Tag: #death (Page 1 of 2)

The Lesson of Repeated Loss

February 25, 2024 / Mama Fish

I don’t think God got my message. After our family endured so many deaths last year, I thought he and I had an understanding that we would get a bit of a break this year. However, we lost another two members last month and two more this month. It reminds me of a meme Zane posted, “I know that everything happens for a reason, but WTF?”

Del was a colleague of my mothers. I grew up with him. He was a true family friend that coaxed my mother to let her hair down and have some fun. He had a love for life, a faith in God and a laugh that was contagious. You could not hear Del laugh without joining in. His kind, inspiring manner brought the best out of everyone who sat next to him. Yes, he had a full life and his celebration service confirmed that through the stories shared. He will always be with us. We just have to close our eyes and hear his laugh. As his friend said at the funeral, if you do this, you will open your eyes smiling. He was 88 years young.

Our other loss does not carry with it such a happy tone. My girlfriend lost her husband, her companion of 37 years. It was an intense battle with cancer that not only took him but abruptly ended the ongoing retirement plans they made together. They had moved to BC from Calgary years back and so our monthly breakfasts to compare notes on raising two teenagers each were shortened to letters, email, and the annual visit when she would come out. In no way does that reduce the importance of our friendship, in fact it alters it as time together was not something we could take for granted. I so enjoyed her smile, her soft voice telling me about her latest adventure with her beloved. The plans for their next trip, the travels to see their children and hang out with the dogs. Her life centered around this man, her partner in all senses of the definition. Grief has arrived at her door and brings with it the comfort of shock and denial that this is happening. My heart aches for her. There is nothing to be said.

We have reached the stage of life where we can expect more funerals than weddings of our friends. To know this, doesn’t make it easier to say goodbye. But what I was reminded of these past months, is that there are four friends who I spoke to suggesting that we ‘get together soon’ and failed to do so. I’m not beating myself up about this. Life is busy for all of us. Foolishly, we always think there will be more time. This year, the message seems to repeat itself. We don’t know when the time will run out. Do not put off to tomorrow, what matters today.

When loss, of any size, is experienced, the body goes through physical, emotional, and mental stress to which we need time to slow down, grieve, and heal. I am not sure how we do this when the hits keep coming. Maybe it is a good practice in accepting that death is a part of life and if we fully feel this way, perhaps then the loss could be condensed to, we are truly sad but not devastated. If death is a part of life, then we continue to be with our loved ones, in a different but still meaningful fashion. I think this is a lesson our clan is presented with to which we continue to learn.

My Brother, Wandering but Not Lost

August 27, 2023 / Mama Fish

The relationship I had with my brother was complicated. I met Wayne when we were adults. He was my father’s son who we connected with through the result of my sister’s search to find him. He was living in BC with his wife and two sons. My sister sent him a letter asking if he knew we existed and if he was interested in meeting us. He jumped at the chance, moving his family to Calgary to get to know us, and his father. I went from being the oldest of two to the middle of three.

My brother was a typical big brother. He watched out for my best interests, he was protective, he gave lots of ‘brotherly’ advice. We drank too much together, hung out together, shared dreams and goals and were there for each other. Somehow, I felt he would always be there for me. A thing I took for granted.

So, when he fell to depression and struggled to live with chronic pain, I became the sibling who cared for him. Our roles switched to me watching out for him, connecting him to medical and financial resources, worrying about where he would live, how he would manage. It was stressful to see him change from my big brother to a man who spent more time hiding inside than being outside in the big wild forests he once managed. I became quick tempered with him and focused on his short comings and threw many pity parties as to why I had to take care of him. The truth is I didn’t have to. But I did.

When I received the call that my brother had died in his sleep, I set out to do what I have been doing for him for decades. I took care of him. I set up the family, planned the funeral and made the appointment for his ashes to be made into memorial jewelry at his loved one’s request. Only when I was driving the long trip back home from his place, did I start to understand what just happened.

