Tag: #goodmourninggrief (Page 5 of 10)

Switching Up the Holiday Outlook

December 3, 2023 / Mama Fish

I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention that this month is Drunk & Drugged Driving Prevention month. Last year 40,000 loved ones perished due to someone choosing to drive impaired. This number does not touch anywhere near the real number of those devastated; the many more hundreds of thousands effected by such loss. The dreams and plans and hopes, smashed with no chance of ever being the same again. It happened to us. But I’m not going there. This is the Christmas season.

The holidays are a time of hope and miracles and love and faith. I want that. I want to replace the sound of a busy mall with the crackling of a fire. I want the smells of gingerbread and mulled wine filling my home. I want my heart to feel the quiet peaceful morning before the demands of the season come rushing in to take over. I want that Hallmark truth about this season. Each year, I believe I have tried to make it special and ease the pain of Zane not being here. And each New Year, I debrief with a sigh and a shrug that next Christmas will be different. So why do I think this pattern will ever change? Because I need it to. That’s why.

Sometimes our grief permeates into a sadness that we become too comfortable with to change. This season brings an excuse to hold tight to our grief. “The holidays are the heaviest time of year for those mourning” we are told. I don’t disagree, but I am starting to think that I might be turning this ‘fact’ into an excuse. Should I not be trying harder to get along with my grief if this season is as tough as we know it to be? When I look at the list of all things to practice easing grief, those practices go out the window with the common pressures of the oh-too-commercial of a season. Maybe I should work harder on bringing the magic of the season forward and ignoring the business side of Christmas.

My daughter texted me, “I want Zane to run up the stairs and open his stocking with me”. She is feeling the apprehension of the season’s loud message that we are to be with the ones we love. When that is impossible, to do what we used to do before our loved ones left, we need to switch up the holiday outlook. I am going to try this. For my daughter. For Zane. For me. I am going to embrace the real reason why this time of year is to be celebrated. I am going to take my grief and show it a good time.

This year I am going to focus on what can I do to celebrate, include, honor Zane over the holidays. I’m going to take a day each week to do something that brings the holidays home. With Zane. He loved to “rock the first candy-cane of the season”. He loved taking pictures of the bright lights. He loved snuggling in his blanket with a good book or a great show. He loved to connect with friends over a drink and bake cookies to share. He loved to build a snowman. He knew how to stop and smell the roses. I need more of that. I need more Zane in my life.

I know that being still raises our vibration, our awareness that those we love are with us. Perhaps that is the practice I need this holiday season. Whether it eases my sadness or not, I am aware that it will never be as we want, so finding a bittersweet compromise might improve my holiday debrief in the New Year.

When Tears Arrive

November 26, 2023 / Mama Fish

We were told by our cable supplier that our modem will no longer be functioning after the new year, so we needed to upgrade. My husband planned for the service installer to come by. I listened as he told me what to expect. It was all for the better except when he said, “you will lose your recordings.”

I stared at him blankly. I thought of all the Hallmark movies taped that I was enjoying. They would be gone. I thought of all Jon’s Sunday morning shows. They would be gone. And then I remembered Zane’s recordings that I kept. Seeing them always gave me a sense of peace, pretending some how he would one day watch them. They would be gone too. And I gasped.

“What?”, I uttered, choking back the tears. He repeated, “there will be no more recordings. You will have to record again.” But Zane was not here to record. How could I do this? The poor young man had no idea why I was upset about my recordings about to be erased and yet there was nothing he or I could do. The upgrade was mandatory. I took a deep breath and said, “Ok”.

Jon arrived at this time, and I made an excuse I had an errand to run and left him to oversee the upgrade. As I got into my car I was thinking, “upgrade, this is far from an upgrade for me”. It was a step back into my grief having one less thing of Zane’s. I drove to the park and took a walk along the path that I had walked Tango so many times before and I began to sob.

I wasn’t prepared for this reaction. Sometimes grief makes no sense at all. Why did I have such a response to this change, this necessary technological progress? Perhaps it is the start of the holiday season where we get weepier. Or maybe it is all the work of the busy needy season, and I am overtired. Or maybe, it’s just more loss of things I love and more unwanted change arriving for me to face.

