Category: Shared Grief (Page 6 of 20)

My Son, Larger Than Life

July 16, 2023 / Mama Fish

Each year since Zane was killed, I have tried to do something to honor him. He has a business degree I advocated for as he was only one semester short of graduating. I started this blog in honor of his love of writing. We have started a mindful photography program and a bursary in his name. What could I do to mark his upcoming fifth year…. five seems like a gigantic milestone.

Then I came across a marketing campaign for Pierson’s Funeral Services. A fresh campaign called “Life by” which posts a larger-than-life picture that captures the spirit of the person. The first one I saw was “Life by Mary”. She was a woman in her golden years in a wet suit on a beach carrying a surfboard. I wanted to know her. She looked like she loved life and would make you laugh. I enjoyed looking for these billboards. Each picture told a story of the person celebrated. So, I reached out to Michael, a friend, and the owner of Pierson’s to discuss an idea.

“What if your campaign also captured those individuals that passed way before their time”, I asked Michael. What might the impact be of someone seeing your ad of a young adult? “If ever that was an idea, perhaps Zane could be a model”, I suggested. And Michael agreed.

He introduced me to (another) Michael, the artistic zealot behind Make More Creative. We talked about Zane and his personality and his antics and the reason why I would like him to be in the campaign. I shared pictures we had of Zane and left Michael to produce his magic. When he called to invite me to his office to see what he designed, I brought Jon, who was unaware of this meeting, and introduced him. I said, “Jon, I would like you to meet Michael, he is Zane’s modeling agent.” Tears of joy followed.

With Payton’s input too, our family selected the picture of choice. When the time came, we were invited for the unveiling. Our son, larger-than-life, covering the entire back of a Calgary City Transit bus! Words are unavailable to describe the emotions that flooded us. The absolute honor, a gift, given to our family to share ‘life by Zane’ with the people in the city that he was born and raised in. A City he loved.

We opted not to tell anyone. We thought what a surprise it would be to have his friends driving along and spot it. Without disappointment, we have had feedback from those who have seen him. “My heart skipped a beat”. “A perfect picture and right at Stampede, his favorite time of year, how cool.”

It has become a game to check the back of the bus passing to see if Zane is there. It is so much fun to be driving and spot him. It feels as if he is in town. That big contagious smile. That happy-go-lucky sense of play captured in a photo and now travelling through town for all to see. I wonder what Zane might say. He was never one that needed to be the center of attention. But he did bring the party and that is the essence one feels when they see my son, larger than life!

Big thanks from my heart to both Michael’s for making this possible. How lucky are we that you two are part of our tribe.

Soul Coaching from Audrey

July 9, 2023 / Mama Fish

She came into my life as the woman who married my husband’s father. She was grandma to my children. She was not always easy to be with because she was opinionated and blunt. Some would say no filter. I’m not sure why she was like that. She seemed oblivious to how some of her comments came across as criticism, but you had to appreciate her “I told you so” attitude. She knew what she liked, and she made sure she got it. These attributes made her seem difficult at times for everyone except my father-in-law. He loved her unconditionally. And when he passed, he asked if we would care for her. And we promised we would.

I woke to the news that she had died. It was not shocking; her age and poor health gave reason for why. It has left me pondering, would my father-in-law say we took care of her? I can find comfort that I did reach out with letters and phone calls. But was that enough? I can make excuses as to why I did not do more. And that made me think, do we create regrets by choosing to not connect. The family and friends that we have who are not as seemingly loveable as others we choose to spend less time with. If there was a misunderstanding or a mishap, it justifies even more why we don’t hang out with them. But does this choice become the foundation to stunt our own growth? Perhaps, in some ways it might.

We have so little time here on this earth. Where do grievances benefit us? If I believe that we all sat at a table planning this life and who would play what role, before we landed here as humans, do I not owe those I encounter some respect for agreeing to share this life with me prior to even meeting? At the very least, when they are hurting, am I not to put my differences aside to hold them? Maybe these are the souls that can enlighten us. If so, then if my choice of action is to ignore, mistreat or walk away, how will enlightenment be mine? I think in our life come these souls whose role is to give opportunities to practice compassion.