My brother is gone. His physical body only ashes, his legacy unwritten. His loved one’s left comprehending the how and the what now. Complicated relationships bring complicated grief. We are left to feel something when sometimes there is nothing to feel. Or we feel something more than we thought we would. Grief can include guilt, remorse, and regrets. Complicated grief gives an ugly depth to these feelings.

What I didn’t think of was the why he and I were in these strange roles. What were the lessons we were to learn through this experience? When we are going through something that is hard or unpleasant, why do we race to find a way out rather than sitting quietly to understand the purpose of the hardship. I guess because easy is more comfortable.

If we could face our complicated relationships with more kindness and less complaints, perhaps they would not be as complicated. What are the lessons to be learned through such experiences? The truth is my brother loved each of us to the best of his capacity. He was there for us, as much as he could be. He created a life such that the last years he did find some joy. What I didn’t see then was that I was the lucky one to be able to care for him, to return the love I know he felt for me.

With that understanding the tears arrived and I thought of all the things I could have, should have done. His death, another reminder for me that we are all here together for just a very short time. The roles we play in each other’s life should not be criticized but rather celebrated as part of our souls’ learnings.

It appears, our family soul plan included a brother who came into our lives later with gratitude and hope. He left the same way. His last texts to me were of how much he would like to have done for me, for my pain. How he wished he could have saved me from it. An honorable desire that expressed how he truly did want me to be happy. How can I ask for more than what he could give? And what he gave was love. His version, his way, but still love and that can’t be ignored.

Wayne, thank you for loving me. Send messages, my sweet brother, of how we can remember and honor the life you shared with us. And may you enjoy riding horses in the fields of heaven.

The Technicalities of Death

April 16, 2023 / Mama Fish

If this year has taught me one thing, it is to get your estate in order. I have watched and experienced the drama of having last wishes incomplete and the bedside requests of those dying ignored by those who are grieving. I have also experienced firsthand how difficult it is to honor those wishes and expectations when the dying have left their desires to chance by not having all the details clearly outlined.

I was enjoying a wine with a girlfriend and sharing the troubles and minor details that we are experiencing in helping execute our friends last wishes. I asked her who was the executor of her will. It is her sons. With us, we wish our daughter to be. And so, I shared with her what I am learning that needs to be put into place to make certain that if your child is grieving the loss of their parent, the role of executor does not become a daunting task that can complicate their grieving process. Let’s spare them that.

If you have had a previous marriage, keep a record of when you were married, when your divorce was finalized and the names, birthdays, and place of birth for each child you had within that marriage. I knew my friends had previous spouses…did I ever care when they were married and divorced? Why would I? But now, I must know to proceed with the completing of their will.

What are the credit cards, and the amount owing. None of my business! Oh, but it is. Each credit card must be submitted with a final balance. How many air miles did any of them have? Why, I thought. They don’t need air miles to fly about now, they have angel wings! What were any outstanding loans? What were their investments? Were they joint, what type of account was it? Who do you call to close these accounts? And what the heck are their passwords? Nothing opens, even the phone, without a password.

What about their home? What expenses need to stay in place while we prepare the house for sale on their behalf? Who pays that? Did you know that certain expenses are permitted to be paid through the estate but renovations to upgrade are not? Where do their belongings go and how do you decide when more than one claims it was to be theirs? How do you be fair to the living while honoring the trust that you have been given to do the right thing. We continue to learn.

These technicalities are part of death. They are the task list you delegate to someone to do on your behalf as part of your exit plan from this realm. I have come to realize that it is one of the most important things everyone, regardless of age, or health, needs to do to confirm that their wishes will be carried out and with minimum stress to the person with the task of doing such.

Thank God our friends had shared most of the needed information with us before they left. Even with that, we have had a few surprises and some detective work still to do. I said to my husband, “can you imagine our daughter having to figure this out during the bleakest time of her life?” The sheer thought of putting that responsibility on her has me screaming.

This has encouraged me to update our wills and attach a list of things she will need to know. And I have made her a promise that I will update it yearly so that if she needs to execute my last wishes, she will have all the answers. And I will have it so ironclad tight that there will be no room for misunderstandings. This might be my biggest gift to her. And I hope I don’t have to give it to her for decades.