As I pondered why I was so upset, I let myself continue to weep. As I walked, the sun in my face, dried my tears. The silence of the park let my mind relax. There could be one or a combination of reasons why we are triggered and reduced to tears. All things that are about our loved ones are important. We are the protector of each reminder they were alive, and we do not want any of it to be deleted. The recordings, which would literally be erased, were a symbolic reminder that life is and will never be as I had wished. This simple conclusion came to me by giving myself permission to have a good cry. I returned to the car, fixed my make-up, and gently went on with my plans for the day.

We know that emotional tears release oxytocin and endogenous opioids, otherwise called endorphins. I believe that tears are the souls’ way of exposing the shadows of our pain. At the end of a long cry, we are left with our true sadness and with a quiet sensation of courage. It’s surprising how many tears are within us that spill over when needed to restore our sprit so that we can carry on. Strength is found in the salt of our tears.

“How to Live When a Loved One Dies.”

November 19, 2023 / Mama Fish

I believe that I will look for ways to cope with our family’s fate for the rest of my life. Since 2018, my bookshelf has become a Chapter’s self-help aisle, courses and videos, and chat rooms, all with the same theme; how do I go on? I came across the book by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Zen teacher that Zane loved to quote, titled “How to live when a loved one dies”. A great addition to my grief collection.

It is a book of healing meditations. Its pages are filled with a large, easy to read font and short messages that are reflective of the pain one feels with loss. Divided into four sections, each one includes wisdom, self-care practices and poetic writing to encourage thought. The first chapter is grief and sets the tone with its opening line, “Our loved ones are in us, and we are in them. When a loved one dies, a part of us also dies.”

It moves you through effective meditation exercises and walks you into the next chapter of surviving our emotions. He writes, “The past is not truly gone; it is still here, and we can touch it.” This chapter is filled with advice on how to face the many intense emotions death brings into our hearts and offers ways to help heal.

My favorite section is the third section. It is filled with a reassurance that nothing dies, it merely transforms. “Look deeply to see your beloved in other forms”. He illustrates how life is like a cloud. The cloud is as we see it, but then it changes. It may become rain, or snow. It is no longer a cloud. But it has not died. It does not become nothing, but rather something else. He asks us to look at death in the same manner.

The final section is about connecting with life. Reinforcing through rhythmical anecdotes of how our loved ones are within us and alive through our actions, our memories, their legacy we create. He reminds us that “we do not walk alone but rather with and for our family, for our loved ones, for the whole world.”

This is a book that can be read over and over. It gently pushes one to face their grief but cultivates the necessary tools to quiet the loudness of grief. “Who can say that your loved one has passed away? When you touch your loved one in the ultimate dimension, you see that they are still with you.” Thick Nhat Hanh teaches good mourning.

Taking Control of Change

November 12, 2023 / Mama Fish

My new day planner arrived by Amazon and the pages are like a blank canvas of what the upcoming new year may be like. I think about all the changes this year brought, the possible changes I wish for, and what I might be able to control. There is a tiny excitement that builds from the hope that it will be different, it will be softer, it will be full of the things I desire for my family, my friends and myself.

The truth is I hate change. I know it will come. It could be good, bad, big, or small. But it will come. I find that any kind of change takes an energy that I don’t usually have to face it. During a walk in the park to clear my head, I thought of the poets who write of how Autumn encourages nature to change to ready itself for the future.

We see the leaves have turned color and fallen; the air is now crisp in the early morning hours. Most of us appreciate the beauty of nature and how she bends to the ebbs and flows of life. We don’t accept changes in our own life as easily; we tend to shy away from it, especially when change has brought a living nightmare to our lives. Change becomes scary when we are grieving.

Change confirms that time is moving on. And it comes with an expectation that we are to move on. That is what I don’t like about it. It comes whether I like it or not (and often I don’t). In my opinion, change can go to hell.

I have had many people share with me the struggles they are having about where they are right now. Some of the challenges are health, others are financial, others are physical location. The common theme with these conversations is that change is needed. Needed, being the key word. So, maybe it is the fear of what change might bring, that keeps us from exploring possibilities.

