Tag: #goodmourninggrief (Page 1 of 10)

When the Light Comes On

November 10, 2024 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

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 8^th 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 68^th 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”.

Dancing With the Dead

November 3, 2024 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

As many of you know, Dia de los Muertos became a “Fisher tradition” six years ago when Azul, the beautiful Latin friend of Zane’s, told me to watch Coco. The ofrendas (altar) in our home displays the traditional Mexican pieces to celebrate our loved ones including pictures, drink, food & skulls. Even Tango’s dog dish is filled with food the night of Muertos to welcome him back to visit.

My girlfriend shared with me that their family will be celebrating Muertos this year; the first to honor their son who just passed. As she told me of their plans and who would be honored (including Zane), I thought to myself that it is her first of what will become a bittersweet tradition. Her son was the last picture I added to our altar, he joins the other nine of ‘our kids’ who were taken to soon.

When I went to bed, I told Jon to leave the candles on. It was early and I wanted to make sure our spirits knew their way here. I woke to a feeling. I looked at my clock. It was 4:44 in the morning. I smiled. I got out of bed and went into the living room. The candles were bursting with light, flickering and casting shadows on the walls. The song “Dancing in the Graveyards” began to play in my head. I moved closer to the altar. I lifted my hands up to the ceiling and closed my eyes. I began to sway to the tune of this beautiful song. The feeling of love, of a presence that I was not alone was indescribable. I let out a giggle and twirled around, dancing to the beat of this song that seemed to play so loud I was sure it would wake up Jon. I blew kisses to the altar and thanked my loved ones for joining me. I then sat in the peace of the soft candlelight and whispered out loud each name of these loved ones looking back at me through their picture.

I don’t like music. It’s my biggest trigger. But as the words of the song echoed in my brain, it was like the spirits were talking to me. “When I die, I don’t wanna rest in peace, I want to dance in joy. I wanna dance in the graveyards!” Yes, this song triggered me, I’m crying, but this time, this song, is a bittersweet, connected, my soul understands trigger. I reply, “And while I’m alive, I don’t wanna be alone, mourning the ones who came before, I wanna dance with them some more.”

I encourage everyone to celebrate Dia de los Muertos. It is a beautiful, personalized celebration that truly does stop time to remember those who we danced with in this lifetime. The same people who now look over us from above. The same people we can dance with ‘in the graveyards.’

If you have not heard this song, here is a link to my favorite version: Delta Rae – Dance In The Graveyards [Official Music Video] Take out the tissues and really feel the message. It is a song of promise. Xo

PS: 444 is a strong reminder of the power of divine guidance, symbolic of the energy that flows between the physical and spiritual realms. No coincidence I woke up then.

The Sudden Loss of Bas

October 27, 2024 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

“Les is so sad.” Of course he is, I thought. He just lost his son. I nodded. From my expression, the point of his sadness was apparently lost. So, my friend asked had I heard about his cat. His cat? No, I had not. Apparently, the little fur ball got out of the yard and didn’t return home. He was discovered in the nearby playground. The neighbourhood cougar had found him. I gasped. Life is not fair.

We don’t compare the loss of our pet to the loss of our child. But there can be no denying of the bond an animal has with you. The unconditional love that supports us, especially in our time of sadness. The affection for this pet was immeasurable, and his passing not only rips a hole in the heart, but it also rips previous wounds wider, it deepens the agony of the loss of everything else. Especially his son.

This is grief overload. More grief, too soon, causes our current grief to magnify. There is no explanation as to why we can’t have a period to adjust to one eternal sadness without another coming in too soon. The injustice of life, heavy in their home. The inability to control, anything related to their reality. The sadness, the sheer sadness of their present moments.

Our family experienced grief overload last year. We ache for them. I thought of Tango. I couldn’t imagine losing him just after Zane. Tango was the unspoken strength, the quiet reassurance that I would survive. Just a pet is not what he was or what the cat was to our friends. Joy, hope and comfort are found with our furry family members and now it too, is gone.

Research states that an overload of grief scrambles our thinking and puts us into a fight or flight mode that we don’t recognize resulting in the inability to manage our losses. This is a time where we must be extra attentive to our self-care. The irony is that most times we are unaware that we are in overload. We may feel more anxious or angry. Physical symptoms include high blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, blood-sugar imbalances and brain fog. It’s called “liminal space” from the Latin word for threshold. It is the place where grief overload exists, and the effects will be different for each person.

