A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #emptychair

When the Light Comes On

The first time the light by the living room chair went on without an explanation, I wondered which spirit was visiting.  I felt it was Dan, my brother-in-law who had promised to play pranks on me as a way of letting me know he was near. Since then, it has become a family joke that “Uncle Dan is visiting” whenever the light pops on without reason.  And eerily accurate with the timing of something happening with his wife or his sons. I have quit laughing and now hold meaningful conversations with the empty chair speaking to the light with a “what’s up” and then calling my sister to be caught up on the reason why Dan dropped by.

It was his birthday on the 8th of this month, and for whatever reason, I missed him more this year. I spent the day thinking of how much he loved my sister, our family. He always had a teacher-type topic to share to explain the way of the world. He was generous, always worried about us and offering to be there in whatever way we needed him. His own tribulations usually went unnoticed because of his quiet demeanor.

He had a unique bond with my children. When Zane was born, Uncle Dan held him, coached him, and ensured him that he was always there for him. And he was. When Zane was killed, Dan said very little. With Dan, actions spoke louder than words.  He showed up to our house, carrying lumber, tools and a can of white paint. He sat, working on his project, his back to the friends and family starting to gather. I had no idea what he was doing. I was in such shock, numb to anything happening in my own home. But Dan was taking his grief and giving it space to express how he felt.

At the end of the day, not one, but two white wooden crosses leaned on our fence to dry. “If you wish to mark the place where they were killed…” he said to me. And hugged me. We did not speak of it again.

The crosses stayed in our yard until we sold the house. The truth is, I didn’t want them to be placed at the site. The site where the owners had been there that night, feeding coffee and muffins to the first responders. They would drive home every day, past the scene of where bodies and the tangled metal of vehicles had been taken away. They would mow the grass around the oil stains and glass fragments of their front entrance. Oh, they would be painfully aware of the tragedy, no crosses were needed.

And Dan never asked why I didn’t place them. It wasn’t important.  What was important, was that he expressed his raw grief in a manner that fit his beliefs, his love for my son and his desire to console the unconsolable. He did not make us feel that we needed to use his gift; just that it was there was enough.

I don’t know why this birthday brought back those memories. Or why this year seemed to bring more tears than smiles.  Perhaps it is because I have had a couple of years now to talk to Dan in spirit and the sound of his voice, the place he held in our family, I’m missing more. Or perhaps it is because things seemed somewhat less complicated when he was here in person. He was someone we could count on.   It might be a combination of the two. Either way, what should have been his 68th year on earth, began with the light going on as if it was his way of letting us know, “you may not see me, but I am still here”.

Mindfulness and the Empty Chair

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.  

Filling the Empty Chair

The holidays are here. It is a time of year when all messages are about  hearts coming home, being together, cheer and joy that becomes, to those grieving, a LOUD reminder that there sits ‘an empty chair’.   The pain is compounded when your loved one was born or passed this time of year.

This morning, friends from our grief community dropped by to bring us a piece of cake, napkins, chocolates, a sour candy cane and pictures of their sweet son.  Tomorrow he should be turning 27. I know they have planned this for the last while.  A distraction from the empty chair, they chose to create a celebration that had components of what would be happening if he was still living here on earth.

Celebrating what should be but cannot be isn’t easy.  It takes a lot of energy to which we have little or none. And how do we celebrate one that can no longer be physically here to enjoy it?  We do, by reminding ourselves that our children are still with us.  However you wish to define it; in spirit or energy or in your heart, our children are still with us. And keeping special occasions, including their favorites in your gatherings, is important.  I believe our children want us to celebrate them.  I believe it is a way to honor their life.  I believe it is a way to create space to remember them and the unique place they have in our lives.

I know, in the moments of planning a birthday sharing for their son, it brought my friends some comfort.  It created an opportunity for them to share stories about their son.  I now know sour candy is his favorite. I know blue is his favorite color. By creating a birthday remembrance for their son, and then sharing it with us, he is recognized and celebrated.   And that is good mourning.

© 2024 Good Mourning Grief

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