Category: Shared Grief (Page 9 of 20)

Letting Love Ease Grief

November 13, 2022 / Mama Fish

I’m not sure who dictates how much goes onto one person’s plate, but I wish they’d recalculate. This year has been brutal on our family. The loss of Dan, my cancer, the loss of Kim, the life and death health struggles of close friends, and now two more friends want to check out.

We heard of their desire back in the spring. Both suffer major health ailments and life is no longer the quality they hope for. After much conversation, we convinced them to investigate moving back to Calgary into an assisted living community and enjoy our health care support as well as the love of their family and friends here. They liked that idea. I was relieved. We found a place and made plans to fly them out to see it. These are lifetime friends who, when we are together, none of us remember that our health is crappy, and we are in pain. There is laughter and shared memories and time flies in their company. Their friendship is therapeutic. This was a good solution for however many days or years they have left here. Then we got a call from their son. Assisted death is back on the table. Why?

A cat scan showed two more tumors in our friend. He is done. He is too tired to struggle for the slim chance that he may last a couple more years. His life has been a good one and he wishes to go out on his own. She feels the same way about her health, although hers is better. I think it is that she does not want to be here without him. They are two peas in a pod and have never been separated.

There is a part of me that gets this and then there is the selfish side of me that screams, NO. I don’t want anymore loss in my life. Especially when it is chosen. I don’t want to have to be at another funeral and taking care of estates and personal wills (we are the executors) and selling their home. I am sick. I don’t have enough energy to get out of bed lately. I can’t do this. Grief steps in and blinds me. It zaps the energy and the understanding that I have friends who are suffering and want to end it.

Grief is a personal journey, and can be at times, a selfish journey. When it is loud, it consumes us to think only of ourselves; that life is unfair, we are hard done by and why me. It is at this time, that we must stop and let love come in. Love takes grief into its arms and holds it. It whispers, “everything will be ok. We got this.” It opens our eyes to a larger understanding and stirs up empathy within our hearts to listen and not judge. Love can calm grief.

So, I sit in my chair, and I listen to love. I think of the many wonderful memories I will always have. I feel gratitude that I have these friends and I ask for strength to be with them when they carry out their wishes. I feel my grief lessen and the energy I will need peeks over the distant horizon of my own anguish. I tell grief that I am aware it does not leave and thank it for momentarily letting love ease its sharp edges.

The Highest of Bittersweet

November 6, 2022 / Mama Fish

We have been planning my daughter’s engagement for months. Every detail from décor to menu centered around her and her fiancé’s love of horror films, the reason the engagement party was held on Halloween night. It will be her wedding day, next year. Halloween is also the favorite holiday of her brother’s.

I had no idea as we planned, excited about each part, how this event would affect me. I thought I was good. It was about them. It was not about Zane. And yet, at the end of the night, I am in hysterics on the drive home, grief exploding inside me as I cried out how much I miss Zane. I gasped through my sobs, “this is the highest of bittersweet”. I was not prepared for this reaction in the least.

My husband, who gets and has been witness to my grief bursts firsthand, joked it being about the alcohol. (He knows the truth of grief; he lives it with me). And my retort was, there is always alcohol in our house, and I have not had this feeling other times when the same or more was consumed. Albeit I am sure it does not help; I cannot blame the entire episode on the fact I had ‘too much’. Sometimes a grief burst will happen in the morning, getting groceries with a coffee in hand. We don’t blame the coffee. Sometimes it happens in a park during a dog walk, we don’t blame the dog. No, I do believe that the triggers of grief are more soulful than what you are consuming or doing. Grief is sneaky. It waits in the corners of your life to come out, sometimes when you know it will, and sometimes it surprises you.

How do we prepare for these dreadful surprises? We are told when we are attending events that we know might trigger our grief, to have a plan b. Make sure you have an exit plan. Stay for a shorter time or don’t go at all. (My husband would add, don’t drink wine with jello shots!) But what do you do for those other events that these ideas can’t be used. How do I not attend the wedding of my daughter? How do I not attend the baby shower of a friend’s grandchild? I am still here. These are the sweet moments of life I used to relish. They will still happen, and I want to be a part of them. They are also the moments that my grief uses against me. Reminding me that Zane will never have an engagement party to plan. He will never dress up for Halloween again. And I will never have a mother son dance at his wedding. These are the sharp bitter moments that the sweet moments remind me of. The irony is suffocating. All the work to learn to live with our grief and feel joy again is deflated in each sweet moment because grief reminds us that how we live is also bitter. Painfully bitter.

