Tag: #goodmourninggrief (Page 1 of 17)

How to Discover Your Life Purpose by Dr. Jordan Blake

March 1, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

The last book I bought in January was to be a pre-read to setting goals for the year. I had thought I was reading it to strengthen what I already know about values, but Dr. Blake’s writings had me starting all over again. And, although not the intention of the book, what I adapted was a beautiful way to follow what matters when living with grief.

He begins by telling the reader that purpose is not found (as most of us seek our purpose) but rather grown. “It’s not fixed. It evolves. It’s not a destination.” He asks us to see our purpose as a tree that begins with a seed. Through thought-provoking exercises, he has the reader dream about life without fear, letting go of what was supposed to be, the expectations of others before he asks the reader to select their values. Through this process I discovered that what I thought my first value was, didn’t align with what I (and my grief) want and need.

The book continues with discovering your passions and strengths and includes goal setting, small step actions towards these and the importance of reviewing how it’s going. It is a great tool for anyone wanting to better understand how to create a life that is filled with meaning.

How does this pertain to grief? Simple. Our values are usually chosen by what we care about, what we want of life, our attitude of what is important. Typical values such as success to which the goal might be getting a promotion or making more money. Or if the value is adventure, the goal might be planning a trip. When you think about grief as a persona with its own needs, attitudes and goals…what values would your grief want. I promise you it won’t be wealth.

Grief needs comfort. It needs compassion. It needs faith, family and respect. From the list given in this book, Dr. Blake suggests to not overthink what are your values, but to go with your gut. He asks the reader to highlight 10-15 values and then narrow it down to five. When I looked at the list through the eyes of my grief, the values were different. And since grief is the overpowering elephant in the room of my current life, I decided to choose those values.

Values are the seeds to which purpose grows. Your goals become how do you water these seeds. Common goals for grievers are reducing the pain of a broken heart, honoring our loved one, finding balance amongst the chaos, reducing the anger that lives within. If the chosen values align with these types of goals, the roots of purpose can begin to grow.

By the advice from the good doctor, if we move forward with these goals, holding tight to the values attached to them, we will begin to see changes in ourselves. They may begin as small changes, but they will be there and they may unsettle you but keep going. They will surely unsettle those in your life who want things to stay the same. However, we know we are not the same. So why would our values, our goals, and our purpose be the same? That ideology is freeing.

Our grief, with all its many negatives, could also be the ability to shift, reboot and move forward towards a stronger self and a deeper connection to our loved ones. Ironically, purpose may grow when we align our values to what our grief needs.

Grief and Vulnerability

February 22, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

I have just finished a month of therapy to which I am grateful for the insights and the aha moments my young, but brilliant counselor has brought me. My most recent session was especially hard because we explored the concept of vulnerability and where in my life does it live.

I come from a long line of women who have mastered multi-tasking, problem solving and facing adversity with very few pity parties because of a ‘keep calm and carry on’ mentality. It was suggested that my early childhood experiences and major ones following have shaped me into a person that cannot be vulnerable as then I am not strong. Which apparently is not accurate. Vulnerability is a sign of strength. To let your guard down and show your real emotion, leaning into this and feeling it to its core takes strength.

The emotions that grief carries with it are raw, ugly, and painful, such that we try very hard to suppress them. Sometimes, we find we can share them in the comfort of therapy or like-minded friends who we can open up to. As a mother, being vulnerable in front of your children goes against the intuitive need to shield and protect. Thus, your child is aware that you are suffering but cannot understand why you make the choices you do. They only see what you do. This disconnect can cause them to feel abandoned.

I remember my daughter, immersed with the raw pain over the loss of her brother. I remember her wishing it was her, not him. I remember holding her and thinking to myself, God how could she feel this way. The thought of not having her around ripped through me. I told her absolutely not to feel that way, we will get through this together. I closed that vulnerability she shared with me. Each time she wanted to be vulnerable, I reminded her to straighten her crown, pull up her big girl panties…we carry on. Even when she didn’t want to. Because I needed her to. Because I couldn’t deal with the combined pain of mine and her pain. I couldn’t fix this; I could not heal the anguish of the loss of her beloved sibling. I wanted to take and to carry her pain, as if by doing that, I could reduce her grief.