We know this. Grief is an individual journey. As family and friends, we can support each other when mourning by understanding that the waves of grief will hit each differently and not equally, or concurrently. Grace, patience and kindness are the essential ingredients to give the ones we love. Including ourselves. Most know this. Fewer practice this. I reminded my friend to make sure she was on the list of those in pain that she was caring for. She nodded. After all, it was her husband’s cat, but she loved it too.

Sergio and the Hurricane

October 6, 2024 / Mama Fish

One of my biggest fears is being caught in a natural disaster so when the destination wedding was chosen to be in Mexico during hurricane season, I fretted. And sure enough, part of our week-long holiday included experiencing Hurricane Helene in her infancy. A stage one hurricane. As I checked storm watch the guests and staff treated the incoming weather like a sort of spring rain. I was dumbfounded that I appeared to be the only one in panic mode. On Tuesday I noticed subtle changes to prepare for what may be.

At breakfast, our server apologized that another server was taking his shift. His manager had told him to go home to his family as the storm is coming and he lives four hours away. At lunch, the same thing happened with a change in server as our original server was told to go home to his family as he lived 50 minutes away. By night fall, the staff had quietly removed all the pool furniture, and most of the bars and restaurants were closed. The remaining staff continued to serve us, smiling and behaving as if it was any other day. And to them, it was. This is their life.

When we went to bed the storm was a category one, listed to increase and hit Cancun. A loud bang woke me, and the fan stopped. Then the generator kicked in and the fan began to spin. Then another loud bang and it quit. I got out of bed to peek outside. It was dark; the rain was coming down sideways with the force of the winds. I shut the drapes. “Here we go,” I said out loud as I crawled back into bed. I waited for a siren or someone to shout out what would happen next. I was met with silence. Time carried on and soon I found myself dressed and going down for breakfast.

Our favorite server, Sergio had Tuesday off, but when he didn’t show up on Wednesday and it was clear the storm was upon us, we worried for him. We spent the day in our room or in the hotel lobby where the staff continuously mopped the incoming water. The wind forcing the palm trees to bend over, the dark skies hanging over the crashing waves. The entire day was surreal, hunkered down during a hurricane and yet eating and drinking as if it was just another day.

When we woke Thursday morning the skies had cleared, the pool was reset, and people were finding a place to bask in the sun. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, the storm passed through, moving onward to do massive destruction in upper Cancun and the southern States.

We went down for breakfast to find Sergio back to work. When he saw us, he took my hand and apologized for not being there to serve us the day before. The storm had blown his water tank from its tall wooden pedestal onto the road, blocking the only exit from his village. We listened to his story of his challenge with removing it and the need for new (fresh) water for his family. I am in awe of the people there, whose lifestyle we would grade as poverty and yet they smile and live a full life. They do not let the fear of what they cannot control overshadow their joy. They are grateful for what is given to them and honor their professional role of serving those of us who come to experience their country.

It was our last breakfast before we were to leave. Each of us hugged Sergio, thanking him for giving us such great service. He smiled and in his broken English said, “Can I be honest? I appreciate you. Gracias for your tips.”

The irony is that this trip gave me more tips than we gave the gentle people of Mexico. I am fully aware now and so grateful that I live in a place where natural disasters are uncommon. I have gained a deep admiration for those who live where such dangers are intertwined with their daily living. Bravery is the unspoken characteristic. By observing their actions, I witnessed how I can thrive when the focus is not on fear but rather on the appreciation of what I have in the place that I occupy.

To Sergio, “Nunca te olvidare.” I will never forget you.

The Battles of Grief

September 29, 2024 / Mama Fish

The day before we left for our Mexico trip, we went to see Geoff in hospice. He was actively dying, and I had suggested that I wanted him to hold on until I got back. As I sat with him, just the two of us, I realized it was his time. I hugged him and told him how much I loved him. I reminded him that I don’t believe in death and thus, I do expect him to find a way to let me know he is still with us. I told him that he did not need to be afraid, he was about to be set free of his pain and would be able to see Zane. He could still be a part of his beloved Lauren’s life. Just not from this realm. I leaned in and kissed his cheek, I took his hand and put it to my cheek. I said, “my sweet boy, if you must leave now, go get Zane and meet us in Mexico.”

When we arrived in Mexico the next day, our group were boarding the suitcases onto the bus to take us to the resort. A blue dragon fly landed on my suitcase and sat there. Another flew by. I pointed it out to my daughter and then we boarded the bus. I said to my husband, “Zane is here. And I think Geoff might be too.” We smiled. Payton was sitting in the row ahead of us and as we waited for the bus to pull out onto the road, she turned and looked at me. “Geoff died last night.”

