In my grief community, we have been talking about how spontaneity and fun are important to intuitive development. A friend suggested “fun” was a word foreign to her and I agreed. In fact, each grief warrior I speak to has admitted that fun is not in their vocabulary since the loss of their child. A sad but true sentiment to which is contrary to the stories we share of our kids and how much fun they were, they had, they brought to the life they shared with us.
Zane was the epitome of spontaneous fun. Every morning at breakfast I would experience belly laughs or shake my head, “oh no you didn’t” as he shared of the adventures he had the night before. He was known to jump over a fence or a bar bench to grab the attention (and hopefully the phone number) of a pretty girl. He bought a camera strap once, showing me its uniqueness by putting it on and running back and forth in our yard. He asked if I saw why, it was so cool. I said I wasn’t sure, but I noticed it kept the camera from moving. “Exactly!” he grinned. Why was that important, I asked. “Well, I might have to run from someone wanting my camera when I’m snapping pictures downtown” he said. He winked. Apparently, that had already happened. He had escaped, but felt a tight strap would be useful for future outings. I shook my head.
If that happened to me, fear would not let me try again. But Zane, and the experiences he had, good and bad, were all part of life. He welcomed it. He encouraged it. He relished in it. And I sat on the sidelines, living vicariously through his antics, loving every moment.
They suggest when a loved one passes, that we live in manners that reflect who they are. If we carry on unfulfilled dreams they had or take up a hobby they had enjoyed or try to build in the things they loved into our own lives, it honors them. It keeps them alive. Zane’s zest for living your best life was his legacy and one each of us tries to keep in mind. “Live it up, you are alive” he would say. It is that line a friend had silk screened onto t-shirts for the family to wear at his celebration. His eternal message to us to celebrate each day.
Trying to have fun is risky for grievers. We don’t know how. We are afraid that if we find ourselves laughing, enjoying the moment, it lessens our grief. And yet, it doesn’t. In fact, finding ways to have fun softens grief. Bringing into our own life, things that we can enjoy, turns grief to its other side to face us. That side of love. Yes, bittersweet, but what if the memories, the mimicking of our loved ones in ways that make us smile, also causes our loved ones to smile from their place in Heaven.
The stories shared from the mothers that I sit with, of their children’s life on earth, are colorful. And when we share the stories, we do end up laughing at their antics, shaking our heads in awe. It is worth the risk to explore how we can continue their vibrancy through our own actions. To have fun, as each of our children did. As our children would want us to do.
In the past, when I was enjoying something, like a new recipe or putting out peanuts for the squirrels to join me for happy hour, Zane would hug me, relishing in my joy. He would say, “awe, mama, you’re so cute.” It was amusing to him how I found fun. I am going to try to bring that back. For me and for Zane to witness. I can’t see me jumping over a bar bench for anyone. But with the right group, I might try dancing on a table. I have picked up Zane’s camera and promise to continue his love of photography. Although, his funky strap I can’t see needing. Perhaps, baby steps are needed when designing a newfound fun.
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