Siblings’ grief is complex. They know their parents are forever changed. In grief, especially in early grief, we are not capable of being fully present for anyone. The shock and pain of grief debilitate full understanding. Siblings often feel unsupported, putting on a brave front in their attempt to help the heartache of the whole family. Their healing often is ignored or put on hold.

I discovered, in that much needed Kleenex session, that I can be and have been vulnerable. In quiet moments alone, in the shower when the water drowns the sounds of my tears…places where strong mothers go to feel their emotions. I never considered being vulnerable with my daughter. Worse, I didn’t know what to do with her vulnerability. That was the therapeutic lesson of the day. My need to be strong has left little room for comprehending.

Vulnerability is acknowledging that, although we are all in this together, we will feel different, need different, move at different paces. Vulnerability carries within it a trust. A trust that we can let go of the expectations and assumptions that choices do not need to be unanimous. If we listen to our loved ones speak from their heart of their needs, recognizing those needs modify as our grief does, we begin to build new and authentic relationships. After all, grief blows up what was normal and all each of us is trying to do, is build a new normal.

My Broken Valentine

February 15, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

This Valentine’s Day we shook it up. The decades-old tradition of having a heart-shaped Boston pizza was replaced with an adventure to a new restaurant in a funky community of our city. We enjoyed a pre-drink at a nearby bar and met up with family to enjoy a night of libations and good Italian food. Yes, the boys had pizza. I chose a Caesar salad. All in all, the night was worthy of the pre-planning fuss.

Also new to this year’s celebration was a Galentine happy hour with a couple of my closest friends. A wonderful evening where we ‘got real’ with each other related to our dreams and fears of our own life and that of our children.

As I packed away the décor, and the cards received, I thought about my heart, the heart of my sweet friends, the heart of my family and wondered if our true Valentine might not be another person but rather our own heart. How do we nurture our heart? How do we honor our own capacity to receive and to give love. If your heart was a person, what would you say to it?

To My Broken Heart,

Every day, with every breath, I know you are broken. I recognize you are the carrier of the pain of all my losses. You did not cause the anguish I live with and yet, you continue to beat within me. Shattered, you continue to bring life to me each morning.

Most days I am filled with anger, raising your temper to remind me that I must slow down, I must rest or you will explode. I am aware that you are struggling with my inability to listen and yet you don’t give up on me. You continue to beat.

Some days I can feel a tiny spark from you that wakes my soul. Those moments are my favorite, the quiet ones where alone, I sense this light. The light where the hope you are offering peeks through. A gentle soft glow connecting me to the other realm, to those I have lost. Yours is a crowded place of many loved ones to which you embrace each of their spirit within you.

I am aware that you, my dear heart, are the source of energy to keep love alive. Broken and bruised, you continue to have me experience small moments of joy to be found in nature or in conversation with a good friend. These moments I find myself smiling. I believe these glimpses are what sustains you, the recognition of my soul wanting more.

More of what may heal you. More quiet connections, more rest, more inward conversations with you. More gratitude for you, continuing to go on despite all the challenges you face. My sweet, faithful heart, thank you for all that you do that gives me another day.

In grief we talk about the potential results, the agony of living with an angry broken heart. Science doesn’t need to tell us that it brings illness, both mental and physical. We live with it. Perhaps if we could see our torn-up heart as a Valentine, rather than a body muscle, our attitude could shift. Giving our heart a persona, giving gratitude that this Valentine is always here, ensuring we are here.

Our heart, a Valentine that carries for us, both grief and love. A Valentine that holds our secrets and dreams. A Valentine that brings us the opportunity to feel all the surrounding wonders of this life. That is a Valentine to celebrate each year.

Holding Tight to the Pain of Loss

February 8, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

I saw a video where a grieving mother told of how her friend had said to her, “I wish I could take away your pain…” and her reaction to this was a strong NO. She did not want her to take away her pain, any of it. I thought to myself I have said to others what her friend had said to her. It is not easy to watch someone you love in such pain. You wish you could take it away. This statement comes from a place of love, how could she be upset with such an offer.