She reached out for my hand and held it. The news had come via Facebook messenger. Our family sat there, stunned in anticipated grief. This trip was about happiness; the joining of two of Zane’s friends in marriage. It was about them. It was not to be ruined. Our family made a pact; no one knows about this but us until after the wedding. So, for the next week, our family put on our masks and smiled while totally broken.

My daughter and I would take a walk together to cry and feel our pain. Then we would wipe the tears, put on a smile and rejoin the group. One afternoon I took a walk to the beach by myself. I ordered a shot of Frangelico (the liqueur that I drank when the boys were young). I stood alone, facing the ocean and remembered the beauty of Geoff, the laughter he brought to all of us, the love he shared with us. And my heart, in its pain, twitched with the soul knowledge that our boys were together again. Not that any of this is right, but they are together again. I lifted my glass to the heavens and said, “have fun boys. I love you both.”

As I watched my family push through, soldier up, I realized how strong we are. We knew this was to be a tough trip. We were going for Zane, to represent him. He, that should have been there. Watching the happiness of his friends and the antics of a Mexican holiday were as difficult as we had thought. Each of us struggling with our grief to be somewhat ok. But what we had not thought of was the effects of doubling that grief. And with Geoff’s passing, that was what the Universe handed us to deal with. Enhanced by the fact that we could only communicate through messenger, I felt disconnected from my ‘kids’, my friends, his family that I had so wanted to be there for. But, before coming to Mexico, we had set up a plan in case the worse were to happen while we were away. And it did. And we put the plan in place and mastered it like the grief warriors we are.

Welcome Home by Najwa Zebian

September 22, 2024 / Mama Fish

I picked up the book “Welcome Home” because of its tag line, “a guide to building a home for your soul”. We are told that when great loss arrives, we will never be the same. Nor should we want to. I have bought into that theory. However, this belief then begs the question, where does my soul live now? Thus, a guide to answering this question intrigued me.

Najwa is a young poet and author. She is a Lebanese Canadian activist who has struggled all her life with where she belongs and finding ‘homes’ in all the wrong places. Her journey has led her to write about a concept of building within your mind a home that is for your soul happiness. She takes the reader through seven chapters, each one a room to develop.

Her writing includes clips of her past poetry, details of her own journey as to why each room was created and ideas of how to build your own. The rooms are simple; self-love, compassion, respect, listening and dreaming. The two I enjoyed most were clarity and surrender.

Clarity was all about intuition. We forget to listen to our gut in grief because our feelings are raw and mixed and uncertain. Although Najwa was not referring to those mourning, but rather an overall, “I’m not happy, but I want to be” discovery, it can be applicable to grief warriors. It is important that we begin to trust our gut once again.

Surrender was the room where you take off the mask. This is the room, in building a life of joy, that Najwa suggests we listen to our self, to our heart, and to our soul. She writes, “Just surrender. Don’t just hear your inner voice. Actually, listen to yourself. Listen to your heart. Hear your soul. And…Listen to your pain.”

That chapter hit me. I would like to think that is what we do in mourning. But maybe not. Or maybe we listen to our pain but then what? Do we put it back on the shelf, close the door, or ignore it? What would that feel like to really hear our pain. The thought scares me. I struggle leaning into my pain. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to immerse myself in it. What would it say? And how would I answer? Or maybe, I don’t answer. Maybe, for now, I just start to listen better, deeper, and more often.

Although this book wasn’t a typical book to find on your grief reading list, it contains some ideas to support our heart when we are searching for ways to how we continue this path that loss has placed us on. Hope can be found in the building of a safe and peaceful place for our broken heart to reside.

The Tricycle Travels to Mexico

September 15, 2024 / Mama Fish

Our family is busy packing up to go to Mexico for a wedding. As one who does not want to travel, especially by plane to a hot country in hurricane season for a week of sun & sand to which neither I am to be near defeats the whole attitude of, “oh you must be so excited-what a wonderful time you will have”. I am going, but I am going kicking and screaming.

This wedding is Zane’s good buddy, more like a brother, Jake. He is marrying Kayla. Jake and Zane were wingman to one another until they met the beautiful Kayla. Zane was a large part in getting them together and keeping them together during the turbulent stage of getting to know each other. The three of them were known as the tricycle. They were inseparable for the last years of Zane’s life here. That is why we are going. For Zane. And for Jake and Kayla who we have adopted as ‘la familia’.

