Category: Shared Grief (Page 8 of 20)

I Wish for You…

January 29, 2023 / Mama Fish

A creative friend has started a class on grief journalling. When she said she wanted to start this in honor of her daughter and to help others channel their grief, I was totally on board. Sign me up! I had no idea what to expect and, now halfway through the course, I must say that it has been therapeutic. It is a small group of women, some who have lost a child, others a husband, a parent, or a special relative. A mosaic of pain and understanding. A safe circle where we are encouraged to share stories and celebrate the lives of those we lost.

One of our recent assignments was to write a “I Wish” letter to our loved one. When I told my daughter she gasped, saying that ask would send her over the edge. I sat to write out my letter and found that she was quite right. This exercise brought up all the what if’s and the if only and brought me to tears many times before I could finally complete it.

Dear Zane,

I wish I could have given you more. I wish you had taken a semester off to travel to Spain to enrich your love of the language as you had wanted to do. I wish we travelled to Montana, Vancouver, and Ireland. Those were always ‘one year’ plans we shared.

I wish I had taken a photo walk with you and spent more time learning about the camera we bought you, your prized possession. I wish you could have enjoyed the birthday gift I planned for you, shooting the cave and basins in Banff with a professional photographer guide! I wish you could have published one of your short stories or sold your photos. I wish the world could have seen the artistic side of you.

I wish you could be at your sister’s wedding, and I wish that a wedding would have been part of your plan. I wish you could be at the wedding of your friends who hold this same wish. You were to be the best man for many of them.

I wish you could have enjoyed your own home. A place that held your energy and that you found comfort in after a long day. We had such ideas of where this place would be, along the river, close to the night life you adored.

I wish that your soul plan had been different for you. And yet, I am learning that there is a reason for everything, including me having to live without you on earth. More than ever, I wish I could somehow be here, and you there and still be able to hold you.

I noticed as I wrote my letter that I was wishing for things for me; spending more time with him seemed to be an underlying theme. The letter was to be about what you wish they obtained or experienced before they departed, a written collection of what they missed out on. Writing what I wished for Zane, the answer to what he and all of us missed out on was simple. A lifetime of new memories. I wish for a lifetime of new memories we will never get.

The Gift of Time

January 22, 2023 / Mama Fish

While waiting for our plane to take off, I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a post that the husband of a colleague of mine had passed. I had no idea as we have not talked since 2020. I knew he was sick; he was sick when we met. So why I was shocked and now crying on the plane surprised me.

His unique obituary, a personal blog of his journey that he wrote to the world, has captured many people who have never met him but feel his spirit through his words. And he is inspiring. Even after death. His wife, who equals his grace, and his two children, join our community of grief.

Every grief journey is different. Hers began with the diagnosis that her husband had only a few months to live. When I met my friend, she was a new hire to the organization I worked for. She had just started when the news of her future was given. We worked close together, and she balanced her demanding job in between his cancer treatments and raising two teenagers. She was an example of light, love and how to have it all. I admired her. I enjoyed working with her. And when I quit to move to another contract, we promised to continue supporting each other over our favorite glass of wine. Her husband was in remission then and somehow, I thought he would live forever.

Sitting and reading the beautiful summary of his life I was filled with remorse. I was not there for her. I did not keep in touch. She reached out when Zane was killed with the same sweet kindness, she shares with everyone. We promised, again, to keep in touch. That did not happen. Life seems to blur what we want to do with what time there is to do it all. And now, the opportunities to have been there with her, for her and her family, are gone. Or are they?

True, we get busy with our own grief and life demands that we do not always get to where we want to go or be the person we want to be. However, we know that guilt has no room here and each day is a new day to make a difference. She has lots of family and friends to support her. And I can still be one of those. It is what we are taught in grief. That our community is one filled with those who are missing their loved one, and although their story and their pain will be different than our own, we understand loss.

I think that is what is important. Perhaps a lesson hiding. Time is so unrelated. It promises nothing, it stands in front of us, empty and waiting for us to fill it in what way we choose. Each day is a new blank slate with the opportunities to do different, to do better. It is a gift that each of us receives, and my friends’ husband knew this well. The lesson, for me, knowing how he lived on this earth, is that time will tell and before it tells you, take it as a gift and make the most of it. As he did. As they all did.

