Tag: #goodmourning (Page 1 of 3)

The Five Invitations by Frank Ostaseski

October 25, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

My daughter and I were shopping at the Good Will Store (one of my favorite places to find lost treasures) and I was pulled to the cart of items to go back on the shelves. Lying on the middle shelf was a book, “The Five Invitations.” The cover read “discovering what death can teach us about living fully.” I picked it up and put it down. On our way to the cash register, something told me to go back and buy the book. I’m glad I did.

Frank Ostaseski is the cofounder of the Zen Hospice Project, whose book is an encouragement to show up and be fully present in this life. This is not a new topic, but Frank has given us a blueprint of how to do that in five invitations which included examples from the people he cared for in hospice.

The first invitation is about not waiting. Start living now. He writes, “…if we regarded dying as a final stage of growth…that held an unprecedented opportunity for transformation could we turn toward death like a master teacher and ask, “How, then, shall I live?” This invitation includes accepting the notion that death is merely another stage, that we continue as energy, that mindfulness supports fear and anxiety and the importance of forgiving others and our selves.

The second invitation is about welcoming everything, push away nothing. Frank tells us that this idea is the opposite to rejecting. By accepting what comes to us, what we experience is part of the plan to which we should trust. And that acceptance of this attitude is not resignation. “It is an opening to possibility, the basis for a skillful response to life.”

The third invitation Frank invites us to bring our whole self to the experience. It is about being a soul, not a role. How to listen, feel and follow your inner voice. This invitation agrees with how unfair, how difficult this life may be, and it reassures us that bringing all our emotions to the moment is permitted.

The fourth invitation is about finding a place to rest, the importance of slowing down or taking a reprieve. It is about the importance of mindfulness, meditation and how these practices bring awareness. “Awareness itself is the ultimate resting place.”

The fifth, and final invitation is about cultivating a don’t know mind. An interesting idea to be receptive, to meet whatever shows up as it is. It is not to seek ignorance but rather be curious and live in wonder.

I bought this book thinking it might be a good read for my clients, giving me greater insight or learnings of how to support those wishing to live life fully in the face of death. And it did. But it was also good for grief. The invitations align with the tools we use to soothe our pain and to explore connecting to our loved ones in a new way. The invitations can initiate a life of living fully, with those we love here, and with those we love across the realm.

The Building of Intent and Impact

October 18, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

This week I was asked to focus on Intent and Impact. For everything one does, there is intention behind why do it, what is the desired impact. Humans are geared to strive for impact; it is what measures our success, our purpose. If we don’t experience or witness impact, then we begin to struggle. Impact keeps us moving forward.

Our intention is the work towards impact and should be structured into stages. My intention in the morning is to start the day calm and organized. The impact will be I am more productive, less reactive. My intention for work is dictated by my task list. The impact is the productive feeling of checking off the boxes. My intention for evening is to relax, unwind. The impact is that I am more available through rest. It seems easy, when intent is clear and desired impact known, it is then that the path seems less chaotic.

Intent is about every aspect of one’s life. The intention to create a home that is supportive and nurturing with the desired impact that your family feels safe and loved. The intention to succeed at work with the expected impact of monetary and intellectual rewards. Intent becomes trickier when we are asked what is your intent for your personal grief.

In the grief community, there is a truth that when your world is blown up with big loss, everything you are, everything you do, comes into scrutiny as to whether you want to continue or change. Intent is shaken. Impact seems impossible.

Grief supports the necessity to take smaller steps. When we live with loss, the main intention is clear; how do we survive daily with such sadness. Our intention is to manage. Our impact is murky. Do we want our impact to be that we just endured the day? Or do we want our impact to be bigger? If we intend to create a life that makes our grief manageable, giving us the ability to feel joy and connection to those we love, the impact becomes clear. Our impact is a (new) life of purpose.

Truly, I believe the main factor in all this is energy. What amount of energy do I have to set intent and recognize impact. There is comfort in the agreement that baby steps are permissible. Encouraged. It can be achieved in the forming of behaviors. Choose one small thing today that could lead you to impact and do only that. Every day. Make it a routine such that it becomes easy. Then add another. And so on…

A word of caution I was also given about impact. Sometimes the best intentions fail. I share that, not to feel defeated to even try but rather to remind ourselves that the only control one has is in setting intention and working it. How impact turns out only the Universe knows. We must find peace in the pursuit.

The Murder of Monday

September 6, 2026 / Mama Fish

For a year now, I have had the pleasure of spending Monday afternoon with my son-in-law. As we all navigate the transition of happily married, to newly separated, he and I would gather at one of our three favorite bars to share our grief, swap stories and basically hold each other up. One can argue who this was more important for. In the early days, I think it was both of us. That has changed.

