Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #bittersweet

The Wedding is Set & the Heavens Will be There.

October 29, 2023 /

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 Highest of Bittersweet

November 6, 2022 /

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.

The Armor We Wear

October 3, 2021 /

A year ago, my friend shared the news that her 32-year-old daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer.  This past month, she and her husband walked their baby girl down the aisle, cancer free, to be married to the love of her life.  A truly joyous time.

I watched the video.  Her fiancé looked much like Zane, similar style of dress, shoes, colors.  His groomsmen came up the aisle one at a time and kissed him on the lips, bringing laughter to the moment. I can imagine Zane’s friends would do something like that.  Friends who are more like brothers.

I watched the couple exchange their vows and the smiles on the faces of family and friends.  It was a happy ending to a scary time for them.  And a happy beginning, all rolled into one beautiful, sunny afternoon.

As grief warriors, these are times where you need to put on your full armor. Each celebratory scene bludgeons you with a pain, an anger of why this can’t happen for my child.  Why did they have a horrific scare that they could overcome.  Did overcome.  How is this fair for my son?  How is this scene not my life?   The armor helps cover the heart so that I can be happy for my friend. This is her moment.  And she deserves it. I am thrilled that their sleepless nights and worry is in submission.  Worry will always be a part of motherhood but today, she relishes in the joy of seeing her daughter be married.  And the fact life has made this an impossibility for us, for Zane, brings bittersweet to a breathtaking, internal scream. 

My friend, in her excitement to share has no idea. The invisible armor I wear holds my pain in so all she can see is my smile and all she can hear is “Congratulations, I am so happy for all of you.”  And I am.

The scare of the unknown that ravished my friend’s days for a year or so prior to this day also carried hope. There lived, during her daughter’s fight, opportunity to express love and time to share one more hug. In sudden death, this is all taken away from you.  One moment life is and the very next you are told it’s gone. There is a cosmic injustice to this. Why God creates miracles everyday and yet saving my child was not one of them.

That night, I find myself alone. I take my armor off and the tears flood.  I am so jealous that my fate is not as kind as my friends. And this is the life of those in the grief community.  We carry within us the strength to put aside our pain to be happy for our friends’ joys. It fills you with such mixed emotions that we must plan to be gentle with ourselves after sharing their joy. We must find ways that bring a little comfort to the hell of not having the same. The armor we wear, does nothing for this emptiness. The armor we wear is for those around us. It pretends, “I’m ok”.

The Agony of Bittersweet

November 1, 2020 /

My daughter received a marriage proposal that she has been anticipating all year.  Her boyfriend did it right.  He asked her father first, then carved a pumpkin with the words “will you marry me” and presented the ring in a tiny black casket. Creepy?  Not if you know my daughter; she wishes to be married on Halloween.

I met them at our favorite watering hole to make a toast to the happy couple and to call family and friends to let them know the good news.  It was a glorious, happy moment; a very sweet moment.

It was also a bitter moment. Her brother should have been the one to make the toast. He should have been the one to give her boyfriend the ‘big brother lecture’. He should have been the one to post on Instagram how happy he was for his lil’ sis. For grief warriors, sweet moments are tainted with a sad bitterness. I think this, feeling truly happy, is one of the hardest battles of grief to which victory may never come.

When you are grieving, happy times are complicated. You might feel guilty to feel something lighter than despair. You might feel anger that your loved one was robbed of this moment. You might feel jealousy that you can’t share with your loved one happy moments your friends share with theirs. True happy has become bleak.  And that just brings on more guilt.

How do we fight bittersweet?  How can we relish in the blessings that life brings to those we love here?  We can try to include our missed ones.  We can speak on their behalf; if they could talk what would they say about this moment? We could include a picture of them as part of the celebration.  We could give a gift that symbolizes our missed one. Actively bringing our missed ones to the celebration is a way to honor them and to emphasize they will always be connected to our current moments.

I believe that we also need extra self-care during happy moments for others.  It takes a lot of energy to join a celebration.  Give yourself some down time prior to and after to rest.  Let go of the guilt that feeling bitter brings. Remind yourself that, if grief and love are intertwined, then bittersweet is the emotion of the two.

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