To her husband, thank you. Thank you for being such a spirit of hope and optimism and an example of how each of us could be facing our own adversity. Your strength and courage are contagious. Your sense of humor had us all laughing, a lot. Your generosity was felt by so many, including me. Your love of family, friends and of this life, encourages us all to be the best we can be. And to relish in the time, we are given.

Bless you, Jim. Keep in touch.

Currently Under Construction

January 15, 2023 / Mama Fish

I was told recently my mood is a negative one. I am acutely aware of this and did not need to be reminded. But, bringing it up to discuss had me explore why I am unusually pessimistic. I am typically the one who is all about the sunshine. Lately, I am more about cloudy with a chance of rain.

I now believe that being moody is an emotion that cannot be suppressed or ignored. If it is, then it turns into a deep-set anger that brings with it more negativity. Moody now, clearer later is my response. It is interesting that as I lean into my pain, others notice and seem uncomfortable with this. I don’t expect to be grumpy the rest of my life. I feel this phase is part of my journey. I am oddly ok with it. I am trusting the Universe to ensure that my purpose and the individual I am to be, with grief, will come to be. I am learning to be patient on this journey I did not choose to take.

In grief, we are warned that people in our lives will want us to stay the same way we were before. They permit a short grieving period before suggesting we get back to normal. It is blatant that our past normal no longer exists. That truth everyone agrees on. Why then is it suggested we can return to our old normal? Why is it discouraged to bring new or different ways of being into our daily lives?

I think many of us are not comfortable with change. Especially of this magnitude. Uncalled for change. Death of a loved one catapults us into unknown territory. Major changes. We are re-learning how to be without those we love here in our physical realm. Our journey is all about change, about learning to be comfortable again. We will never be the same. So, what do we need to find our new normal?

I believe what we need is courage. The ability to be brave in the belief that with change, we will become a stronger, more rounded version of our (new) selves. We need to acknowledge that mood changes are part of that. We need to be patient with ourselves. And we need to address those who care for us with a simple thank you. A reassurance we are ‘under construction’ because of our loss. It is a process we are also uncomfortable with but a necessary one and that we are appreciative of their support and patience. We all must be patient.

And I must remember that this is my journey and my journey alone. I must accept that mood swings are part of the process. I must explore them and learn how to modify them so that they sit peacefully within me. I must remind myself, as often as is needed, that in this unknown territory, I am under construction to become who I am to be with my grief.

Love for Mr. Tango

January 8, 2023 / Mama Fish

Anyone who has been loved by a dog knows of the deep bond this special relationship brings. My decision to when our family would get a dog was entirely based on when I wanted more crap in my life! Truly, I knew I would be the one raising, training, feeding, walking, and cleaning up after it. So, when I was good and ready, we would get a dog.

Our choice of what type of dog was decided by Zane. I had given the family a copy of Dog Annual and a pile of page markers. Each person was to go through the magazine and mark the breed of dog they felt would best fit our family. Jon chose a St. Bernard or a Bernese Mountain dog. I vetoed his choices, claiming I would not be carrying a shovel when I walked the dog. Payton had every other page marked. Clearly, she had no preference. Zane wanted a dachshund. I wasn’t thinking a wiener dog; I wanted a French bulldog.

When the pet store had a wiener/Pomeranian cross brought in, I suggested to the kids we go look. My plan was they would see this ugly mutt and dachshund would no longer be an option. Was I wrong. Tango, who turned out to be a wiener/Pekinese cross and double the size we were told he would be, has been the sunshine member of our family for almost 17 years. We thank Zane to this day for his oh-so-appropriate choice.

As Tango ages, I am aware that the likelihood of having him with me for another decade is impossible. It has been suggested I prepare myself for the day he goes to Rainbow Heaven. Something I have pondered, but quickly extinguish any thought he might not be my walking partner soon. He knows, God knows, I need this little dog.

After a recent fall Tango and I had together, I ended up in a physiotherapist’s office and Tango went to the vet to assess our injuries. For Tango, I was expecting the worst. He is old. His breathing is heavy. He doesn’t hear us come home anymore. I felt I knew what the prognosis would be, especially now that the fall created troubles with him walking.