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.”

“On Life After Death”

August 21, 2022 / Mama Fish

Our beloved Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, through her books, has supported our mourning by talking about death, identifying the stages of grief, and offering us strategies to cope. My recent read, “On Life After Death” she deepens possible healing by reassuring us there is no death.

Her book reads like a conversation. I can imagine myself in her living room. A cup of tea is poured. There are cookies set on a plate. She sits down and in a soothing voice she begins to talk, “…the death of the human body is identical to what happens when the butterfly emerges from its cocoon.”

This book is about the three stages of what happens to us when we die. It is based on the vast experience and the commonalities across the globe, she has had with patients who have had near-death experiences. Her examples cannot be explained by science. A little girl tells her father she liked when she ‘had died’ because the place was so full of light and the feeling of love and that her brother was there. She says to her dad, “the problem is I don’t have a brother.” And her dad confesses that she indeed had a brother who passed months before she was born, and they had not told her. A female patient, blinded in an explosion, when out of her physical body, could see the whole accident and describe the people who dashed in to save her, but when brought back to life, she was totally blind. Example after example the good doctor discovers at the time of death, each patient was acutely aware of what was happening as they watched from above in perfect physical condition. And each patient then saw a path, a bright light and felt a love that was pure bliss.

Her words are comforting. She insists that our loved ones do not die alone. Those we love that have gone before are waiting to greet us. There is no pain as they transition from cocoon to butterfly. She tells us, “…it is no longer a matter of belief, but rather a matter of knowing.”

I relished in this suggestion. There is no death. There is this life, in this cocoon, that we must make the most of. At the end of this stage, the next life we maintain our identity and our personal energy pattern, taking up no space and able to be many places. Our loved ones are here, connecting with us, guiding us. They are the butterfly.

When Our Loved Ones Are Actively Dying

June 26, 2022 / Mama Fish

My friend told me she was off to visit her mother. The nursing home called to say she was ‘actively dying’. “What a strange term that is”, my girlfriend said. Her comment got me thinking about all the wonderful possibilities around having this opportunity to be with a loved one, actively dying.

We all know that death is inevitable, although we ignore it, when it comes to the time where it is the unremovable elephant in the room, we are given a chance to say goodbye. This is a period where we can say what the person meant to us; how much we love them. It is a moment to ask what they would want us to do after they depart. It is a time to reassure them we will remember them, and how. It is also an opportunity, if need be, to mend differences giving both parties peace at the end of the day.

I had the blessing of being able to hold such conversations with both my parents prior to their death. And yet, years later, a memory will come back, and I will think how I wish I could tell dad that or did mom know I felt that way. Even after our loved ones depart, you still want to hold conversations.

Recently I was reminded that it is never too late to converse with our loved ones. True, there is no verbal feedback we can hear if the conversation happens after death. What is important is the action of speaking out loud or in a letter what we wish or need to say. This is good mourning; it offers a prayer-to-the-heaven feeling that some how your loved one hears you and knows. And that is comforting.

When your loved one dies of sudden death, the beautiful experience of sharing discussions before they leave does not happen which adds to grief. It creates a lot of the ‘what if’ questions and ‘if only’ and ‘did they know’ questions that haunt many of us. Therefore, post-earth conversations are even more important.

Choose a quiet spot where you are uninterrupted and take a few deep breaths to relax. Ask your higher power for a moment to feel the spirit of your loved one and then open your heart. Whether you choose to write a letter or just talk, envision your loved one next to you. Picture how they looked, the softness of their skin, the smell of their cologne. Start with an affirmation. (Mine is always, thank you for being here). Begin chatting, as if they were present, next to you, listening to you. Be slow in this process and hold no expectations. End by telling them you love them. I enjoy this practice. Tears are usually a part of it, but I have also experienced laughter through these conversations I have with the ghosts of my loved ones!

Another good practice is to tell those who are not actively dying how much you love them. One never knows the plan life has for each of us. My friend says she is grateful for the time she has, knowing her mother will be departing soon. It is a gift my friend will be able to keep in her heart, forever. And may she find comfort in the idea that her last conversation with her mother here, is not necessarily her last conversation.