Loss has brought us the definitive change. Nothing will ever be the same. And because we are mourning, because we want things to go back as they were, because we hurt to move forward without our loved ones, we resist change. To consider accepting change is a challenge, surely, we wouldn’t invite it into our lives. But what if we did? What if we looked at what changes we could bring in to help comfort us in our daily healing? What might be needed to bring this idea to fruition, to better our today and help bring a more peaceful tomorrow.

I came across a letter I wrote to Zane in March. I was telling him that I was cancelling his cell phone. I have been paying for it for 4+ years and it was time to change this. I was distraught with the idea that I would no longer have a ‘land line’ to my son. Silly, but to cancel his number was too much of a change to consider doing. Until this time. So, what would this change look like? What control did I have to make this change less painful. I decided to record his voice mail message, cancel the number, and take the monthly cost of keeping it, putting that amount into a savings account in his honor. A change of use for this expense. The phone is not needed, but a savings would be something he would have enjoyed. That simple combination of replacing one thing with a new more suited thing made the change easier.

I wrote, “I can pretend that you just changed your number. In essence it has. To some sort of heavenly number now. I should be ok with this, but I’m not. Your number was my earthly connection to you, my sweet boy. And you always picked up.”

When we can’t control how change comes, or how big it comes, we can explore what can be done to ease the sting of such change. We can accept change or make modifications to it. And sometimes we can choose to ignore it, until time helps give us the strength it takes to face it.

The Wedding is Set & the Heavens Will be There.

October 29, 2023 / Mama Fish

We interrupt this grief for a day to celebrate our daughter to be married on Halloween Day. They chose this day because it is their favorite holiday and horror movies are their thing. The entire theme is centered around this passion. The officiator will be reading from ‘the book of the dead’ and guests will find their table not by number but by horror movie character. You may be sitting with Dracula or Michael Myers or some other creepy evil being. It has been three years planning this event and the only thing missing is Zane.

I have been told by my daughter that “I need to keep it together.” This is her time. This is not about Zane. She says this from a pure heart of concern that her mother might not be able to enjoy her happiest day because I am consumed with sadness. I have assured her that I will do my best. How this will happen I have no idea. I have laid awake for nights now pondering how is this possible that her brother is not the one dancing with her, hugging her, standing up for her? How is this same celebration something he was robbed of? How do I pretend to not see the empty chair?

Big life events, especially joyous ones, are the epitome of a grief warrior’s life. Bittersweet. You can’t have one without the other. We learn to cry in the quiet corners of the day or at night when the blinds are closed, and the company has gone home. We hone a mask to fit our face, perfectly covering our emotions for the days of conversations about all that is life. All that our children should experience. And we are happy that our earth-bound children are enjoying these milestones. It is sweet. We are grateful. But the cold harsh truth is that some of our children cannot experience the same. And that is the bitter part. As they say, “it is what it is.” No one gets that more than a grieving parent.

My sleepless nights have come up with some solutions to how I can be what my daughter needs on this day. The first was a conversation I had with my son. He couldn’t wait for his sister to get married to a nice guy. He wanted her to be happy. And she is. The second is we have brought Zane and our other loved ones to this day with pictures of them and stories, special drinks, and signage to remind our family and friends they are with us. Payton will be carrying a bead of Zane’s ashes, as will I, to hold him close. They will be signing their nuptials with a pen that has a sprinkle of his ashes in it. I have a tattoo to visualize him being a part of our ‘pod’ forever, and I will be wearing a necklace with his picture in it. These gestures are small but reassuring.

It was last night, my biggest aha moment appeared when I was meditating and an awareness, a subconscious knowing came through me. The day they are ‘tying the knot’ is the day where I believe the veil between heaven and earth is the thinnest and the opportunity for our loved ones to join us in spirit is highest. Oh, what a feeling! To be reminded of what Zane believed, what he taught all of us. We are all connected. There is no death. We are together and our loved ones will be there, dancing next to us. The faith that he will show up and there will be signs to confirm, this is what I need to hold tight to. It is the key ingredient to reducing bitterness. My son would not miss his little sister’s wedding. My soul told me so.