Recent events and I guess time have created a shift. The pain of connection to what reminds him of what he had and has lost, has become too much. The slim possibility of reconciliation happening only for a moment here and there has supported his decision that to remove everyone reminding him of the past is what his grief requires. Including me.

I believe and respect that each has their own path to travel with grief; that each of us needs to do what our grief commands to survive because ignoring it brings major complications. So, I must accept that there has been thought, and this decision is necessary. For him.

For me, I feel like I am being punished for something I did not do. I have enjoyed his company, his quirkiness and his big heart for over a decade. He was Zane’s buddy that slept over; the two of them eating pizza and playing video games like twelve-year old boys. After Zane was killed, he instantly became a member of our family and from the first day was the steadfast rock in the shock and grief that consumed us. There was never a moment when I didn’t send a text or pick up the phone to say I need you, that he didn’t come running. Unknowingly, he became the buffer to the pain of not being able to hold Zane.

This last year, I felt we had our own deepened relationship, albeit complicated by the past, it was unique to the drama of our family. We share private jokes, compare stories about Zane’s adventures and because of our history, I can vent to someone who understands. Our Mondays became a sacred and anticipated hour of laughter over chardonnay and martinis.

There was a part of me that knew as life carried us forward our relationship would change, but end? That was never a consideration. After all, he was and will always be one of Zane’s best friends. Yes, we would move on, finding new opportunities and I felt these might be the stories he would share that would cause me to feel nostalgic about what might have been. Not once did I think that murdering our Monday afternoons would be an option.

The decision to ‘create distance’ to soothe his grief has increased mine. It is one more change that I did not choose. It is one more loss that I now hold. And, if I am being honest, it is one more person that I love that has estranged me to support their own emotions. This is heavy. I am not sure where in my universal soul plan, I agreed to hold grief so many times, so many ways, and with such vigor. I only know that it is loud and continuous. Like a bad movie, playing over and over.

Alas, I have no control but to wait, wishing, for an invitation to resurrect Mondays. In the meantime, I have a heart filled with memories of the antics we shared. It is what it is.

Another Star is Born

October 20, 2024 / Mama Fish

His passing was peaceful. Expected. The family surrounding him with messages of love and permission to go. Knowing he was to pass; the family had the ability to do some pre-planning, and the result was a celebration of his life that was filled with many beautiful extras of who Geoff was here on earth.

It included his recipe of carbonara, a matchbook with icons of all his favorite things. It was held at his favorite watering hole. There were speeches, pictures and videos of his short time here and his impact on all of us. There is even a book of stories to be bought. The choice of shooters was Fireball or Jamesons. Geoff was the one who insisted Zane ‘man up’ and drink Jamesons, so to see a cinnamon shot on the menu made us all roll our eyes as to why that couldn’t have been the one we toast to Zane with! I could hear Geoff laughing at us and shrugging his shoulders like he did whenever he fooled us with one of his antics. I can hear him say, “who knew?” He did.

The service itself was like a high school reunion, filled with his friends that grew up in our homes. Now, young adults, having said goodbye to Zane years ago, they gathered to say goodbye to Geoff. It was hard to see the (repeated) pain on their faces, the emptiness of the realization that there will be no more brunches, games or conversations to be shared with their friend. My heart cried hard for their loss. For our loss. For the journey my friend has been forced to travel now.

When his sister spoke of her brother, I looked over at my daughter. How was she feeling? Did what she was hearing resonate with the pain, the emotions she felt about Zane? Of course they would. Geoff’s sister now travels on the same path my daughter does. A journey that took away her brother, her children’s uncle. And I felt like I did with my own daughter when Zane passed. Inconsolable. I cannot heal her pain.

Their entire family were stoic, as most of us in our darkest hour tend to be. Perhaps the shock of death, whether it is sudden or a terminal illness, freezes us so we appear to be strong. Whatever it was, they rallied and created an event for all of us to be together and share our grief in a tribute that Geoff would be smiling about.

It was two years ago; Geoff was diagnosed with brain cancer. He faced his fate with courage and grace and always kept what was important to him up front. His friends and family. So many people have said to me, there is peace found in the belief that he is with Zane. Up to their antics on a universal scale. I know in my heart this to be true. I see it in the night skies. Another star is born.

To Geoff, thank you for loving us as your ‘other family’-for being with for us for 33 years. I carry you in my heart. Forever.

Thoughts for Thanksgiving

October 13, 2024 / Mama Fish

Thanksgiving is here; the annual inventory of what we are grateful for. The symbolistic holiday of who sits at your table. It is a beautiful fall day as I write this and as I reflect, I have much to be thankful for. Many bittersweet things to be grateful for.