Audrey was one of those souls. Her antagonistic wit had us all on our toes. She taught us the importance of clarifying one’s motives. She taught us to go after what you love. She demonstrated that perfection is not part of being human. She taught us that anyone can apologize. She cared deeply for those she loved. She opened her home to us and relished having us travel with her. She did it her way and although that made her come across as sometimes salty, she was real. I liked that about her.

Our family, especially my sister-in-law, took the promise we made seriously. We continued to include her in our lives after the death of my father-in-law. We welcomed her with the understanding that no one is perfect, and we are not to judge the capacity or depth of love expressed from another. We accepted her for her, and we shared time as family. An extra ten years, we would not have had, if we had chosen to walk away. And in those years, there were some great moments that included laughter, cold drinks on a sunny patio and heart-felt conversations. I enjoyed her. I loved her.

As for Audrey, I know she appreciated us. I know that she loved us. I know that wherever she is now, she knows we tried. And that must be good enough for me. We kept our promise.

Audrey, thank you for enlightening me. From you, I have learned that life is too short for regrets. I am grateful for the times we shared and trust that bliss greeted you on the other side. Say hi to everyone there for me.

For The Love of a Dog

July 2, 2023 / Mama Fish

We bonded with our neighbor over joint walks to the street to let our dogs out. Rita, a long-haired dachshund, donned a Burberry collar. We called her Regal Rita as she strutted around the complex like a miniature four-legged queen. She was cautious of Tango, perhaps thinking she would have to fend him off. But Tango, being 15 at the time they met, a year older than Rita, had no romantic interests. They became old friends giving each other a sniff, a wag of the tail and sharing their doggie treats.

Our neighbor and I had a common understanding of the deep love we have for our dogs and how our happiness centered around the wellbeing of these precious companions. We shared the challenges of owning a senior dog; success is measured in how often they poop. How sometimes it is easier to carry them to the curb rather than anticipate an accident in the hallway. How many times they were up during the night. He joked of how when Rita passes, there would be a Shiva in her honor.

It was a month ago I opened the apartment door and bumped into my neighbor. It was the look on his face that I knew immediately. “Oh, no, not…”, I said, reaching out to him. “Yes, we took her to the vet yesterday”, he replied. I teared up. He teared up. We hugged. And just like that little regal Rita was gone.

Tango knew instinctively. He sniffed the door that day, as he always did for the past two years, a sort of hello to his friend. He sniffed the door once more and has never gone there since. When he saw our neighbor, he leaned into his leg as if to give him a hug.

We are taught loss is loss. Our neighbor loved, cared for, and worried for his beloved Rita. She was a constant in his life for 16 years. She travelled with him to work, on holidays and moved to Calgary as part of their family. She was his fur baby who held his heart and filled his life with unconditional joy. There will never be another Rita.

That’s how it is with life and loss. It cannot be measured. The impact one has on us is our own relationship. Unique, no other person will be able to feel how that relationship sits inside you. How big or small their impact was on you. This is why loss is loss. One cannot compare the love felt to another love felt. Whether that intense love was received through a person or pet, loss isn’t about comparisons to whose pain is greater. It is about the love we shared with them, to which we mourn.

The love of a pet is profound, it is inexplainable. With the loss of a pet, deep grief is inescapable. I watch my neighbor mourn her with the same reactions and components one does with any other major loss. He said, a week after her passing, “I’m not getting over her”. To which I replied, “and you never will. She took with her a portion of your heart”.

Rita, your big brown eyes, and your dainty bunny hops down the path gave me joy each walk with you. You were quite the lady. Thank you for sharing with all of us the love of a dog.

First Lessons of a Death Diva

June 25, 2023 / Mama Fish

They say when you experience deep grief, you find yourself. Your truth north is formed. I’m not sure if that is right but it might explain my calling to be a Death Doula. Or as my good friend told me, “You are not a doula, you are a Diva…claim it”. That makes me giggle. I succumbed to this invisible push and signed up for certification training just before my brother-in-law was told he had advanced cancer. He became my practicum to which he took his last breath shortly after I graduated. I learned a lot and since his passing a year ago, I have had opportunities to practice my new skill. It has been bittersweet learning as they have all been close friends.