Maybe time will help. I’m not sure about that. After all, it has been four years, but Halloween night, I ached, and I cried to the heaven’s as if it was the first night. Maybe, what will help, is just being aware of this reality. Maybe just knowing that yes, I will have sweet moments that I will not want to miss but with sweet moments there is a bitter side. Maybe acknowledging that, truly, deeply accepting this is how life now is. Maybe that will prepare me for the ascend to the highest of bittersweet moments. And perhaps, if I remind myself that Zane is still here, standing next to us during these moments, I can begin to enjoy them more and ache less. With time and practice, maybe I can lessen the height of bittersweet.

A Toast to Kim

October 23, 2022 / Mama Fish

Kim and I sat together on his patio one sunny Ontario afternoon. He and my sister-in-law, Shalley, had just moved into their renovated bungalow overlooking Rice Lake. There was a flurry of people arriving; loud chatter and food being prepared for the masses. It was a typical day for Shalley, her desire to celebrate each moment morphs a quiet family dinner into a community potluck every time! I enjoy this but it was a new concept for Kim, a quiet and gentle soul whose love for Shalley brought him many new adventures.

He looked over at the semi-organized chaos and said to me, “is it always like this?” I patted his hand and said, “yes, always, but you’ll get used to it”. His face was thoughtful. He took a sip of his beer.

Kim did get used to it. In fact, he relished in it. The open-door policy to which a non-stop parade of family and friends would land to bask in their hospitality. Kim, in his chair, engaging you in light conversation of an array of topics, a good and insightful listener, always with an “oh yea” affirmation accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Kim’s way of letting everyone else take center stage while he cheered and applauded you makes you feel special. His quiet demeanour refreshes you. Young and old love to be close to Kim-his soul inspires.

And like he lived; Kim passed one beautiful morning. Quietly, peaceful, in his favorite chair with his dog by his side. It was unexpected. But then Kim was an unexpected bonus to our family. We will miss his physical presence, the escorted country-side tours in his Model-T car, the afternoons hanging out in his man-cave.

Family and friends will gather to share stories and celebrate the person he was on earth. As the crowd grows bigger, the laughter and conversations will rise to the heavens where Kim will be watching. Perhaps with a cold beer. I can hear him say, with a warm smile, “it’s always like this”.

Thank you, Kim, for motivating the rest of us to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, the wonders the day might bring, and to understand the peaceful joy of a sunset over the still lake. I look forward to visits with you from your new realm.

Finding Your New Normal

October 16, 2022 / Mama Fish

At a recent check-up, my nurse expressed I was healing slowly but assured me things would get back to normal in a month or two. I left the hospital thinking how many times I have heard this. “When things are normal.” What does that even mean?

In grief, normal leaves our lives the day our loved one dies. Those around us wait, hope, and encourage us to get back to normal. They want, sometimes need us to be the way we were. Change shakes up normal. That can be scary for everyone. It also puts an invisible guilt on those of us trying to get back to normal but not able to; we begin to think what’s wrong with me.

I started to remember about how futile my attempt to get back to normal has been. First with my grief and now my current physical health. Nothing will ever be normal again. Normal, for me, was killed four years ago and if I had any hope to believe I would get it back, that was removed with a bilateral mastectomy. I am so far away from the normal I lived before all this, that the idea of ever having it back angers me because I know it is impossible. It brings up the questions all over again of why and life plans and how do I get past this? Typical questions anyone of us ponders when faced with an unwelcomed twist.

The truth is there is no normal after a major change. It exits loudly and with no compassion that you yearn for things to be the same. Life becomes so different from what normal was that any resemblance of before is lost. This is a common feeling for those having no choice but to face the changes fate hands them that are life-altering.

So, let’s quit trying to be normal. We are not the same person that was aligned with that normal. We are different now. In our grief journey we are discovering new things about ourselves. We are finding new ways to cope. We understand the need for change. Change from what was normal. Changes that enable us to survive and hopefully, one day, thrive. Let’s take this empty hole, this day, this life and let’s look for what can be molded into a new, and yes different, but tolerable normal.

What would that look like for you? What little things could you bring into your daily routine that eases your pain and can become a new normal. Grief trains us to take small steps. What small steps can you make towards a new normal? We can look at this as an opportunity to bring into our lives pieces of comfort that we didn’t before because of a hundred excuses. Throw away those now. We have a solid excuse to create a new normal. Take what life has given to you, and design a new normal that honors you, honors your loved ones. Find a normal that fits the changes you did not ask for. Maybe with a little faith your new normal will have less stress, more peace, and a bit of joy.

Thanksgiving 2022

October 9, 2022 / Mama Fish

I have a lot to be thankful for. We all do. So, I am taking today to not concentrate on the pain of my body or the losses that have crippled me. Instead, I am going to watch my family enjoy gathering for turkey and the traditions that accompany it.

I am going to relish in the understanding that my loved ones from heaven join us today. It is a beautiful sunny afternoon that beckons healing.

