Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #Autumn

Thanks Is Found in Gratitude

October 11, 2026 / / 0 Comments

A fond memory I have is the gathering of friends and family around our table at Thanksgiving. We would each take a turn sharing what we were most grateful for that year. I was always humbled when the kids’ friends would say it was being a part of our crazy family.  How simple were those times, innocent of what our future was to bring to us. This year, I struggled with missing those happier moments, in the continued chaos of what is now.

Having had lunch with a close friend this week, as I walked back to my car, I thought of how grateful I am for our lunches. A tradition that has been going on for over ten years. Each time includes wine with a shared salad, and conversation that makes me laugh and gives me energy. I thought of my other friends, those who I have shared life with for decades, those who I share the path of grief with, those who I see occasionally and yet it feels like just yesterday. I am grateful for friendships.

It has been a tough year so I would be remiss to say how grateful I am for my qualified therapist who has shed light on many dark closets of my psyche and whose couch I look forward to sitting on each time to gain perspective, accepting challenges of how to move forward. I am grateful for her.

I am grateful that my daughter could make not one but two trips this year that were on her bucket list.  That she enjoyed far away lands and came home with a feeling of peace and beautiful pictures. I relished in short jaunts to Canmore and to Mameo that filled my spirit and gave my fear of long-distance travel a reprieve. I am grateful for mini vacations.

For most of the year, I enjoyed the company and traditions of family and friends gathering at our local pubs for conversation and insight and support of our daily dramas. I got to know some superb staff at Earls and Cactus Club with one of my very favorite people. I am grateful for happy hour.

Amongst the commotion and the heartache this year has brought, I have enjoyed dreaming and planning new adventures. I have taken courses to expand my horizons and solo walks to soothe my grief and landed on a couple ideas that I anticipate will be a new direction of joy. I am grateful for hope.

Autumn is a time of reflection. Watching the leaves fall and aligning each one descending with something to let go of. Watching the rabbits fur change from brown to a creamy white, reminding us that change does happen. But it isn’t always ugly, just necessary. Feeling the air turn crisp, whispering it is time to go inwards and brew something nurturing. Fall is a beautiful season, a reminder of self-care.  I am grateful for this season and all that it gives, all that it allows.

May this thanksgiving be filled with the soft colors of the season and the anticipation of gatherings with those you love. May these moments comfort your grief. And may your loved ones from the other side, come to be a part of all that you celebrate. I am grateful for each of you.

The Autumn of Motherhood

October 15, 2023 /

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 29th 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.”

Remembering Autumn Leaves

September 28, 2020 /

As I walk our dog in the park, the ground is covered with the colored leaves of Autumn.  As his little feet toddle along our path, the rustling sound of the leaves pulls me back to a time when Zane was just three.

We would walk down to the neighbourhood park while we waited for dinner to cook. Together, we would make big piles of fallen leaves and then jump into them, lying on our backs and laughing.  We would look up at the skies and take turns pointing at clouds and naming what they looked like. 

I can still remember the crunch of the dried leaves underneath us.  The musty smell of the ground tickled our noses.  The sound of Zane’s young giggle as he jumped back up to say;

“Mimi, let’s do one mo time.”

I can remember the deep joy, the love of those afternoons together. He was my little buddy; it was the two of us. The memory of those fall afternoons live with vivid detail forever in my heart.

This particular memory hit me hard this season.  I am not sure why.  I have walked through the leaves many times before.  But this time, something about that memory filled my heart with the cold ache of missing the past.

Grief has no pattern of what memory may bring comfort and what memory may bring you to your knees.  Memories often come in random fashion and the day, the mood, the level of grief has the memory leaving you smiling or crying or both.  It is called ‘riding the wave of grief’. Sometimes it is a gentle whisper. Sometimes it is a hurricane, crashing in and leaving you to gasp for breath.  There is no play book of which memory will come in as a whisper and which will come in as a storm.  There is no set schedule. We must be ready for either. 

I hope that your memories fall gently this season.

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