A Book for Those Who Won’t Live Forever

March 27, 2022 / Mama Fish

My most recent walk down the bookstore aisle led me to a different book related to death. “The Death of You” by Miguel Chen is about looking at your own mortality. He does it in a funny yet thought provoking way.

An uncomfortable topic for our society, I find that those living with grief can speak easier, more open about death. Probably because we are all about the sadness and the lasting effects it brings. When a death occurs, we begin to look at our own life, our values, what is important, what do we need or want to do before our own time comes to an end. We might reach out to an estranged relationship. We might look at our wills and our own wishes. Most women, I included, feel a need to purge. (We don’t want any dust bunnies left behind for relatives to talk about!). But it’s more than that.

Looking at your own death forces one to admit that we will not be here forever. It forces us to think about what our life might look like with this in mind. It helps us get comfortable with death. And that is what Miguel, a fellow grief warrior does. Having experienced great loss (his mother, his sister, aunt, and several brother-like friends), Miguel understands and compassionately illustrates the aspects of this taboo subject.

Each chapter brings a different idea around death, the types, the impact, exploring and pondering on the many ways death arrives and what happens after. Miguel writes to help us understand the complexity of ‘the end’. He includes meditation suggestions, personal stories, and humor. These combined make it an easy read. Each chapter beautifully flows into the next, frequently reminding us about what we can do for those of us still breathing (including ourselves).

I found myself laughing. I found myself thinking about certain things for the rest of the day. It gave me clarity on what I believe happens after we die but more importantly what I want to do before I die.

Miguel said about those he has lost, “What I can say is that what time we had together was invaluable, and death can’t change that.”

A reminder that spending time with those we love is the greatest gift of all and one that we get to keep forever.

Death and Rituals to Seek Peace

March 13, 2022 / Mama Fish

Every family has rituals centered around death. Burial or cremation. Viewing or no viewing. Ashes kept together or shared in memory pieces. Our family is no different, although I do believe we have a few rituals that are not as common to others.

One of our rituals started with the cremation of Zane. My husband asked if we could lift Zane from the viewing table into his casket. And then, as a family, we put the casket into the incinerator together. And the three of us pushed the button to start the cremation process. At the start, I stood there, shocked and disapproving. I am his mother. It is against all my maternal instincts to be a part of such a final act of ensuring he is gone. My sister convinced me to join. She said, “you are his mother, be there for him” and somehow those words rallied me. In that second, my perception changed to think that this could be an act of brave love. We held him until the very end; we were with him until the last second to which his body left our earth. That thought helped me get through.

At the request of my sister, we repeated this ceremony at the cremation of her husband. She was fine until the door opened and the heat was felt. She turned away and it was my turn to say, “this is ok, we are sending him off together”. And she rallied. Admitting after, that with Zane, it was therapeutic for her and with her husband, not so much.

With each death, we grieve different. With each death there will be components of sending our loved ones off that will not be agreeable to all involved. That’s ok. Tensions are high, grief is overwhelming, shock is present, all things making us feel and react different. Each time. Thus, I believe we must throw the rule book out the window. We can’t say, this is how I will feel, or this is what works because sometimes it does. And sometimes it doesn’t. Patience, kindness, and an understanding that we are all experiencing total grief in our own way and in real time. That is the key to family rituals around death.

My sister started a new ritual, with the passing of her husband. She gave us the gift of writing Zane a letter to which we put in the casket to be taken to Heaven and given to him by his beloved Uncle. I enjoyed this one, thrilled that a letter to Zane is on its way. I think when it is my turn, I want my casket filled with letters from friends and family wanting me to take messages to their loved ones. One last act of love. So cool.

Our rituals after include a drink in their honor (which follows the cremation), an Irish wake, the choosing of a memory bead and a tattoo (for some of us) to bear witness of our beloved. These acts help our family start the grieving process by escorting our loved ones to the other side while we keeping a part of them on this side with us. These rituals, perhaps a bit unorthodox, are what brings us some peace. And with grief, peace is what we all strive for.