A Resource for Grieving Pet Owners

October 22, 2023 / Mama Fish

A neighbor told me of his friend whose small dog got loose and darted into traffic. He was hit by a car and his friend witnessed all of it. Standing helplessly on the side of the road, she waited for the traffic to stop so she could run out and pick up his limp little body. “She hasn’t been the same since”, he said.

When this happened, Tango was still alive. I bumped into her months later and asked how she was managing. She gave credit to the book, “The Grief Recovery Handbook for Pet Loss” by Russell Friedman, Cole James, and John W. James. She gave it to me and said, “for when the time comes.”

I read it recently, interested to see if the authors offered grieving pet owners anything different than how we grieve for our humans. The answer is mainly no. This book was filled with ideas and stories related to what happens to you when grief arrives. It suggests things like writing your pet a letter to honor them, keeping some of their ashes in a piece of memorial jewelry and being sensitive to outbursts of sorrow. The advice is universal, how to handle the loss of a loved one. Whether they have two legs or four. I think the only suggestion that seemed different from child loss was the suggestion to get another pet. I have told my family, Tango cannot be replaced, so don’t try.

After Tango passed, I saw her a few times around the neighborhood. She would have noticed that Tango was not with me each time. The last time I saw her, she smiled and said gently, “I see you lost your best friend.” I nodded and we spent a moment sharing how hard it is, how we will not get over it. She asked if I read the book, she had given me. I said I had, and we compared notes. She said, “we don’t forget because the pain helps us to remember. But I hope that time aids in softening the heartache.”

Tango passed away three months ago. I have yet to put away his food bowl. I sleep with his stuffed bear who now wears Tango’s collar. I can’t come into our complex without imagining him there at the front, sniffing the flowers or wagging his tail at someone crossing the street. I have yet to stop crying. Never has a pet affected me like this before. But then, there was never a pet quite like our man-dog, Tango. Even my husband says he can still feel Tango’s paw on his foot as he cooks his lunch. A habit that was Tango’s way of begging. He would place his paw on top of your foot so you would notice him. Our dog has left a HUGE hole in our daily routine. And an even bigger hole in my heart.

I practice the basics of grief to handle the loss of my sweet dog. I am trying to find ways to honor him. The first opportunity was answering a plea on twitter from a new animal shelter I support. They said that they were looking for dog food for their ‘pets-giving’ dinner. I thought it perfect that Tango would share dinner with his fellow canines.

I promised the woman who gave me the book, I would pass it on to the next person I know who experiences the loss of their pet. The book is helpful for those who are fresh on the path of grief and filled with gentle reminders for those of us who are already living with grief.

The Autumn of Motherhood

October 15, 2023 / Mama Fish

I have two friends who have not met but recently, both experienced the loss of their mother. Their moms each had in their own way, led a full and beautiful life and my friends found themselves on the path of preparing for their mother’s departure. One couldn’t help but notice the similarities and the subtle differences of their individual experiences. And as I spent time with each friend, I found myself comparing their story to that of my mother’s.

Each mother, in her own way, was a pioneer, boldly taking on life, caring for a home, a career and raising a family. As I listened to the lives of each, I realized how much we are subconsciously tailored to be maternal. We step up and accept the role of caregiver without a thought if this is an intentional role we need to play. We just know that it is. And we accommodate, taking a leave from work to help or bringing them into our home to care for, but always putting them first. Our priority is them. And our thoughts, our plans, our personal schedules become intertwined with what does mom need today.

When a parent has had a full and long life, it would seem it should be easier to say goodbye. We experience anticipatory grief, knowing that the end is near. We use the time to reflect and share old memories, squeezing in a few new memories that we hope will comfort us after they have left. We appreciate time. It supports us to come to a place where we can say, “it’s alright to go now mom. I will be ok”. Each of my friends had that opportunity. As did I. And although it doesn’t ease the final pain loss brings, it does help build the strength it takes to let them go.