Under my protests of how I won’t enjoy this holiday, the truth is, I know that I can. I am going with my family. There will be 30 of us on a plane to the same destination, gathering to relax and rejoice. I have never been to Mexico with my children. Payton and her husband are a bonus, the first big holiday that we are taking together. I know that I will relax when we arrive, and the anxiety will return when we get ready to board another plane home. This is how I travel. What is different about this trip, is that Zane is the one who should be going. And that is my real issue.

Our grief community talks about these types of events. We share stories of the strength we need to cultivate and the mask we need to place over our face so that no one sees the pain we are feeling at these special occasions. These events taunt us, remind us, demonstrate to us how we will never be able to see our loved ones in such a position. We were robbed of such happiness. We are the sidelines witnessing what we will forever wish for our own. It is the epitome of bitter-sweet. And yet, we show up.

We show up to honor our loved one. We show up because they would want us to be a part of happy times. We show up because we know life goes on, even when we wish it wouldn’t. We show up because there are family and friends here, alive on earth to be with. To love. To cherish and celebrate.

And in that celebration the spirit of those we miss appear. As a sign, an energy, a feeling, a bitter but sweet feeling that they are withal present. It is ironic that the times we pretend to enjoy because we are expected to, these can become new moments we cherish in the future.

From experience, I have attended events and found Zane with me. These occasions become snapshots in our photo album, and in my heart of a time where life was celebrated here and Zane joined us from the other realm. So, I will go to Mexico; for Zane, for Jake & Kayla, and to be with my family. The whole family on their happiest day.

My heart knows that Zane will be there too. He loved Mexico. He spoke Spanish. He loved the swim up bars. His spirit will be next to his ‘brother’ Jake as he says “I do” to the love of his life. The love that Zane wanted for him. For Kayla. He loved them both. I believe that, if I look up to the heavens on their wedding day, I will see Zane, smiling for his friends. He is forever a part of their tricycle.

Where Did You Go? by Christina Rasmussen

September 8, 2024 / Mama Fish

One of the very first books I read after Zane was killed was written by Christina Rasmussen. Her story was about her beloved husband who passed from cancer. Her heart could not believe that he was gone, so she set out to search for a way to connect with his spirit. The results and how we can do the same, are captured in her book, “Where Did You Go?”

I bought this book because of the front cover. The title was the question I was asking. The tag line promises a “life-changing journey to connect with those we’ve lost”. Who doesn’t want that? Recently, I found it on my bookshelf and wondered why I didn’t remember this one. I started looking through it again and realized that I comprehended more than I thought. I discovered that my current beliefs and practices were born from this book.

Christina, who is grounded in science, relates to death through the physics lens. She has created a meditational practice using seven ‘chapters’ to open your mind and possibly change the way you grieve. I trusted her words when she said, “Get ready for surprises and be doubted by your friends. Be okay with that. This is your journey, not theirs.”

She suggests listening to binaural beats, a frequency of music which creates a shift in brain activity and drumbeats, which can create a trance state. With that background, she illustrates a ‘temple’ you begin to create through meditation. Back then, I confused temple, thinking it was a place she was trying to get me to create, and I didn’t want that. I just wanted to be with Zane. Her suggestions were a bit crazy, even for me. So, I finished the book, put it on the shelf and carried on with my grief.

Reading it a second time, I found myself nodding. Yes, I listen to binaural beats all the time, it’s the only music I can hear. My favorite frequency is 963Hz, which was also the frequency Zane listened to. My meditations usually begin visualizing a path I am on and walking up to a door. The door changes, depending on my state of mind, but there is a door. This is the first piece of the temple Christina suggests that you create. It opens your subconscious mind. My meditations are grounded in her theory to how we connect to our loved ones. I had forgotten all of this.

I am reading it over. Now, deeper into my grief journey, and many, many real connections with Zane and my other loved ones across the veil, I am relishing in its suggestions. I am hanging on to each idea to finesse what I already am doing, hoping to strengthen what I already know. What she is teaching is belief. Belief that our loved ones have only exited this realm. They are still very much alive inside a cosmic consciousness that is of one with the infinite universe which includes us. Thank you, Christina, for your far-out theory that has been the salvation of my grief.

