‘life’ to enjoy over again. It was easy and yet so very sentimental.

This year’s tradition of lighting a candle in honor of our children who have passed, I will use the beautiful illumination of Zane’s recycled candles. The flame, glowing into the dark night for Zane, and for the children of friends who walk this path with me.

Taking your memories, the pieces left behind,

putting them into a pot, stirring them gently together to melt,

to liquify and turn a new color, a soft holiday shade.

Pouring them into unbroken vessels to cool,

they take a newfound and beautiful form,

a new glow that will light the room

and fill it with a scent of spice and cedar.

How beautiful, how fun it was

to create a different beginning

from something you once enjoyed

that I will, we will,

now enjoy.

The irony is not lost

how the candle you once burned,

sending your thoughts to the dark night skies,

now burn anew, filled with a reincarnated energy

as if to answer you

‘We are still here.’

Alas, each flame that flickers,

millions across the globe,

has the same message.

If the tears, we cry could beckon your return…

The candles soft glow reminding the Universe,

our hearts will always ache for the warm light

of our children’s earthly presence.

Switching Up the Holiday Outlook

December 3, 2023 / Mama Fish

I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention that this month is Drunk & Drugged Driving Prevention month. Last year 40,000 loved ones perished due to someone choosing to drive impaired. This number does not touch anywhere near the real number of those devastated; the many more hundreds of thousands effected by such loss. The dreams and plans and hopes, smashed with no chance of ever being the same again. It happened to us. But I’m not going there. This is the Christmas season.

The holidays are a time of hope and miracles and love and faith. I want that. I want to replace the sound of a busy mall with the crackling of a fire. I want the smells of gingerbread and mulled wine filling my home. I want my heart to feel the quiet peaceful morning before the demands of the season come rushing in to take over. I want that Hallmark truth about this season. Each year, I believe I have tried to make it special and ease the pain of Zane not being here. And each New Year, I debrief with a sigh and a shrug that next Christmas will be different. So why do I think this pattern will ever change? Because I need it to. That’s why.

Sometimes our grief permeates into a sadness that we become too comfortable with to change. This season brings an excuse to hold tight to our grief. “The holidays are the heaviest time of year for those mourning” we are told. I don’t disagree, but I am starting to think that I might be turning this ‘fact’ into an excuse. Should I not be trying harder to get along with my grief if this season is as tough as we know it to be? When I look at the list of all things to practice easing grief, those practices go out the window with the common pressures of the oh-too-commercial of a season. Maybe I should work harder on bringing the magic of the season forward and ignoring the business side of Christmas.

My daughter texted me, “I want Zane to run up the stairs and open his stocking with me”. She is feeling the apprehension of the season’s loud message that we are to be with the ones we love. When that is impossible, to do what we used to do before our loved ones left, we need to switch up the holiday outlook. I am going to try this. For my daughter. For Zane. For me. I am going to embrace the real reason why this time of year is to be celebrated. I am going to take my grief and show it a good time.

This year I am going to focus on what can I do to celebrate, include, honor Zane over the holidays. I’m going to take a day each week to do something that brings the holidays home. With Zane. He loved to “rock the first candy-cane of the season”. He loved taking pictures of the bright lights. He loved snuggling in his blanket with a good book or a great show. He loved to connect with friends over a drink and bake cookies to share. He loved to build a snowman. He knew how to stop and smell the roses. I need more of that. I need more Zane in my life.

I know that being still raises our vibration, our awareness that those we love are with us. Perhaps that is the practice I need this holiday season. Whether it eases my sadness or not, I am aware that it will never be as we want, so finding a bittersweet compromise might improve my holiday debrief in the New Year.

When Tears Arrive

November 26, 2023 / Mama Fish

We were told by our cable supplier that our modem will no longer be functioning after the new year, so we needed to upgrade. My husband planned for the service installer to come by. I listened as he told me what to expect. It was all for the better except when he said, “you will lose your recordings.”

I stared at him blankly. I thought of all the Hallmark movies taped that I was enjoying. They would be gone. I thought of all Jon’s Sunday morning shows. They would be gone. And then I remembered Zane’s recordings that I kept. Seeing them always gave me a sense of peace, pretending some how he would one day watch them. They would be gone too. And I gasped.