The biggest lesson I have learned is that no one wants to talk about death until it is too late. I have a friend who kept procrastinating the conversation and now she isn’t cognizant to have a meaningful one. Discussions about death are hard but necessary. It includes the answers to obvious questions; do I want to be resuscitated, cremated, or buried etc. But the questions that I feel are as important, if not more, are the ones about after-life. Is it ok to keep some of the ashes for memory jewelry? What specifics do you want at your funeral? What do you want us to do to honor and remember you? My brother-in-law had us promise, among a few other things, that there would always be pineapple torte eaten on his birthday. These answers from our loved one, before they depart, bring us solace when they do die. It gives credence to the fact that we are doing the right thing for them. There are fewer regrets. It is why these conversations are essential but sadly, seldom had to the degree they deserve.

The next lesson is all about anticipatory grief. When one is dying, we begin grieving. And grief brings out the best and the worst in a person. I have been snapped at, cried on, and asked to do a multitude of mundane tasks. I was asked to be at home or at the hospital and then told to get out. I have seen families split apart over the details of care and after-life desires. Anticipatory grief is grieving without the comfort of shock. It is raw and ugly. And no one escapes it. It includes judging, blaming, assumptions and irrationality. It is the hardest part of this new role when I want everyone to be ok but that is impossible.

The third lesson I have learned (in this early journey I am on) is that self-care becomes a stranger. You wish to be with your loved one every second. The sounds and disturbances of a hospital or home care create an environment that does not compute rest for those sitting next to their loved one. Showers, meals, and routine go out the window fast. Adrenaline is the ingredient that keeps you going.

It was 11:00 am when I was buying tea for a friend who had been with his partner all night. The young cashier looked at me and asked, “have you had breakfast?” I said, “what do you mean?” He said, “iced tea at 11:00 am…did you eat or is this your breakfast and probably your lunch?” I stopped to think. No, he was wrong, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness. And the reminder that we must care for ourselves so that we can fully care for our loved ones.

I value this new role of death diva. I want to help, to be there as a source of comfort in whatever way I can. It is a privilege to be a part of readying one to travel to the other realm, to listen to their needs and to assure them that we will fulfill their hopes and dreams as best we can and support their family and friends left behind. It brings peace to both parties. The dying feel sanctioned that their last wishes are respected. Those left behind are empowered knowing, not guessing, what their loved one wants. It is the foundation to enable you to carry your grief better, in the confirmation that you are doing what your loved one requested. That is my highest and most valuable message as I explore this path towards my north star.

Three Cheers for Fathers

June 18, 2023 / Mama Fish

I was blessed to have had 3 fathers share this life with me. Mine, my Godfather, and my father-in-law. Each one I had a very special relationship with that I carry with me long after they have gone. Each man was very different in his career choice, hobbies, and passions. The commonality was each of them was insightful, giving, and protective of those they loved. They did not say too much and did not say it loud. So, when they talked, if you listened, lessons abound. And those lessons, are part of who I am today.

My father worried that God would punish any of his sins through me. I was his first ‘little girl’ and his inability to spare me from harmful experiences molded him into a private detective that cared for me behind the scenes. He was my guardian angel. He was my first experience of kindness. Never did a stranger cross his path that he did not receive something from my father. He was the epitome of ‘do unto others as you would like them do to you’. My desire to nurture comes from him.

My Godfather kept me out of trouble, big and small. I was his girl that met him for lunches and shared my woes and found solutions in each conversation we shared. He stood next to me when I was threatened and guided me to safety. He was my shelter from the storms. He was my first experience of justice. Every situation he faced, he did with integrity to which he practiced in his career and his personal life. He was the epitome of ‘by the Grace of God, go I’. I watched him handle his own battles without a complaint and with the power of a gentle man. My desire to understand comes from him.

My father-in-law took philosophy to a higher level. I was his girl that we could share truths with about life, family, and ourselves. Our heart shared conversations about the things that mattered were a special part of our visits. His sense of humor hugged you like a cozy blanket while your soul giggled. He was my shining light. He was my first experience of self. Never did he condemn another’s actions or dreams. In fact the opposite, he encouraged one to follow their own path with honesty and goodness. He exhibited that in his own behaviors. He was the epitome of ‘to your own self be true’. My desire for discovery comes from him.