She continued to describe her pain, the feelings of despair and the hardship of trying to breathe with a broken heart. These awful, life-changing attributes were hers. Because she lost her child. Hers because no one else had her relationship with him. Hers because no one could fix her fate. Hers because it was what she had left of him. His death left her with this pain. The pain of missing him.

What a beautiful way to see your pain. To hold the pain as a medal of honor. Yes, raw and cutting, but love remains and within the pain are the memories, the never-ending bond for your child. I had looked at the pain as something you do one of two things with. You live with it, trying to become amicable, complaining of its tincture. Or you run away from it; you find distractions to ignore the hurt. Throughout the days, you might do one and then the other but the third option of holding it tight, selfishly letting no one touch it…well, that was new.

When I reflected on how I handle my pain, I realized that there are moments when I hold tight to it. Bittersweet moments when I am with Zane’s friends recalling his adventures that seems to naturally become part of our conversations. It is why I enjoy being with them so often. Each time I am transported to another time where through stories I feel as if Zane has joined us, sipping a gin soda, laughing with us over his antics. Some stories I have not heard. Some his friends have not heard, thus every time is like a new chapter being told.

I know some family and friends feel this prolongs my grief, thus my insistence to keep these relationships has been questioned. I have been angry with the inuendo that I should move my grief to a different space or pace to align better with the expectations of others, yet it feels self-seeking to not oblige.

Grief is the other side of love and there are no one-sized answers to how pain is held. One can only do what aligns with their current pain. Perhaps time and understanding are required. The understanding that the need to hold the pain of loss is an equally important choice to letting it go.

The video I saw brought clarity. A mother, sharing how holding her pain close and not wanting anything or anyone to remove it made so much sense. When I hold tight to my grief, it softens. Within the angst of loss, I feel the eternal connection to my son through the shared comradery of his friends. It is how I hold tight to my pain.

The Point of No Return

February 1, 2026 / Mama Fish

The original meaning behind the phrase “the point of no return” came from aviation describing the moment in the flight where the airplane had used enough fuel that it could not return to its starting point. That was the point that it must continue towards wherever it was headed, regardless of any challenges that could arise.

Today, this phrase is commonly used as a social term. A warning to which emphasizes a moment of urgency. It is a sign to stop and become fully aware of what will be the next thoughts, words, actions, as they could be irreversible. It is in that moment that we must decide, will moving forward from this point be a positive one or will it be regrettable. In our daily life, there are many decisions made without much thought of are we about to pass the point of no return. Thus, there needs to be an understanding of what the point of no return is and the importance of it to sustain healthy relationships.

In my life, I have been asked to do that. To ponder my relationships and my involvement in each and to alter, correct or quit the course. I have never considered doing this. I felt my life is filled with people that have entered for a reason, season or lifetime and the Universe decides when they depart. But I have been pressed to do so. For my health. For the health of those I care for. It is my mental homework this week.

The instructions are simple; the assignment is difficult. Easy to list who I care for in my life. It is a long list. Easy to prioritize which relationships I feel need attention. So, one starts there, asking why each relationship is important. The obvious fact that they are family, friend or a partner doesn’t count. There are no titles in this assignment. The focus is about the person, regardless of the designation that may connect you.

The reflection begins with answering does this person generally make me feel energized or depleted. Am I able to be my true self. Is there reciprocity. It ends with the contemplation of what is the point of no return in this relationship. That is the hard question, what could that be, what to do and will I have the courage to do so if I get to that point.

The answers should involve your individual needs and wants. None of this can be answered until the question, “what is needed to be my best” is answered. And that is why it is difficult. If you don’t know, how would you know who fits into your life. This is a contemplative exercise to which is to be done with deep thought and lots of pauses.

This is an exercise that can be used for our grief too. It can help us decide what we require in our grief from others. And if we do not receive that, the point of no return, what does that look like? The idea of this exercise is to gain a better understanding of our own needs such that we can cultivate mutually positive relationships.

The point of no return is the catch net. It is the action decided when one is confronted with a situation to which goes against their values. It is a boundary designed to ensure that we keep safe. Understanding that it is more of how to face the challenge (as in the aviation definition) than a harsh alienation (as in the social term) might make it more acceptable. My point of no return is about how do I face the challenge presented at that point. Not how do I crash the plane.