I wish for you, a day of peace and connection. I wish for that to continue throughout the year.

How lucky are we to have, if only one, another to love and care for us. I am blessed to have an entire tribe. It is what keeps me breathing. Thank you.

The Cloak of Grief is Anger

October 2, 2022 / Mama Fish

There is always supposed to be more time. I’ll see you soon. I’ll make that appointment. We will get to that tomorrow. And then tomorrow never comes. Or it comes with a death sentence, and you are left having a list of things to be done before ‘times up’ and it leaves no room for what you wanted to do.

Our friend has brain cancer. And not a great prognosis even with his kick-ass 200% positivity. So, we, the recovery team as he calls us, are left to resolve a hundred things on his behalf and put into place care for now and for after. His two children, each with their own families and work commitments want to be with their dad and feel their grief. But the task list takes them away from that. And replaces it with grief’s cloak. Anger.

Anger comes when your soul wants one thing, your heart needs one thing and life dictates another. I watch his children, worried about the unknown and scared for their father. They have stepped up. Big time. Life doesn’t seem fair to them now. And it isn’t. “We have so much to still share with Dad”. That won’t happen. And they know this but between doctors and surgery and treatment and accommodations and paperwork, there is no time to feel this. Time. The elusive, non-refundable gift has been given to them, with an expiry date.

We sit with his children and the long list of what needs to be done. We organize who can do what and pull in friends to support this. We talk with our friend about dying, about last wishes and we, together make a plan. It brings a bit of relief to everyone. It gives us some control, some hope that we may be able to share a life, however short, that is filled with love and time together.

We now will go about implementing our strategy, with a plan b to create as we understand nothing goes according to the original ideals. We find comfort in the awareness that we are in this together and we have each other to lean on. All these things help. Yesterday, my friend told me his son said something profound. It was a short sentence that summed up our entire life. It identified our anger. He said, “Dad, I’m just sad.”

Traditions, The Glue Holding Us Together

September 26, 2022 / Mama Fish

My daughter, Payton, and I have an annual tradition to make pickles and jam. Life has recently gotten too busy. Between what must be done and what should be done, we have had little chance to relax. So, we missed the season of getting pickling cucumbers in time to make our famous dill pickles. This year we opted for cranberry relish, zucchini relish and a whiskey peach jam.

The truth is I am with Payton a lot. Time together is our tradition. Zane called us two old ladies as we enjoy shopping, patio hopping, Netflix binges, crafts and cooking together. She is a best friend. Being acutely aware of the pain of loss, traditions with my daughter have become the priority in my life. I have watched her, over the last years, deal with the loss of her big brother and realized how important that these bittersweet traditions we share are. They are the glue that keeps us from falling apart with grief.

This got me thinking, what can we do to revel in the traditions we have. How can we celebrate with our children who live on the other realm. We can tweak the traditions to fit around our grief. Adding something new or modifying how it is done. We can create a whole new tradition. This all takes practice. Somethings help, somethings don’t. Each year you can refine your traditions to be a little more comforting. Traditions are long-term, passed down ideals which gives us the freedom to change them up. With loss, traditions need to become events that also honor our loved ones.

Let’s look at traditions and ponder how can we fill these with the memories of our loved one. What can we incorporate that will acknowledge their likes, their personality. Let’s go a step further and look at the other identifiable holidays that come along each year and what can we do with them to bring to life the memory of our beloved? Why can’t we have a calendar filled with celebrations that we enjoy with family and friends that include, that honor, those we have lost.

Somewhere between the zucchini draining and the peaches boiling, Payton and I talked about who we wanted to share our jars with. A new part of our fall tradition; someone will receive a jar that would have been devoured by Zane.

I am blessed to have such a wonderful young woman to create and celebrate traditions with. Her loving heart has a desire to include and commemorate, those that are here and those who should be. I know her brother is smiling as we pour a little of his favorite whiskey into the peach jam. He will always be a part of our traditions.

Keys to Grief

September 18, 2022 / Mama Fish

Grief comes in many forms and many levels of intensity. Grief is a result of loss and there are losses almost daily that we accept, sometimes without even recognizing it. Until they accumulate and you are not feeling well or can’t focus and not understanding why. Such was this week.

We drove to British Columbia to see friends who are not aging well. In our conversation with them I heard the loss of hope in my friend as he talked about not having the capacity to be the person he once was. No one likes bad change. And his physical issues are not good. But as we spoke, I realized that sometimes we have expectations to be the person we were decades ago, or days ago, from what life has handed us. Adaptation is key to happiness.

We came home to news that another close friend had stumbled and thinking it was a stroke, his children took him to the hospital. What they found was a large cancerous tumor in his brain. He underwent surgery the next day and the doctors have told us there will be a long road to recovery and a much shorter life expectancy than we had thought would be his life plan. Hope is key to resiliency.