Living with grief, we sometimes think and/or behave pessimistically. We go on about our daily life, waiting for something else to go wrong. We wait for the other shoe to drop. It is a defense mechanism; we don’t want to hurt anymore than we already do so we anticipate all sorts of terrible scenarios that might bring us ‘new’ unhappiness. What this thinking does is close our vision and the opportunities to feel joy. When you feel the agony of grief you can become weary, afraid to bring in love as you know the pain of the other side of it. This is a nasty, subconscious cycle that requires strength and courage to break.

The vet brought Tango back into the room. She smiled and reported, “for a small senior dog, he is in good shape. He has arthritis which we can give injections for, and eye drops to help with his teary eyes”. My heart flipped. I thought he was on death’s doorstep. I resisted taking him in because I did not want to be told I had more grief coming. “Are you comfortable with this plan?” the vet asked. “YES”, I laughed with relief, “the dog is in better shape than I am”!

As I write this, I hear the soft snores of my little beast napping in the morning sunshine. I realize I have been grieving for the future loss of my dog rather than enjoying the joys I have with him now. The truth is I don’t know how much time I have with him, so perhaps a couple extra walks in the park should be my course rather than fretting about the inevitable.

This experience has been a blatant reminder of what life is about. Where there is love, there is loss. Where there is joy, there is pain. My brain understands this. Living it is a different story. I must remember we have the choice to choose which side we wish to look at. The dark side of loss or the light side of love.

2023 is here!

January 1, 2023 / Mama Fish

The New Year has arrived. It brings with it the unresolved despair and worries that 2022 had. It brings with it, the leftovers of resentment and anger that I can’t seem to reduce, no matter what I do. It brings with it the deep sadness that I have another year ahead of me without hearing the laughter of my son.

2023 also brings with it the need to change. My cancer treatment now includes hormone therapy with debilitating side effects that can be reduced with exercise and less alcohol. I have never exercised a day in my life. Walks with Tango are meditative rather than physical. And those who know me, know that wine is a dietary staple. 2023 does not seem promising to be the year that things are going to get easier.

We know in grief that distractions are a good thing. We are aware that we live with grief forever, so purposefully placed distractions are necessary. They give a reprieve to emotional pain. When properly placed in our daily lives, they build strength to face the intense waves of sorrow. Distractions bring clarity to the importance of the people with us, to our current events; they are reminders that life is still ours to experience and share.

I find that I am happy when my focus shifts from my personal pain to moments of connection. When I am preoccupied, brushing my dog, writing to a family member afar, visiting a friend. Short intervals, but important ones. My grief is distracted when I am hanging out with my sister or my daughter; no matter what we do, I find myself feeling better. And a favorite pastime is a sacred moment with Zane when we connect across the realms.

There is something to be said about receiving a sign or a message from our loved ones. The impossible happening; their ability to reach through the veil to let us know they are here. It might be a feather or a dime or a number sequence. When it happens, there is a frozen second in time where the heart feels them, and the soul knows it is a visit. There is nothing quite like it. It is the ultimate distraction.

Grief warriors are taught to ‘say their name’. When given the opportunity to speak their name, to share stories about their life with others, it engages our grief. By talking about of our loved ones, their presence comes alive, and they seem to be with us. Speaking of and about our missed ones is a healthy, needed diversion that works. It is also the most basic way to honor them.

Thus, this year, 2023 does carry the baggage of previous years, but it also carries new possibilities of distraction. The hope that visits from our loved ones come often. The tending to ways we can honor and continue their legacy. The seeking of quiet moments when we can hear the voices of our past guiding us into our own future. The strength we need to face the challenges of a new year. And most importantly, 2023 carries with it the love our children gave us that can ease our aching and fill our broken hearts with peace.

Dear Santa,

December 25, 2022 / Mama Fish

All I want for Christmas is silence.

For with silence, I can hear my soul speak. I can hear it whisper there is a plan that all is to be ok. In the silence, my head empties of the racing tasks I have yet to finish and replaces them with dreams of possibilities. With silence, the shouting that pulls me in different directions subsides and makes clear what is my true calling.

Silence, when it sits next to me, brings me closer to those who are on the other side. I can feel their cheerleading. I can hear their laughter. I can recognize their love. In the silence.

Dear, dear, Santa, I wish for silence that comes wrapped up in quiet mornings with my first coffee, the fire warming the room and the dog lying at my feet. I wish for silence that comes in moments between meetings where I am drawn to step outside and recharge. I wish for silence that comes in the ability to stand and listen to the birds, to the water hitting the shore and the wind through the trees. Silence, I now believe, is what will wrap its arms around my grief and lift me up to a more revitalized version of who I have been this year.