When I knew my mother was ready to leave this realm, it was just after New Year’s. She had Alzheimer’s and each day was another measure of how much she would remember. That particular day I was trying to explain to her that it was a new year. “We begin again. It is January, we have winter, and then we will have Valentine’s Day and then St. Patty’s…” She cut me off. “No,” she said, with a shake of her head, and looked straight into my eyes. I got it. I took her hand in mine and whispered, “ok, mom, give me a little time to put your wishes in order, and you can go.” She died the 29^th of January.

I know that my friends are at a loss. It has been fifteen years since my mom left and I still have days where I wish she was here to give me advice or remind me of a family member or just to sit and gripe with. She was my friend. And with my two friends, they experienced a similar relationship with their mom. They went from daughter to friend to caregiver. The circle of life for the souls of daughters.

As they pack up their mom’s belongings and finish up the paperwork, they will begin to question if their own affairs can be in better order. It might be that they feel an urge to purge, or they might want to write out their own preferences for the time that they will be leaving family and friends. It is sort of a silent gift our mother’s give us. In their departure, they continue to teach us how to be better women for those we love and serve. The beautiful life of a mother is as our seasons are. And with Autumn, comes the grace of growing old.

“To all my friends who have lost their mother; As with the other ones we love across the veil, our mothers are watching us, guiding us, a part of our cellular make up that death cannot have.”

Thanksgiving Gratitude

October 8, 2023 / Mama Fish

It was a year ago that my husband and sister sat beside me as I waited to be rolled into the operating room for a double mastectomy. I had chosen to ‘go radical’ because of my family history. I did not want the same fate as many of my aunts had. I am used to poor health, having been imposed with various autoimmune disorders which have been life changing, but this diagnosis was life threatening. Fear was a new emotion.

Recovering, I was informed that I would experience these new emotions including grief. I might have a sense of self-loss; I would need to explore options for a new normal with choices such as reconstructive surgery or prosthetics. I would mourn over who I was that I am no longer. So, I waited for these feelings to present themselves with the idea that I would treat them like I treat grief. Strangely, grief did not arrive.

I believe that when one knows, one knows. When there is an absolute truth that you hold in your soul, of an answer to a situation, problem or option, things are not as muddled. They are clear. And that clarity brings less grief because you are firm in what you believe. I had not thought about having any further surgery. Take them off and be done. I have never considered my feminism to be connected to my boobs! I found freedom in not having to ever worry again that my breast cancer would return. I found no reason to grieve but rather a relief that I had taken charge of my health and did what I felt best for me to ensure a longer life.

And after all that, the oncologist advises a 5-year medication to ensure it doesn’t come back. How could it? Apparently, it can. Not in the missing body parts of course, but other favorite hiding spots for this type of cancer are ribs, lungs, liver, brain, or bone. We must be careful, I am told. And with that, worry moved in.

Worry is grief’s cousin. It plays with your emotions and plants a garden of possibilities of what might go wrong that will bring along grief. It is hard to control and even when you put into place all things to remove worry, it finds the slightest opening in your thoughts to squeeze in and take center stage. Sometimes, it is all consuming, like when I am awakened with contorting muscle cramps in my legs, or a new lump found along my scars. Other times it is forgotten, like when I am spending time with my daughter or immersed in a Hallmark Movie. Big or small, worry is there, in the corner of my mind, waiting to come forward.

This last year has been a battle of mind over matters which has me practicing the small things I have control over, like meditation and gratitude. I have learned to treat worry like I treat grief. Sit with it when it appears and reassure it, we are going to be ok. Today, Thanksgiving arrives, marking the anniversary of my journey with cancer.

Last year I missed out on the festivities, having to stay home to recover. This year I am joining my family to delight in the tastes of the holiday. In our house at Thanksgiving, it is tradition to say what we are most grateful for over the past year. I am grateful for many things. But without a doubt, for me this year, I am most grateful that I have survived breast cancer.

When Sadness is Doubled

October 1, 2023 / Mama Fish

I woke up tired. There is a lot going on with a wedding to be planned, family in town, work deadlines to be reached and a house that needs attention. I wished I could stay in bed. And then I remembered it was the anniversary of my friends’ son’s death. And a milestone. Five years. Worse, it was the first year without his wife. There was no choice. I needed to go.