This year highlighted the importance of time. The speed of it and the ability to cram more into it if we choose. Before the loss of both Kirk and Geoff this year, time gave us the opportunity to build other memories to carry with us and meaningful conversations around how special our relationship was, will always be. I am grateful that the families of Kirk and Geoff let us in to share the last months with their beloved.

This year highlighted the power of Mother Nature. Our trip to Mexico to celebrate love included the beauty of her majestic ocean and the heat of the afternoon sun. It also brought fear and loss through the hurricanes to which we personally witnessed the sights and heard the stories of the damages such causes. I am grateful that our group returned home safe and my heart hurts for those who were not as fortunate.

This year highlighted the magic of family. My first trip back in nine years, it was a week of reuniting with those I love through marriage that I now call my own. It included meeting new members, sharing their story and knowing that our souls have always been family, connected through mutual beliefs of what this life is about. And my own family; trials and tribulations related to life and choices, some to which we can’t control and some to which we can, has reminded me that family is always first. Always. I am grateful for family, and the friends that we call chosen family.

This year also highlighted grief. It brought with it many levels, many forms of itself. It brought a clear understanding that loss is loss and each loss we experience must be felt. It connected me to new friends in the grief community and brought old friends into the same. It demonstrated how strong it is and encouraged us to try new ways to live with it. I have become grateful to the truth that grief is the constant reminder to live my best in honor of those I have lost.

Thanksgiving this year will be in the mountains. It was my son-in-law’s idea. I was thrilled he still wanted to hang out with us just after spending a whole week together in Mexico! The turkey will be packed with all the trimmings. The day will include shopping and happy hour at Bridgette Bar before tucking ourselves in for more wine and food. Zane will be joining us. After all, it is our happy place to which he and I go to be together. And that fills my cup with gratitude.

May each of you be filled with gratitude, of knowing that we are connected. Death cannot change that. Take this holiday to look at those sitting at your table. Without judgement. With patience and love that they are on their own path, to which we have the fortune to be travelling with. And ‘see’ those who you love that still sit, in spirit, at your table. Grief ties us to the love we hold in our hearts.

For The Love of a Dog

July 2, 2023 / Mama Fish

We bonded with our neighbor over joint walks to the street to let our dogs out. Rita, a long-haired dachshund, donned a Burberry collar. We called her Regal Rita as she strutted around the complex like a miniature four-legged queen. She was cautious of Tango, perhaps thinking she would have to fend him off. But Tango, being 15 at the time they met, a year older than Rita, had no romantic interests. They became old friends giving each other a sniff, a wag of the tail and sharing their doggie treats.

Our neighbor and I had a common understanding of the deep love we have for our dogs and how our happiness centered around the wellbeing of these precious companions. We shared the challenges of owning a senior dog; success is measured in how often they poop. How sometimes it is easier to carry them to the curb rather than anticipate an accident in the hallway. How many times they were up during the night. He joked of how when Rita passes, there would be a Shiva in her honor.

It was a month ago I opened the apartment door and bumped into my neighbor. It was the look on his face that I knew immediately. “Oh, no, not…”, I said, reaching out to him. “Yes, we took her to the vet yesterday”, he replied. I teared up. He teared up. We hugged. And just like that little regal Rita was gone.

Tango knew instinctively. He sniffed the door that day, as he always did for the past two years, a sort of hello to his friend. He sniffed the door once more and has never gone there since. When he saw our neighbor, he leaned into his leg as if to give him a hug.

We are taught loss is loss. Our neighbor loved, cared for, and worried for his beloved Rita. She was a constant in his life for 16 years. She travelled with him to work, on holidays and moved to Calgary as part of their family. She was his fur baby who held his heart and filled his life with unconditional joy. There will never be another Rita.

That’s how it is with life and loss. It cannot be measured. The impact one has on us is our own relationship. Unique, no other person will be able to feel how that relationship sits inside you. How big or small their impact was on you. This is why loss is loss. One cannot compare the love felt to another love felt. Whether that intense love was received through a person or pet, loss isn’t about comparisons to whose pain is greater. It is about the love we shared with them, to which we mourn.

The love of a pet is profound, it is inexplainable. With the loss of a pet, deep grief is inescapable. I watch my neighbor mourn her with the same reactions and components one does with any other major loss. He said, a week after her passing, “I’m not getting over her”. To which I replied, “and you never will. She took with her a portion of your heart”.

Rita, your big brown eyes, and your dainty bunny hops down the path gave me joy each walk with you. You were quite the lady. Thank you for sharing with all of us the love of a dog.