I think of each of them every day. Our families celebrate them often. It is hard to believe that they are not still physically here. But I guess that is the thing about fathers. Their absence is softened by the knowledge that their love is imprinted on our hearts. Their lessons a part of our makeup. Our souls know that they will always watch over us. We will always be, ‘their little girl’.

Slow Down, Your Soul Is Speaking

June 11, 2023 / Mama Fish

If you’re like me, you don’t slow down. I relish over setting goals, project planning, and task lists. I am an A-type personality that has been raised and has lived as an extrovert for sixty years. It was only in the last decade that I discovered I am an introvert. And accordingly, is the foundation of why I am an emotional, physical, and spiritual mess.

All my loved ones have begged me to slow down. Including Zane. In the days after Zane was killed, when my grief brought me to my knees every waking moment, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to not have to talk to anyone or listen to them or care for them. I didn’t want to slow down, I wanted to stop. I wanted just to be by myself. Of course, that did not happen, in fact quite the opposite. I ended up with more family and friends and social events that I was “obliged” to attend that my physical health got worse. Life did not slow down, it moved faster with work, moves, deaths, travel, and at the end of the day, cancer arrived.

I told my family that I believe my diagnosis was because the angels are fed up with me not listening to what I need so have given me a life-threatening wake up call. SLOW DOWN. And I did; but as a properly raised extrovert, I did for just a wee bit. Not long enough to correctly heal nor long enough to make it a lifestyle. So, no surprise that 6 months later, I find myself back in the doctor’s office with complications that require more tests, x-rays, and medications with scary side effects. Will I ever learn?

Here’s the thing. My therapist told me that when we are grieving, time alone to sit with our pain is essential. What she didn’t tell me, or I didn’t hear, was that sitting alone brought me closer to Zane. When I take the time to slow down and retreat, I feel my energy. I receive more signs. I have more dreams. I am in less pain. Time alone to sit with my thoughts and dreams recharges me to be able to be there for my family and friends better. Including my son.

I’m not sure why when we feel good, we forget to slow down. When the energy is there, we often keep running until it is depleted. A friend told me that when illness does not show on the outside, it gives people reason to think you are ok and expect more of you than if you were visibly ill. And we don’t help ourselves by saying, “I’m ok” when we know we are not. A-type personalities are great at faking being ok. Whether the struggle is mental or physical or both, we soldier on with a tough guy attitude that people learn to count on.

My nephew, struggling with his own health, wears a jacket that has imprinted on it, “Everything’s OK”. He wears it because of the irony of this statement. I laughed the first time I saw him wear it. He smiled and said, “right?” We get each other. If I was honest, my jacket would bear the statement, “I’m not ok, so don’t ask”. I hate having to explain why or reassuring those asking “it will be ok” when I don’t know.

All that said, we need to be honest with ourselves and others when we are not ok. We need to be comfortable with the times we are not ok. We need to quit pushing ourselves and pretending. We need to set aside time to sit alone and heal. Whether you are an extrovert or an introvert, slowing down and taking time to be alone is essential to feeling our best and to staying connected to those we love here and on the other realm.

It’s Going To Be OK

June 4, 2023 / Mama Fish

There were five of us diagnosed with cancer over the last year. Two with a brain tumor, one with melanoma, one with prostate and me with breast. It was another ‘thing’ that brought us closer. We all are good patients; listening, following doctor orders and so far, we all are ok. Until the phone rang.

I remember sitting in the doctor’s office with her. She was scared as an infection was now being biopsied. I held her hand. “It’s going to be ok.” We found out it was skin cancer. Surgery came. It going to be ok. Then more was found in the lymph nodes. It’s going to be ok. More surgery. It’s going to be ok. Then a lump appeared. It’s going to be ok. And then the lump grew. And now the treatment is radiation to ensure the lump doesn’t blow up until they figure it out. The answers will come next week.

While we wait, her sweet husband is calling all of us. It’s going to be ok, has turned to, “It’s not looking good”. And each of us holds our breath and sends prayers to the heavens. How is this possible? It was just 6 months ago we were shaking our booty to Pit Bull at her birthday party. A milestone party where we laughed at how she could shake it and would be shaking it for decades longer. What the hell happened? How did we go from that to this.