Comfort Found in a Vigil

March 6, 2022 / Mama Fish

My brother-in-law Dan passed away yesterday. I had the honor of sitting next to him, with his wife and son, as he took his last breath. Prior to that moment we spent two days chatting off and on, sometimes alone and often with family. This opportunity enabled each of us to have one last conversation so that, as Dan said, “there is nothing left to be said.”

My conversations with him centered around his boys, the love he has for my sister and my perception of where he will be going next. At one time, as we were sitting in silence, he said, “it’s weird; I’m laying here, and you are sitting there and there is nothing in between us”. I asked if there should be. He said, “no, I guess not.” I suggested if he had any bones to pick with me, he should now. He smiled. And then I said, “I’d like to share with you how grateful I am….” And proceeded to tell him of all the things he was to our family and how lucky we were that the Universe’s plan was to include him as part of our crazy clan. Then I shared with him what I would miss most. The annual tradition we had of pulling an April Fools’ Day prank on one another. We both have a dark sense of humor the rest of the family didn’t quite get. Each year we would try to outdo the other. We talked about which pranks were our favorite and then I shared with him the prank I had planned that would not be happening now. He laughed. He laughed so hard his oxygen mask fogged up. He turned to me and said, “oh yes, that would be a good one.”

His one regret was that he didn’t travel more. I told him that big travels for him were about to happen; his life was not over yet. This body was about to shut down but with that his soul will be able to go anywhere, filled with love and light and no more pain. He will travel. And as it seems to be something our family needs, we will each have a memory bead of his ashes, representing his body as it was on earth. As we travel, taking our memory bead, he will be with us. “That will be one way we can honor you”, I said. He smiled. Then I told him that I expect signs from him. “I get signs from Zane, baby feathers and license plate messages and Instagram pop ups. What will be your signs? So, I can watch for you”, I asked.

Knowing when death is coming does not make the death any easier. But the opportunity to share how we feel and how we will miss them, how we might honor them, sending them off with that knowledge seems to comfort both the person dying and the person who will be left behind.

Before he passed, Dan said to me, “April Fool jokes, that will be your sign”. I look forward to a lot of laughs coming my way.

The Arrival of Anticipated Grief

December 5, 2021 / Mama Fish

I’ve been watching my sweet little dog start to stumble as we walk, and I realize he is closer to the “rainbow bridge” than I want. Or need him to be. He has been the lifeline for me, for 15 years, especially after Zane was killed. I expect him to live to a ripe old and unrealistic age of 40. At the same time, my sister calls to share that her husband has cancer. The doctor has told them there is nothing they can do. In his professional opinion, he has another six to nine months. This is the arrival of anticipated grief.

The magic of anticipated grief gives you a false sense of security. Shock, mixed with a bit of denial gives you the impression that you have more time. I mean the dog still runs like a puppy and my brother-in-law still goes to work. They look ok. For now. The beginning of anticipated grief is the sense that everything looks ok so must be ok. We still have time.

The hope of anticipated grief brings an illusion that this is not happening at all. I mean they are still here. Both dog and brother-in-law. And we have learned through painful, firsthand experience that the only true expert to dictate when you check out is God. It is this hope that anticipated grief dangles in front of you like the golden carrot. The conversations become what if and what can we do and is this true. How can this be right?

The beauty of anticipated grief is that it gives you the luxury of planning. As my sister and her husband go about the daily routine activities of life, there is time to think about the afterlife. What do we want for a funeral, what bridges might we mend before we go, are the wills in order? This gift of time enables you to prepare for things that must be handled, that if you were dealing with a sudden death, they become priorities and not a lot of consideration to choices. My brother-in-law has a say in what he would like to have included now and after he leaves.

The agony of anticipated grief is that you know it is coming to stay. When I think of my little dog not here, I pick him up and cuddle him. As a sort of way of telling grief, “See, you cannot come, my dog is here, go away”. And yet, my heart knows that there will come a day, when it will be grief’s turn to say, “I’m sorry for your loss, I have come to live with you. Again.”