Removing Spiritual Roadblocks

January 25, 2026 / Mama Fish

Geoff’s mother shared a story her daughter-in-law told her about a dream that a colleague of hers had. I apologize if, in translation, I miss details, but I remember it like this:

She was in a large white room with a bench in it and on the bench sat Geoff. He asked her if she could give his wife a message. “Please tell her that I am trying to reach her, but she keeps blocking me.” Then the door opened and in walked another man, who she did not recognize, and he sat down beside Geoff. The two of them got up and left. Her colleague said it was such a weird dream. It felt real. The wife showed a picture of Zane to her and asked, “was this the other man?” Yes! Yes, it was him.

When I heard this story, there were tears. Bittersweet, understanding tears. Proof that our boys are somewhere else, together and yet connected to this realm with a desire to reach us.

The question is often asked “has your loved one visited you?” The answer is varied. Some did in the beginning but not now. Some only once. Some are still waiting. How can we remove the roadblocks to connect with the spiritual realm?

We know that we are to quiet our minds. Visits from our loved ones are brief moments. If our mind is racing with thoughts, a visit might get lost in between all the other topics competing in one’s head. Resting, taking mindful walks help remove the blocks.

Connection requires our loved one to lower their vibration, and we must raise our vibration so that we meet somewhere in the middle. Negative emotions bring our energy down and although it can’t be helped to feel anger or resentment and especially sadness, we must try to elevate feelings of joy, purpose and gratitude. This helps raise our vibration.

Meditative, nighttime rituals are essential to removing blocks. All meditations carry similar components; relax, take deep breaths, empty the mind by focusing the attention on a specific scene, speak your desire. My favorite is imagining a forest with a stone path leading up a small hill. At the top of the hill is a cluster of trees. I stand in front and ask, “which of you would like to speak to me tonight?” Then I wait. It almost always works. It is not Zane every time, but whoever steps forward, there is uplifting conversation.

Dream journalling is a must. When you begin to write what dreams you do remember, your brain becomes trained to remember better. My dream journals contain many stories of Zane that I would have forgotten if I had not written it down right after. Spiritual connections require practice and patience. What will begin an occasional writing of a dream remembered, will become a regular happening.

The bonus of this practice brings our loved ones across the realm, in dreams but also in moments when awake. When their voice ‘pops’ into your head or you feel a soft touch when no one is there. Don’t be quick to dismiss it to your imagination. Answer back and ask for more. Your acknowledgement removes the spiritual blocks and opens the door to stronger connections.

A Letter from Grief

January 18, 2026 / Mama Fish

A recent exercise in dealing with grief suggested that we write grief a letter. The purpose is to face your grief, giving it a personality and telling it what you think about it. As I completed this assignment, I wondered, what if grief wrote us a letter? What would it want us to know? What would it ask? My letter to grief came back with a reply.

Hello,

I am here. The Universal plan brought me here and I know you don’t like me. I know I cause you angst. I know I am the reason you cry at night, scream in the morning and have so many thoughts of deep doubt. I know how tired you are from my presence. I know how hard you wish I would leave.

But I’m not leaving. I’m here to stay. If you find yourself in a dark spot, don’t blame me. Stop and be quiet, take a deep breath and a moment to ponder…

Are your thoughts, your actions aligned with truth? The real raw truth that only your soul knows. Not the truth that your broken heart is telling you or the muddled truth of your brain. Have you listened to the whispers of your soul?

Are your thoughts, your actions aligned with kindness. Are you treating yourself with the tenderness to which a shattered life deserves? Concentrating on nourishing your soul with solitude and reflection rather than distractions and avoidance?

Are you filling your days with small moments of things that once brought you joy or are you replacing everything with something new, something shiny, something that cannot relate to the you before I arrived.

These are the ponderings I ask of you. The answers can become actions to ease the intensity of my being. I am grief. I am the other side of love. Don’t mistake me for anything else.

Don’t mistake me for anger. The anger to which arrives through despair or impatience. Anger will make you scream of the injustices thrown upon you, insinuating you have been betrayed. It can not speak of the whole truth for anger has only one side.