The sudden death of our children (3 of the 5 of us have lost a child), has taught us that life is not always how we wish. Through our children’s death we have learned to be warriors. But when ill health hits us personally, the art of being a warrior takes on a new meaning. A physical fight needs to join the emotional battle we endure every day. We have so much more living to do. Not for us. No, this is an unselfish request, plea to the Universe that we have another child, a pet, a spouse, more family…we have a ton of reasons as to why we must still be here. We are not ready to go because we know we are still needed. Our loved ones have already lost, and we want to spare them the pain of losing more.

These earthly emotions bring energy to your battle, strength to withstand cancer treatments and the pain that has you popping pills every four hours. It brings that smile to your face that your family so desperately needs to see. It also brings you closer to fate. The closer we get to our fate, the clearer we become of what is happening. Bravery becomes the mask worn.

Our group is blessed with the belief that we do not die. We live on. This doesn’t mean that when death comes close, it becomes more comfortable. No. It becomes the energy for our life’s task list. The clarity to see what still needs to be done, what can be released, and what we need to delegate becomes the focus. It is not giving up; it is getting real. We do it with the hope that there is a miracle still in the bag. It is demanding more time to ensure that when this life is completed, we pass with a feeling of peace that, “It’s going to be ok”.

That has now become the wish of my friend. And for the five of us, our friends and family, the term “FU** Cancer!” is shouted in unison. And shouted so loud that the heavens rumble.

A Tree Sent to Heaven

May 21, 2023 / Mama Fish

Every Albertan remembers the grade one tradition where your child is given a sapling to take home and plant. Both my children received one. Both planted their little tree in a chosen place in our yard. My daughter cared for her tree for a limited amount of time, moving on to her next project and the tree perished.

Zane was different. He would come home each day and nurture his tree. He covered it with a large coffee tin so the heavy snows would not break it. He talked to it, sprayed it, and fertilized it and it grew into a majestic white spruce that we hung feeders and tiny houses on to welcome the birds and squirrels. After Zane passed, we hung Christmas ornaments and tied ribbons with wishes on it in his honor. The tree was more than a tree; it was a connection to the love my son had and shared.

At a recent community block party, our old neighbor told us of how the new owners were caring for our house in a way that we would feel good about. He went on to say how they had opened the yard by removing a few of the trees and it looked great. “Which ones?”, I asked. As he began to describe the locations of the trees they had removed, I kept pleading in my head, “not Zane’s, not Zane’s” …but it was Zane’s. I glanced at my husband as the tears came and whispered to him, “I just can’t…” and I turned and left, leaving him to tell our neighbor why his wife was a sudden mess.

Our neighbor apologized and hugged me. How was he to know. It was ok. But it wasn’t. I went home that evening and cried myself to sleep. There is nothing I could have done, there was no moving this massive evergreen. The house was not ours any longer. I understand. But I don’t like it. How ironic this tree was roughly Zane’s age before its life was chopped down. It was another thing lost that was my sons. It was another reminder that things have changed forever. It was another catalyst to bringing my grief to the forefront.

When things like this happen, we need to find hope that it will be ok. Even when we know it isn’t. We can look at loss from the dark or the light side. I tend to look at it from the dark first. I give myself time to sit with the pain, permission to feel mad and sad and hopeless. And then when my tears have subsided, I look at it from the light side. And if there isn’t one, I try to create one.

With Zane’s tree, I have decided to believe that somewhere on the other realm, Zane has a space that he adores and that he rejuvenates in, and that spot now has his beautiful beloved tree. Beside him. With all the wishes we had tied on it and all the admiration we have for him clinging to each needle so that he can see, touch, and feel how very much he is loved and missed.

Motherhood is a Life Sentence

May 14, 2023 / Mama Fish

Last week was Bereaved Mother’s Day. A day for mothers who have lost a child. Today is Mother’s Day. A day to celebrate mothers. It confuses me as to why I am suddenly a part of two different occasions that are about one person. I struggle with the idea that I celebrate being Zane’s mom on one day and my daughter on another day. Just because he is not here physically, in no way reduces all aspects of me being his mom. And where is the day to celebrate my role as a mom to the many other children that I also love unconditionally? Where is ‘their day’?