Over cocktails, another friend told me she was diagnosed with cancer and will be having her toe amputated in hopes that it has not spread. We shared feelings about the realism of aging and how everything happens for a reason. God only knows what the reasons are this week. Trust is key to strength.

What I do know is that my plate is full. I am connected, by heart and soul to these friends. So, when falling to sleep is not happening and my body hurts, I know that I am grieving for the loss. The loss of what was and the loss of what is coming.

It is an unsettling feeling, empty of promise with no clear predictions. Such is life. Such is love. Such is loss. And what I know now is that grief is also a part of life and love and loss. Acceptance is key to courage.

Road Signs that Increase Grief

September 11, 2022 / Mama Fish

In May when we visited friends in Kelowna, I told my husband that it was my last time driving there. I wasn’t sure if I hated the drive because of the construction detour or the fact we brought our dog who howled the entire 7 hours. Well, we are back, driving west to see our friends. This time, there was no detour, and we left the dog behind, and I figured out why I hate travelling by car. It’s the road signs. Specifically, two types of road signs.

The first sign are the crosses. The sign that someone else lost a loved one to a highway crash. Someone else walks this journey beside me. Even though I know not of them, I sigh, whispering “I am so sorry” under my breath. I can’t enjoy the majestic scenery my husband reminds me of. We are in God’s Country. And where was God then?

The second, and more personal, are the dozens of road signs stating, “Passing Lane 2KM”. You wait for these expanded areas to pass slower moving vehicles safely. Here, you are not as likely to have an oncoming vehicle in your lane. It is this sign that was at Zane’s crash site. It haunts me to this day; 2 km and my boy would have been safe. 2km was all he had to travel before the divided highway would have kept him apart from the other driver crossing the centre line. 2km and he may have survived. Every time we drive by one of these signs, I can feel my heart explode and my hands grip the wheel tighter and my jaw clenches. I am a ball of angry bitter tension by the time we reach our destination. These road signs kill me emotionally.

It’s true that our life is all about bittersweet. When I see a feather or balloon, a sweet sign from Zane, I am elated. Connected. When I see a bitter sign, like one of these road signs, I am reminded of my truth. The ugly truth. A grief warrior’s life is a yin and yang of bitter and sweet. It is part of grief. I must remember this. The bitter signs are just that. They are signs of what happened. They are part of the story but not the whole story. And I can choose which signs I want to focus on, the ones that elate me or those that crush me.

Our trip home I will experiment with this concept. I will search for the sweet signs that I know are also there. I will watch the skies and the countryside and the mountains for clues that Zane is with me. This is an exercise in choosing how I look at life and I wish to see it with my boy, riding next to me, past the signs that repeat he is not physically here.

Goals For Our Grief

September 4, 2022 / Mama Fish

With September, comes the rush of more work, school, and busier times. We know this. Summer leaves behind the long days of less. It is a time to plan as well. I recently read, for mothers especially, that September can be a quiet but impactful opportunity to look at your life. And to plan your goals.

January is when we make new year resolutions; it is a time where we are exhausted and needing to rest and perhaps why so many of our goals fail. If we choose to look at what we want, what we need, in September, our perspective might be different. If we use this month to focus on what goals would support our grief, perhaps the upcoming months won’t be as harsh. September goals are about self care.

What would you like to see this upcoming year for just you. Between now, when the leaves begin to change colors and next year’s summer heat? What would you like to bring into your life and what would you like to remove? When we are grieving, the answers seem obvious. I want my child back. I don’t want to feel like this. I want to have peace, maybe a little joy. We feel it’s impossible. This thinking stops us from healing.

Grief will never leave and because of that we must look at how we live with it. What do we do to include it as the big part of our lives it will always be. Our goals need to include our grief.

In the quiet morning hours, before the drama of life unfolds, what if we sat with a journal and meditated about what we need this year to live with our grief. What would that look like for you? Would it include more time alone or more time with friends? Would it include a trip or a move or just more walks? What would you like to incorporate or remove or change with the upcoming holidays. What do you need that would support your grief? Start writing your thoughts.

September goals are the secret wishes of your heart. They do not need to be shared, no one knows we have made them. They are between you and God. Quiet prayers of what we have discovered through journalling to try. Just try.

And what if these feelings were heard by the Universe? What then? Could we find the energy to chase these desires? Would we accept, if what we dreamed about, approached us? We must be open to such happenings. We must do the work to bring to life the ideas we have recorded in our journal.

Identifying and working towards the goals of what is needed to build a life around grief is good mourning. Only by searching our hearts for new ways or modified ways to integrate our grief, will we then know what may bring us comfort.