It was a wet, rainy, cold morning as we pulled up to the site of his son’s crash. As their tradition has it, there were roses to be tied around the lamp post and a rock, spray painted blue with a note of endearment printed on it to place in the grass. His stepdaughter, replacing the role of her mother, helped him tie the ribbon, securing the roses. I watched them work together, taking their picture so she could have one to include with her sentiments she would post on social media.

I wasn’t aware that this year would hit me harder. It had with Zane, so I think my soul knew how hard this must be on them to have the haunting ‘5-year mark’ come. And to come without the support of their loving wife and mother. I felt the tears come and walked away to compose myself so that I could be strong for them.

Later that same day, we all met as a larger group at their favorite watering hole to celebrate. This year there were two pictures on the table. The group hugged and toasted mother and son. More stories of the summer, of the past, of life in general were shared. I commented how strange it was, that although I never met their son, I felt that I knew him. Sharing the life and the loves of your child over five years makes one feel like you knew them on earth. And thus, maybe why their death touches a little deeper as time goes on.

I overheard my friend and his stepdaughter talk of how small their family has become and how much each other is needed in the others life. And I smiled to myself. Over death, the two seem to be becoming even closer. My girlfriend would love this.

Being a part of today, I witnessed the pain of loss doubled and the strength found in facing it together. I was a part of the traditions that we create to remember and honor our loved ones. There is nothing more holistic than the moments we stand still, in the rain and look up to the heavens to whisper, I love you, I miss you, I know you are still with me.

The Importance of Sanctuary

September 24, 2023 / Mama Fish

Over the past year, I have experienced the value of solitude. An accumulation of my grief, my anger, and my cancer brought to the forefront the question, how am I to ever live wholly, and thus began my quest for sanctuary.

I called it a modified sabbatical. In planning how this would be for me, Tango was still here, and I did not want to leave him or my family and friends. I would still have to work. I hate to travel, so the magical trails in Spain or the coastal beaches of Mexico were not options.

I researched, prior to starting, the components of a good sabbatical and learned that having the support of your immediate family deepens the experience by removing the guilt of spending time alone. They don’t necessarily need to approve, but they need to respect your space. I am grateful that mine came on board in full agreement. A sign that love sits above all else.

The length of a sabbatical can vary. I chose a year, starting after my surgery as I wanted my heart to be consoled as well as my physical body as I recuperated from a double mastectomy. Although I had some periods of time where my sabbatical seemed to get lost in the business of life, I did manage to find sanctuary in the days I made my sabbatical a priority.

Your place of sanctuary can be just a room or a home or carved out time in your car; what is important I learned is what you fill it with to appease your soul. Candles, pictures, furniture, plants, decorations, what brings your soul joy? Your space must be filled with items that bring you a feeling of peace. Of connection. I chose to fill mine with everything my ancestors left behind and each time I enter I feel their presence. It shifts my mood immediately to a higher vibration. I am amongst those who loved me and still watch over me from above.

The key component of any sabbatical is intent. Set your intent. My intent was to heal. This included meditations, massages, journalling, indulging in a great wine or a Hendricks Gin and trying new recipes with fresh ingredients from the farmer’s market. I read, completed jigsaw puzzles, and took long walks in beautiful parks. Yes, I did still work, and my social life was stuffed full, but the moments I had in my sanctuary brought balance to the crazy reality of mine.

As my sabbatical ends, I reflect on this year that passed so very quickly. In the beginning my journal reflects frustration with how slow I am healing and how much there is to do. As my writing continues to capture my progress, I noticed that frustration became less, and gratitude became more. Even with as many struggles as our family has endured; I found that creating a sanctuary brought strength for me. It brought clarity of what I can control and what I am feeling that I have ignored for a very long time. I feel like I am on the right path to healing. This experience has encouraged me to continue placing solitude on the top of my priority list. Through my sabbatical, I have discovered the importance of a sanctuary. It is time and place that the body needs to be able to hear the soul speak.