A Chapter in Our Tapestry

September 1, 2024 / Mama Fish

When you live with grief, you are always looking for new and neat ways to honor your loved one. Recently, we were asked to send in a story about a friend who is dying. His wife is collecting them to make them into a beautiful keepsake book. The story can be an experience you had or a moment in time with them, something that illustrates their relationship to you. The idea is that when the stories are combined it will create a portrait of who this person was. It is a thoughtful, wonderful, creative idea. The challenge is what ONE story could possibly explain the entire lifetime of happiness this person brought. After all, how do you explain the brilliance of Geoff?

Tapestry is a funny word. But it accurately describes how Geoff fits into our life. He has always been there. We were introduced to Geoff as a four-month-old bouncy boy, whose mother came over to have coffee and meet Zane. His mother and I became fast friends, two women raising two adventurous boys.

They grew up together. Living across the street from one another, Geoff was a part of our daily life. The boys played together, catching grasshoppers in the field, counting how many glass bottles they could break before I caught them. They learned to ride bikes, play hockey, video games, and walked together to their first day of kindergarten. They were inseparable. They ran away together, got into trouble together (having fun in the discovery of how fast and furious dryer lint can burn!). They explored life fully with a gaggle of buddies included.

“You got a friend in me” is the philosophy of Geoff. Quietly teaching one how to tie their shoelace or drive a stick shift or face loss with honor. I learned from Geoff that it is ok to tell ‘skip the dishes’ to drop the food at the door and leave, because you don’t want to interact. I learned that a good shot of tequila can make things better. Although, he told me, “I am not a purist but that’s ok”, because I prefer chocolate tequila. And I learned from him that a hug says that I love you.

Geoff’s dark sense of humor makes it impossible to be mad and it generates energy where the entire room laughs. Even when facing cancer, he has that sense of wit. When he took me out for coffee to tell me he had a brain tumor, I asked what his fears about this diagnosis were. He said he didn’t want to lose his eyebrows.

Our families have shared the highs and lows of life together. And with each memory my heart laughs at the joy that Geoff has brought us. And I am forever grateful for the love that he has shared with us. How lucky we are to have him as part of our family’s tapestry.

Message In a Pot of Soup

August 25, 2024 / Mama Fish

Since the beginning of time, there has been an intuitive need to feed those in mourning. The day we were told Zane was killed, our house was flooded with family and friends who brought food and not just for us. No, for the first week, we had at least thirty people in and out and someone made it a priority to always have food available. I only recall this looking back. During that week I was in such shock that the single thing I remembered was that my son was gone.

Now looking back this is what I remember. The first day a friend was the one who started the food run by telling me that it was dinner, and we needed to feed everyone. I said I wasn’t hungry. She and my sister went to Safeway and brought back platters. After that, the casseroles started coming. Every dish was eaten. One dish I remembered was from a friend who was a chef of a local dining club. His chicken pot pie was large enough to feed the masses. The top crust of the pie he had artistically carved a design in the puff pastry. On the bottom of the topping was a rooster, a hen and a chick. At the top was another chick. This one had angel wings.

We had friends bring over chairs and tents and tables while we went to ‘identify the body’. We had friends bring cases of wine and pop. We had friends think of what we might need like toilet paper and brought those staples over. Nothing was left to be bought. Each morning a friend brought us a tea and my nephews wife brought a protein shake, knowing I was not eating. My nephew asked me where Tango’s food was. I forgot to feed the dog. Tango had a homemade menu, so my nephew bought the groceries and cooked his meals. Everyone was mourning but they rallied to ensure that our family was held up.

I suppose that is the subconscious idea behind bringing a dish. Food is the thing which sustains life. And when sickness, sadness or death arrives, bringing something to those suffering illustrates the compassion and support and strength you are offering them. It is why when a friend is sick or experiencing grief, of any kind, I have the urge to pull out the soup pot, chop the vegetables and drop off a jar and a loaf of bread for them. It is my debt for all that was given to us during that time six years ago.

And there is something therapeutic about making a dish for a loved one. It is mindful to think about them as you chop and slice. Sprinkled with sage, thyme or another spice, it is also sprinkled with love. Quietly stirring, I think of their pain. I remember my own. With each soup I have made, there are tears. I blame the onions. But we know better. When finished, I drop it off at their door, sending a text message that it is there. “Call me if you need anything.”

I recently made two pots of soup for friends. Each for a different reason. One was ill and the other is caring for her son who is dying. Part of bringing over a dish is that we don’t know what else to do. It is our way of trying to help what sometimes can’t be helped. It is a gesture that we are aware of their pain and wish we could make things better. That is the message that is stirred into each pot of soup.