Don’t mistake me for fear. The fear to which arrives through insecurity or lack of faith. Fear will cast shadows over the chance of joy, holding you back from opening the door to opportunity. It can not see the future, for fear only knows of the past.

I am grief. I am the other side of the love you hold. I am the tallyman of your heart; your broken heart that I will help reshape. I am not the enemy. I am merely the bittersweet continuation of love after its original form has left.

~Grief

Why Grief Isn’t a Journey (with John Onwuchekwa)

January 11, 2026 / Mama Fish

The topic of podcasts came up, and I wondered why I didn’t listen to them. I thought I might try to shake it up this year and listen to podcasts as well as read. My first podcast came to me on a web search and as they say, “first time is a charm”. It was a good one.

The podcast was from Grief Out Loud where John Onwuchekwa, a Pastor, author, team builder and storyteller communicated his thoughts of why grief is not a journey.

In 2015, his brother Sam passed suddenly bringing grief as a new subject into his forum of topics he likes to share. John starts the interview about the initial feelings loss brings and how that stays with us. How 11 years later, he still finds himself asking, “Is he really gone? In the early days, you forget. Hearing it throws your body into exhaustion, tearing your world apart… then, in the morning there are a couple of seconds before you remember.” The intensity of this goes away but it always will feel surreal.

There are parts of our self that die with the loss of someone close. We aren’t sure what those parts are, and we never know if you are going to get those things back. He speaks of what changed in him with his brother’s death. He shares he is no longer proficient at returning messages. Before Sam’s death, the opinion that he was responsible, goal orientated and focused on the outcome was important to him. Grief changed him to be more intrinsic and less worried about such things, to be more focused on the bigger picture.

He is much less an optimist. “Life is a sort of lottery with no guarantees.” He revaluated family and his role in his relationships and how he could be better. All aspects of grief that each of us face. What was intriguing is John’s disagreement of the idea grief is an individual linear journey that we travel. His alternative is appealing.

John believes that grief is a language we become fluent in. Through language one can support their loneliness. “People are not afraid of grief. They are afraid to be alone in their grief.” Language is about finding the right words when there are none.

John speaks about the types of languages of grief. For example, grief is body language. We cry. We scream. And forever, our body remembers the day we lost our loved one, the physical symbols related to their death, and when we do, our bodies may flinch. This is our body talking to us. Grief is also a written language. When you write, you must remember your story. It forces you to linger in the memories. “Grief is a language and if we don’t learn it, we can’t heal.”

The ideal that grief is a language to which we are trying to become proficient in gives a scholastic slant to dealing with grief, rather than the antidote ‘pack your suitcase, you are going on a trip’. I think I might combine the two. Grief has launched me on an eternal journey to which I will come across many strange lands and meet many wonderful people and together we will learn to speak a language only understood by those who carry loss.

To hear this podcast, click: Why Grief Isn’t A Journey (And What It Is Instead) – John Onwuchekwa

Gentle Reminders for Mother Hen

January 4, 2026 / Mama Fish

Over the holidays, I reviewed my role as a contributing and positive person in the lives of those I love. It was suggested that I can be controlling, opinionated and a busy body. Ouch. Someone else spoke of how I was raised on guilt and thus very good at using that tactic in my parenting. Double ouch. There is no mistake that our clan is suffering, trials and tribulations seem to be our thing. I’d like that to change and wondered how I can help, or do I just make it worse.

When I approached my family with this query, I was appreciative of the honesty of the responses. Yes, I can be opinionated, but it comes from a place of love. Yes, I tend to take charge when I see someone struggling and sometimes this causes questions of whether a person was genuine or if they were acting on ‘momma’s orders.’ Overall, my family has come to accept me and my actions as the mother hen God created. I seem to be the one having an issue with it.

I guess this whole review comes from the many arguments of late and the exasperation I feel with the choices my family are making. I am worried about the outcomes. I’m not sure how I can mind my own business when I am usually the go-to person when things go south. To let go is unknown territory for me because it is new. I used to be very confident in how I expressed care. Now, I seem to question, overthink and host doubt. I blame grief.