The Highest of Bittersweet

November 6, 2022 / Mama Fish

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.

A Toast to Kim

October 23, 2022 / Mama Fish

Kim and I sat together on his patio one sunny Ontario afternoon. He and my sister-in-law, Shalley, had just moved into their renovated bungalow overlooking Rice Lake. There was a flurry of people arriving; loud chatter and food being prepared for the masses. It was a typical day for Shalley, her desire to celebrate each moment morphs a quiet family dinner into a community potluck every time! I enjoy this but it was a new concept for Kim, a quiet and gentle soul whose love for Shalley brought him many new adventures.

He looked over at the semi-organized chaos and said to me, “is it always like this?” I patted his hand and said, “yes, always, but you’ll get used to it”. His face was thoughtful. He took a sip of his beer.

Kim did get used to it. In fact, he relished in it. The open-door policy to which a non-stop parade of family and friends would land to bask in their hospitality. Kim, in his chair, engaging you in light conversation of an array of topics, a good and insightful listener, always with an “oh yea” affirmation accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Kim’s way of letting everyone else take center stage while he cheered and applauded you makes you feel special. His quiet demeanour refreshes you. Young and old love to be close to Kim-his soul inspires.

And like he lived; Kim passed one beautiful morning. Quietly, peaceful, in his favorite chair with his dog by his side. It was unexpected. But then Kim was an unexpected bonus to our family. We will miss his physical presence, the escorted country-side tours in his Model-T car, the afternoons hanging out in his man-cave.

Family and friends will gather to share stories and celebrate the person he was on earth. As the crowd grows bigger, the laughter and conversations will rise to the heavens where Kim will be watching. Perhaps with a cold beer. I can hear him say, with a warm smile, “it’s always like this”.

Thank you, Kim, for motivating the rest of us to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, the wonders the day might bring, and to understand the peaceful joy of a sunset over the still lake. I look forward to visits with you from your new realm.

Finding Your New Normal

October 16, 2022 / Mama Fish

At a recent check-up, my nurse expressed I was healing slowly but assured me things would get back to normal in a month or two. I left the hospital thinking how many times I have heard this. “When things are normal.” What does that even mean?

In grief, normal leaves our lives the day our loved one dies. Those around us wait, hope, and encourage us to get back to normal. They want, sometimes need us to be the way we were. Change shakes up normal. That can be scary for everyone. It also puts an invisible guilt on those of us trying to get back to normal but not able to; we begin to think what’s wrong with me.

I started to remember about how futile my attempt to get back to normal has been. First with my grief and now my current physical health. Nothing will ever be normal again. Normal, for me, was killed four years ago and if I had any hope to believe I would get it back, that was removed with a bilateral mastectomy. I am so far away from the normal I lived before all this, that the idea of ever having it back angers me because I know it is impossible. It brings up the questions all over again of why and life plans and how do I get past this? Typical questions anyone of us ponders when faced with an unwelcomed twist.

The truth is there is no normal after a major change. It exits loudly and with no compassion that you yearn for things to be the same. Life becomes so different from what normal was that any resemblance of before is lost. This is a common feeling for those having no choice but to face the changes fate hands them that are life-altering.

So, let’s quit trying to be normal. We are not the same person that was aligned with that normal. We are different now. In our grief journey we are discovering new things about ourselves. We are finding new ways to cope. We understand the need for change. Change from what was normal. Changes that enable us to survive and hopefully, one day, thrive. Let’s take this empty hole, this day, this life and let’s look for what can be molded into a new, and yes different, but tolerable normal.

What would that look like for you? What little things could you bring into your daily routine that eases your pain and can become a new normal. Grief trains us to take small steps. What small steps can you make towards a new normal? We can look at this as an opportunity to bring into our lives pieces of comfort that we didn’t before because of a hundred excuses. Throw away those now. We have a solid excuse to create a new normal. Take what life has given to you, and design a new normal that honors you, honors your loved ones. Find a normal that fits the changes you did not ask for. Maybe with a little faith your new normal will have less stress, more peace, and a bit of joy.

Thanksgiving 2022

October 9, 2022 / Mama Fish

I have a lot to be thankful for. We all do. So, I am taking today to not concentrate on the pain of my body or the losses that have crippled me. Instead, I am going to watch my family enjoy gathering for turkey and the traditions that accompany it.

I am going to relish in the understanding that my loved ones from heaven join us today. It is a beautiful sunny afternoon that beckons healing.

I wish for you, a day of peace and connection. I wish for that to continue throughout the year.

How lucky are we to have, if only one, another to love and care for us. I am blessed to have an entire tribe. It is what keeps me breathing. Thank you.