“What?”, I uttered, choking back the tears. He repeated, “there will be no more recordings. You will have to record again.” But Zane was not here to record. How could I do this? The poor young man had no idea why I was upset about my recordings about to be erased and yet there was nothing he or I could do. The upgrade was mandatory. I took a deep breath and said, “Ok”.

Jon arrived at this time, and I made an excuse I had an errand to run and left him to oversee the upgrade. As I got into my car I was thinking, “upgrade, this is far from an upgrade for me”. It was a step back into my grief having one less thing of Zane’s. I drove to the park and took a walk along the path that I had walked Tango so many times before and I began to sob.

I wasn’t prepared for this reaction. Sometimes grief makes no sense at all. Why did I have such a response to this change, this necessary technological progress? Perhaps it is the start of the holiday season where we get weepier. Or maybe it is all the work of the busy needy season, and I am overtired. Or maybe, it’s just more loss of things I love and more unwanted change arriving for me to face.

As I pondered why I was so upset, I let myself continue to weep. As I walked, the sun in my face, dried my tears. The silence of the park let my mind relax. There could be one or a combination of reasons why we are triggered and reduced to tears. All things that are about our loved ones are important. We are the protector of each reminder they were alive, and we do not want any of it to be deleted. The recordings, which would literally be erased, were a symbolic reminder that life is and will never be as I had wished. This simple conclusion came to me by giving myself permission to have a good cry. I returned to the car, fixed my make-up, and gently went on with my plans for the day.

We know that emotional tears release oxytocin and endogenous opioids, otherwise called endorphins. I believe that tears are the souls’ way of exposing the shadows of our pain. At the end of a long cry, we are left with our true sadness and with a quiet sensation of courage. It’s surprising how many tears are within us that spill over when needed to restore our sprit so that we can carry on. Strength is found in the salt of our tears.

Taking Control of Change

November 12, 2023 / Mama Fish

My new day planner arrived by Amazon and the pages are like a blank canvas of what the upcoming new year may be like. I think about all the changes this year brought, the possible changes I wish for, and what I might be able to control. There is a tiny excitement that builds from the hope that it will be different, it will be softer, it will be full of the things I desire for my family, my friends and myself.

The truth is I hate change. I know it will come. It could be good, bad, big, or small. But it will come. I find that any kind of change takes an energy that I don’t usually have to face it. During a walk in the park to clear my head, I thought of the poets who write of how Autumn encourages nature to change to ready itself for the future.

We see the leaves have turned color and fallen; the air is now crisp in the early morning hours. Most of us appreciate the beauty of nature and how she bends to the ebbs and flows of life. We don’t accept changes in our own life as easily; we tend to shy away from it, especially when change has brought a living nightmare to our lives. Change becomes scary when we are grieving.

Change confirms that time is moving on. And it comes with an expectation that we are to move on. That is what I don’t like about it. It comes whether I like it or not (and often I don’t). In my opinion, change can go to hell.

I have had many people share with me the struggles they are having about where they are right now. Some of the challenges are health, others are financial, others are physical location. The common theme with these conversations is that change is needed. Needed, being the key word. So, maybe it is the fear of what change might bring, that keeps us from exploring possibilities.

Loss has brought us the definitive change. Nothing will ever be the same. And because we are mourning, because we want things to go back as they were, because we hurt to move forward without our loved ones, we resist change. To consider accepting change is a challenge, surely, we wouldn’t invite it into our lives. But what if we did? What if we looked at what changes we could bring in to help comfort us in our daily healing? What might be needed to bring this idea to fruition, to better our today and help bring a more peaceful tomorrow.

I came across a letter I wrote to Zane in March. I was telling him that I was cancelling his cell phone. I have been paying for it for 4+ years and it was time to change this. I was distraught with the idea that I would no longer have a ‘land line’ to my son. Silly, but to cancel his number was too much of a change to consider doing. Until this time. So, what would this change look like? What control did I have to make this change less painful. I decided to record his voice mail message, cancel the number, and take the monthly cost of keeping it, putting that amount into a savings account in his honor. A change of use for this expense. The phone is not needed, but a savings would be something he would have enjoyed. That simple combination of replacing one thing with a new more suited thing made the change easier.