I wish, Santa, for multiple touches of silence. I wish for the benefits that the silence brings. The peace and hope it can bring. The strength it creates inside. The clarity that comes within silence. I wish for this, for myself, my family, and my friends.

~Christmas 2022

A Message in December

December 18, 2022 / Mama Fish

Zane wrote a poem for a friend who died of an overdose. At the request of this friend’s mother, Zane read it out loud at the funeral. The title was “If you sedate, don’t expect to wake”. It was a harsh poem about addiction and the ramifications it brings. Including death.

I’d like to start by removing the stigma of this topic. Addiction has many connotations, none of them are pretty. I have many friends, wonderful parents, good people who have lost a child to addiction. They lost a child. They will be in pain for the rest of their life. And yet, because of the nature of their child’s death, there is a social stigma, a sideways look, and innuendos of how they failed. My mother used to say, “by the Grace of God, go I”. A line fitting for the smug person who believes that it would never happen to them. No child declares when they grow up, they want to be an addict. And I have never met a parent who didn’t struggle, trying to save their child.

My children have seen more friends die at a young age, than our generation did. Our family has experienced addiction on both sides. We have had friends and family members battle this disease, lose to this disease and we lost Zane to a man who was an addict and chose to drive that night. No one is untouched by addiction. CDC informs us that over 108,000 died of a drug overdose between April 2021 and April 2022. The number keeps rising. Addiction is the pandemic that continues to go ignored.

The truth is we are all connected, and the village has a problem. Something is wrong and we all need to fix it for the sake of our children. Let’s first agree that addiction can happen to anyone. Let’s open our minds to alternate ways to healthcare besides dispensing opioids and narcotics without any assessment or follow up. Let’s open our hearts to those struggling (the addict and their family) and offer our love and prayers. Let’s open our wallets and support the organizations that are trying to find answers and those that are helping heal the broken. Let’s believe that there is an answer. And let’s become a part of that answer. For the sake of those who sedate and will not wake.

December belongs to all of us. As we celebrate the holidays, the magic of the season and experience all the warm and fuzzies, we are reminded that it is Drunk & Drugged Driving month. I am of the belief that if we had fewer people self-medicating, we would have fewer people driving impaired. I’d like to focus on healing those in pain, rather than punishing them. We are all vulnerable.

Candle Lighting Day 2022

December 11, 2022 / Mama Fish

I am to light a candle today

In honor of, in remembrance of you

As if somehow not lighting it

I would forget you.

I have lit a candle every day,

Over two thousand days.

I light this candle,

In honor of you, of us

Of our life together.

I light this candle,

As an offering of hope

That you may see it and know

I am thinking of you.

I light this candle because

You are loved.

The flicker reminding me

How you enjoyed dancing through life,

Taking in all its’ pleasures.

I light this candle because it is like the brilliance of you,

How your smile shined, and your laugh lit up the room.

I light this candle because the moment

Reminds me that its scent, the smoke flickering

Is carried into the heavens, to you,

As a sort of spiritual connection.

I light this candle because its glow is warm, like your hug.

I light this candle because I am your mom

And I want to do something for you,

So, I light it.

Not just on candle lighting day

But every day.

Mindfulness and the Empty Chair

November 27, 2022 / Mama Fish

We recently celebrated American Thanksgiving. I always enjoy it more as it has a tone of a quieter enjoyable holiday, compared to the Canadian Thanksgiving and the upcoming holiday season that brings with it all the commercial hoopla. American Thanksgiving contained no fuss. We shared KFC and M&M’s buffet with our daughter and friends. We toasted to things we can be grateful for and shared wishes for things to come. All in all, I did not feel the typical intensity of grief that accompanies traditional celebrations.

That does not mean our pain is any less. In fact, currently both emotional and physical pain are at an extreme. And there is always the empty chair; the place that Zane should be at. Yet, that night, there seemed to be a sense of calm as if grief had chosen to sit in the corner and leave us alone for a bit. Even the empty chair didn’t seem as empty. I pondered why.