Although I enjoy any reason for a party, Mother’s Day is getting more and more complicated with the definition of mother and what type of mother are you and each type seems to have its own day. Are you a mother or a bereaved mother or a stepmother or a foster mother? There is a flurry of diverse Mother’s Days in a calendar year. And then there are the protestors that think there shouldn’t be a Mother’s Day at all!

I don’t think you need to give birth to be a mother. I think being a mother is more about unconditional love. And that type of love can nurture any thing or anyone. I think the role of mother is about devotion, about care, about wanting the best. It’s about sacrifice and sleepless nights and an ongoing worry for them. Motherhood is not a role; it is a way of life.

Motherliness begins at a young age, long before the official call of ‘mom’. It begins as a small girl developing empathy and a curiosity of how one can nurture another. It may have begun playing dolls or taking care of a plant, a pet, or a sibling. It is fostered by a growth of patience and concern and strengthens with a desire to protect. All this creates a heart of joy and a mama bear attitude for those we care for.

And suddenly you are all grown up. And through personal experience your life becomes that of a mom. It is important to acknowledge the unique differences and challenges of the different types of motherhood. Some moms hold a baby they gave birth to. Some care for one that another woman gave birth to. Other’s play a role of mom to a child of a friend or relative. And some moms have four-legged fur babies they love as much. There are unique aspects and different details to who and how you are in the role of being that soul’s mom. What I think is important is the overall concept of motherhood, the conscious interactions with another living being (human or other) that causes a stirring in your soul, a tug at your heart, a desire to ensure this soul is ok. This makes you a mother. I like to think it is just that simple. It is a gift that does not come with a training guide but with an obligation to be our best for them. For the rest of our lives.

With all the complex intricacies of motherhood, I don’t need two or more days to acknowledge this responsibility and my part in it. I receive confirmation every day. A collective and special holiday for moms is great but I don’t need two. One day is just fine.

A Coliseum of Grief

May 7, 2023 / Mama Fish

My husband took me to see Matt Fraser live in Edmonton. It was a one-night stay that started at the picturesque Fairmont McDonald, where we sat in the afternoon sun with friends, drinking and sharing appetizers. A lovely few hours enjoying each other’s company and celebrating my birthday. I shared with them my excitement to see my favourite psychic.

The casino where Matt’s show was at was filled with hockey fans, casino players and people like me, hopeful to have a visit from a loved one from the other side. We enjoyed a drink before the show and met two women, who kindly shared their table. They were also excited to see Matt and told us the story of their aunt who had departed. They asked who we wanted to see. I said my son. As they left, one woman said to me, “I hope you see your son”. And it hit me. We were all there for the very same reason.

The show was sold out, as were the previous two nights. The concept that thousands had paid money to sit together and potentially share their loss with hundreds of strangers was magical. Each person attending was wishing for a visit, reassurance that their loved one was ok, that they were still here. Every single person had the same request. Every single person was in pain. Every single person came with hope. And the need to have Zane visit through Matt diminished. The comraderies of my fellow grief warriors were comfort enough. The understanding that the Universe was in control that night filled me with a peace that enabled me to “sit back and enjoy the show.” And that is what I did.

Matt did not disappoint. His readings were accurate, and the messages eased the receiver’s anguish. We laughed and cried together. There was a communal ‘oh no’ when Matt approached a woman whose boyfriend had been murdered and her baby died just after. The heart ache of loss was collectively felt. The readings were individual but the main theme that the deceased are here, watching over us, was a reassuring message for everyone.

It was a slow exit because of the vast amount of people. As we shuffled forward, a couple asked us how we enjoyed the show. He said he was not a believer and that his wife had dragged him to it. I asked who it was that they had lost. It was their daughter. 8 months ago. She was 29. The mother started to weep. I stopped and hugged her. “I am so sorry for your loss”. He asked who we lost. We told him. And a hush fell upon us as we continued to walk, holding each other up.

This event did have a personal message for each attendee. Perhaps not from their loved one directly, but from the aura of the hundreds of souls surrounding us. A sense of belonging, a whisper to look at the strength of each person there who lives with their eternal grief but who refuses to diminish the value their loved one had and still has in their life. The desire for connection. The innate ability to carry on. We were a part of that. Zane was there with the other souls. The invisible electricity of so many together in the same room from both sides of the veil was an experience I had dreamed of. We were a part of a coliseum of shared grief. And of love.