I wrote, “I can pretend that you just changed your number. In essence it has. To some sort of heavenly number now. I should be ok with this, but I’m not. Your number was my earthly connection to you, my sweet boy. And you always picked up.”

When we can’t control how change comes, or how big it comes, we can explore what can be done to ease the sting of such change. We can accept change or make modifications to it. And sometimes we can choose to ignore it, until time helps give us the strength it takes to face it.

And That’s a Wrap!

November 5, 2023 / Mama Fish

Halloween this year was forgotten because of our daughter getting married. It was all hands-on deck, welcoming the family from afar and catching up over many drinks while adding the final touches to her big day. A whirlwind of tasks, plans and last-minute worries end up in the limo rushing down Glenmore Trail to her soon-to-be husband.

In the end, our daughter’s wedding was everything she wanted it to be. And more. It was a beautiful day. The weather cooperated, with pictures taken outside, the waters of the North Reservoir in the background, and the blue sky above. I was strangely calm. In fact, even present in the moment, watching the faces of family and friends as our children said their vows with tears and laughter arising from the group.

I was strong when the pictures were being taken and my ‘other children’ gathered around me to pose, capturing the love on film I will be able to keep forever. Then the photographer said it was the last picture and it was to be of me and my daughter. I thought it strange as she and I had our pictures taken already. The photographer asked me to face the waters and put my arm around Payton. As we looked out, her maid of honor came around from behind us and handed me a framed picture. It was a print of three people, standing side by side. The bride in the middle, the mother on the left and a man on the right. It was uncanny that the hair coloring and even the dresses were the same as what we were wearing. And then I saw the halo over the head of the man. And the words Te amo momma Fish were underneath, and I realized it was Zane standing next to the bride. I started to cry. My sweet daughter had found a way to bring her brother to her wedding, to me, and we were standing there together. The three of us. My heart exploded.

Planning this wedding was a multi-year effort. It was all consuming, but because of that, the details were perfect. Their vows to each other were full of symbolism from the movies they watched that had them both teary. The gown, a surprise for the groom, as he had expected black, but she wore white, left him breathless. They had a ‘change of costume’ at the reception, to dance their first song together. Not a waltz, no, this couple chose the theme from the movie Pulp Fiction!

The open bar graced framed pictures of those joining us from above. They even included one of my beloved Tango. There were bubbles blown for Zane, a menu that included his favorite dish and his favorite drink were offered to the guests. Many did indulge in those choices to honor Zane. I am so proud of how my little girl included her big brother. There were speeches from their friends about how they feel like we are their family and belly laughs of past adventures that were shared with all. Truly, the spirit of the night was inclusive, so inclusive that the Heavens joined us.

I am grateful to all who attended, who supported us, not just in the planning of this day, but the times leading up to it. Our friends and relatives who understood how important this ceremony was to our family, each, in their own way stepped up big time to ensure it was one that would help us put grief aside and let love take over. My heart is filled with thanks.

The Wedding is Set & the Heavens Will be There.

October 29, 2023 / Mama Fish

We interrupt this grief for a day to celebrate our daughter to be married on Halloween Day. They chose this day because it is their favorite holiday and horror movies are their thing. The entire theme is centered around this passion. The officiator will be reading from ‘the book of the dead’ and guests will find their table not by number but by horror movie character. You may be sitting with Dracula or Michael Myers or some other creepy evil being. It has been three years planning this event and the only thing missing is Zane.

I have been told by my daughter that “I need to keep it together.” This is her time. This is not about Zane. She says this from a pure heart of concern that her mother might not be able to enjoy her happiest day because I am consumed with sadness. I have assured her that I will do my best. How this will happen I have no idea. I have laid awake for nights now pondering how is this possible that her brother is not the one dancing with her, hugging her, standing up for her? How is this same celebration something he was robbed of? How do I pretend to not see the empty chair?