I am not sure how to explain it, but it was like we paused life that night. We had no expectations. There was no pressure about making this holiday dinner all things we think it needs to be. We were in the moment, together. We were a group that shares sorrow and joy. We talked about our boys, not in past tense but in how they fill our life, still. The attitude was like the boys were there, sitting in their chairs, joining in the conversation. This brought an air of peace.

I wonder how we can repeat this with the upcoming holidays. We know that the holidays make grief bigger. We know the empty chair at the table shouts this is not right. Grief warriors hate the holidays. And for good reason. Yet, the holidays are always going to come around and I don’t want to be the emotional mess every time. I don’t want my daughter to be the emotional mess every time. Can this not be fixed. Can we do something to fill the empty chair.

Mindfulness is about being in the now. Not reliving the past, nor fretting about the future. When we practice mindfulness, our anxiety is reduced. Our breathing becomes deeper. Our focus centers around what is happening right there; what you have created is experienced. Our Thanksgiving dinner was a combination of no pressure, good food and drink and all of us being there in spirit. We did not talk about the upcoming what ifs. We did not reminisce about the level of how much we miss our boys. We sat, in the present moment. We were subconsciously mindful.

Grief is a part of our lives. Perhaps we can practice mindfulness during the holidays to help ease the pain that these times bring. We will always miss our loved ones. We will never forget what has happened, our reality. But if we can try to create moments that are filled with what brings us peace and then sit still in those moments, perhaps this practice can bring us closer to truly feeling our loved ones in the chair beside us. And if that can be the feeling, then the chair is not as empty.

The Necklace

November 20, 2022 / Mama Fish

I have been purging the many bins we put in storage when we moved. These were items we did not use but one day might. They are items once loved, but not anymore or gifts we received and keep although we don’t need or want any longer. It is easier to store than to purge. Then there are the bins that contain the kids’ baby stuff. It’s these bins that get me. Especially Zane’s.

I was the mother who scrapbooked their entire life. One book for the school years for each child, another of life in general. I had a photo album for each of random pictures they might enjoy. The intent was to give it to them to share with their mates and their children.

I giggle when I go through Payton’s. I put aside mementos to share with her. I pack up precious dresses that she once wore, for her (future) baby. It is melancholy but a sweet melancholy. She is here to share these memories with me and to hold the physical reminders in her hands.

With Zane’s, each quote, I read of the things he used to say to me, I begin to cry. In a calendar of his 4^th year, I had recorded on Mother’s Day that Zane hugged me. He said, “this is your first gift Mimi, do you like it?” And then the following month, I said to him I was wondering what to get his father for Father’s Day. And he answered, “what about a hug? You liked yours”. Each of these quotes, each picture, I am flooded with what was happening at that time. All the joy and wonder of his wee life. His favorite camp shirt, his teddy bears, his beloved mickey mouse jacket.

He would not take that jacket off; it was his favorite. The soft brushed cotton now feels like silk with all the years of wear. It is still in great shape. I hold it up. Was he really this small once? And as I bring it in to hug it, I can feel him and from deep inside me escapes a wail of pain and the flood gates open wide.

As I am bent over the bin in tears, something shiny catches the corner of my eye. It is a silver box. I put the jacket down, wipe my face with the back of my hand and reach in to pick it up. I open it and find a necklace. It is a silver heart with turquoise insert. I recognize it. The memory of Zane comes alive, and I am sitting next to him. He is showing me this necklace. He is in his early teens. I asked who’s it for. He says, “I’m not sure. I thought it was for my girlfriend but that’s not it.” I said it was pretty and anyone would enjoy it. He smiled.

I never knew what happened to that necklace. He never said. And I don’t know how it ended up in a bin of his baby things. Did Zane know that there would come a day that I would be missing him as I went through his baby things, to find this piece which would bring me comfort in that moment? I am sure he did not. But he did know then that he was meant to buy that necklace and he did. He knew not who it was for but that it was for someone, and he was comfortable buying it knowing only that. He believed the answer would reveal itself in due time. That was all he knew. And it was good enough.

Sitting alone, holding this piece of jewelry, I smiled. Maybe it was for me. We just didn’t know it at that time. Maybe the Universe gave Zane an intuitive push to buy and hide the necklace in his baby things. Maybe Zane did, thinking someday, the two of us would find it when we were going through his things together. The Universe knew better. I put it on and smiled. “Thanks Zaney, for showing your love in so many magical ways.”