When we lose someone, we subconsciously become more controlling. We could not control when and how death came into our life to blow it up. But it did. And it left us feeling vulnerable. We begin to put into place actions to protect our fears, to perhaps numb some of the pain. We tighten our opinions. We begin to manage situations, putting conditions on the idea that if we have more control, we will not be hurt again. It doesn’t work.

As I was exploring how to step back from my urge to be ultimate mother hen, one of my ‘kids’ sent me a text. He told me that my love for him is what sustains him. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows that I am there for him. Unconditionally. And that has made the difference. My heart burst.

Another family member texted me, “I was the best part of 2025. Stay positive.” And another unsolicited text, “…You are the one there for me…” And then my daughter reminded me of the trip we had together to Ireland. A bucket list of her and Zane’s to get me there. She hugged me and said, “2025 took us to Ireland and showered us with signs that our tribe lives on. Together.” My heart burst again. I had forgotten how important that trip was. Truly the highlight of the year.

I believe that personal reflection is always a good practice. It solicits feedback to spark necessary change and supports the ability for growth. It may sting but change usually does. My favorite part is the gentle reminders of what is working, that one’s intentions have been received in the manner to which they were meant. These affirmations can be the foundation of what to build on.

Life is what it is. It will not be constant. There will always be change. How we move forward, becoming a stronger, more impactful version of our former self is the focus to which we can find balance, joy and connection. As mother hen, I will better choose the issues I peck at as some problems aren’t even mine. And the result might be a few less ruffled feathers.

Saddle Up, Another Year is Here

December 28, 2025 / Mama Fish

This Christmas was different. Each of us recognized there was something missing. It wasn’t the same; the happy holiday sentiments were empty. It seemed like another task. I hated our neighbor’s Santa decor, each morning displaying the number of days until Christmas arrived. I wanted to kick him. I was ready, in all the materialistic manners, only my heart was not.

This year I battled. Hard. It was an exercise in compromise. Life brought with it major changes on all levels. It forced us to reevaluate who we are, who we want to be and who we want to be with. The answers were not familiar. Strong ties are now broken and new events substituted tradition.

Social media shouts, it was the year of the snake. This was the year we were to shed what is no longer fitting. It was supposed to be a hard year of transformation. I don’t recall knowing that at the start of this year. And yet, we seemed to have lived the meaning of what the snake brings. I am opposed to this because I am not a creature of change. I hate change. In fact, I will choose to live with what is uncomfortable to avoid change. My family is different. They seem to embrace the necessary hardship of change, looking past the difficulty of now to the possibility of what might be. I seem to be stuck. I can only see what it was. And I miss it.

At the end of Christmas, it was not the same, but not terrible. It brought new experiences and revised editions of past rituals. We got together. Just not altogether. We did laugh. I did cry. Some of the feelings were reminiscent of past times and a few new joys. All in all, it was the usual bittersweet I live. And goals for the New Year…well they are being planned.

2026 will be the year of the horse. Bold, strong, galloping into the anticipation of better. The horse symbolizes heading forward to what one has discovered from the past year’s shedding of what ails us. Right now, I feel like an old mare. I don’t have any desire to leave the pasture of my past. I can’t see how the grass may be greener on the other side. In fact, I am fearful of what might be hidden there.

Alas, it will soon arrive, so I share with you ‘bah humbug’ sentiments, honoring a character we rewatched as part of our holiday movie collection, Mr. Grinch.

It came with gifts, it came with toys, it came dressed up, with toasts of joy.

It brought cookies, squares, baked goods and pies, it brought mittens and markets and presents to buy.

It gathered those from near and from far to sip happy hours at local bars. This season was filled with so much to do. It hardly gave me time to sit next to you.

Yes, Christmas came with its markers and makers, it came with its festivals, top shows and its shakers. It brought in the moments, the ribbon and presents, and left with reminders of a notable essence.

Maybe, just maybe with angels nearby, we can carry our grief without answers why. And maybe, just maybe the cosmic stars’ mystery will bring signs of new happy wonders to see…

2026 is about the horse, may each of you have a comfortable saddle, and a wide-open course.