Big life events, especially joyous ones, are the epitome of a grief warrior’s life. Bittersweet. You can’t have one without the other. We learn to cry in the quiet corners of the day or at night when the blinds are closed, and the company has gone home. We hone a mask to fit our face, perfectly covering our emotions for the days of conversations about all that is life. All that our children should experience. And we are happy that our earth-bound children are enjoying these milestones. It is sweet. We are grateful. But the cold harsh truth is that some of our children cannot experience the same. And that is the bitter part. As they say, “it is what it is.” No one gets that more than a grieving parent.

My sleepless nights have come up with some solutions to how I can be what my daughter needs on this day. The first was a conversation I had with my son. He couldn’t wait for his sister to get married to a nice guy. He wanted her to be happy. And she is. The second is we have brought Zane and our other loved ones to this day with pictures of them and stories, special drinks, and signage to remind our family and friends they are with us. Payton will be carrying a bead of Zane’s ashes, as will I, to hold him close. They will be signing their nuptials with a pen that has a sprinkle of his ashes in it. I have a tattoo to visualize him being a part of our ‘pod’ forever, and I will be wearing a necklace with his picture in it. These gestures are small but reassuring.

It was last night, my biggest aha moment appeared when I was meditating and an awareness, a subconscious knowing came through me. The day they are ‘tying the knot’ is the day where I believe the veil between heaven and earth is the thinnest and the opportunity for our loved ones to join us in spirit is highest. Oh, what a feeling! To be reminded of what Zane believed, what he taught all of us. We are all connected. There is no death. We are together and our loved ones will be there, dancing next to us. The faith that he will show up and there will be signs to confirm, this is what I need to hold tight to. It is the key ingredient to reducing bitterness. My son would not miss his little sister’s wedding. My soul told me so.

The Autumn of Motherhood

October 15, 2023 / Mama Fish

I have two friends who have not met but recently, both experienced the loss of their mother. Their moms each had in their own way, led a full and beautiful life and my friends found themselves on the path of preparing for their mother’s departure. One couldn’t help but notice the similarities and the subtle differences of their individual experiences. And as I spent time with each friend, I found myself comparing their story to that of my mother’s.

Each mother, in her own way, was a pioneer, boldly taking on life, caring for a home, a career and raising a family. As I listened to the lives of each, I realized how much we are subconsciously tailored to be maternal. We step up and accept the role of caregiver without a thought if this is an intentional role we need to play. We just know that it is. And we accommodate, taking a leave from work to help or bringing them into our home to care for, but always putting them first. Our priority is them. And our thoughts, our plans, our personal schedules become intertwined with what does mom need today.

When a parent has had a full and long life, it would seem it should be easier to say goodbye. We experience anticipatory grief, knowing that the end is near. We use the time to reflect and share old memories, squeezing in a few new memories that we hope will comfort us after they have left. We appreciate time. It supports us to come to a place where we can say, “it’s alright to go now mom. I will be ok”. Each of my friends had that opportunity. As did I. And although it doesn’t ease the final pain loss brings, it does help build the strength it takes to let them go.

When I knew my mother was ready to leave this realm, it was just after New Year’s. She had Alzheimer’s and each day was another measure of how much she would remember. That particular day I was trying to explain to her that it was a new year. “We begin again. It is January, we have winter, and then we will have Valentine’s Day and then St. Patty’s…” She cut me off. “No,” she said, with a shake of her head, and looked straight into my eyes. I got it. I took her hand in mine and whispered, “ok, mom, give me a little time to put your wishes in order, and you can go.” She died the 29^th of January.

I know that my friends are at a loss. It has been fifteen years since my mom left and I still have days where I wish she was here to give me advice or remind me of a family member or just to sit and gripe with. She was my friend. And with my two friends, they experienced a similar relationship with their mom. They went from daughter to friend to caregiver. The circle of life for the souls of daughters.

As they pack up their mom’s belongings and finish up the paperwork, they will begin to question if their own affairs can be in better order. It might be that they feel an urge to purge, or they might want to write out their own preferences for the time that they will be leaving family and friends. It is sort of a silent gift our mother’s give us. In their departure, they continue to teach us how to be better women for those we love and serve. The beautiful life of a mother is as our seasons are. And with Autumn, comes the grace of growing old.

“To all my friends who have lost their mother; As with the other ones we love across the veil, our mothers are watching us, guiding us, a part of our cellular make up that death cannot have.”