Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #goodmourninggrief (Page 7 of 10)

Celebrating Your Birthday Without You

August 13, 2023 /

The birthday party is set.  Balloons have been ordered, gifts wrapped, invites confirmed and menu organized.  We are ready to celebrate Zane’s birthday.  The only thing missing is him. This is his 32nd birthday and his 5th we have celebrated with him present only in spirit.

This birthday is an annual tradition, requested by his friends at the time of his death.  They did not wish to acknowledge the day he was killed but would not miss celebrating the day he was born. And thus, each year, our family has arranged a party, complete with games, food, gifts & always a shot of Jameson.

I was having lunch with a mother who lost her son six years ago and I asked her what they did to celebrate his birthday.  I am always looking for ideas. She said, “Nothing. We don’t.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. What do you mean you don’t? “It’s just too painful”, she said. That hit me hard.

Each year our family plans how to celebrate Zane and it is painful. We laugh and cry while we brainstorm and at the end of the day, we all crash in our own way.  It is why each of us still takes the day after off work. We know we will be a mess. But before that day, we put on our mask and we gather the group and we toast to the soul who has impacted our lives, then, and now. I never thought there was an option.

I’m not saying either way is the right way.  Grief is an individual journey. But there was a tiny part of me that thought, what would it be like to not face our pain, to choose to do nothing. Friends have told me that how our family handles death is unique.  They have expressed that they can only imagine if it was them, they would be hidden away.  They would not be bringing in the masses and turning up the music.

Our family knows of no other way. Perhaps it is because we have some Irish blood in us. Perhaps it is because we have experienced more losses than others and earlier than others. Perhaps it has become a way of surviving. For us. I had never questioned why we approach death the way we do, until recently.

What I will say is that we are told by Zane’s friends that opening our home and inviting them in to share stories, to laugh, to cry, to remember, is what grounds them. We are a safe place for each of them to bring their grief and dance with it.

For me, I feel my son when I am in the presence of his friends. I learn about times he shared that I heard of but didn’t know the details. I feel his energy through their hugs. Their personalities bring my son’s attitude to life, and I can hear him with them. His essence is alive in the air.

And I think those are good enough reasons to pour a drink and turn the bubble machine on.

Happy Birthday Pooh-Bear. You are missed, loved & celebrated.

To Zane, on the Fifth Anniversary

August 6, 2023 /

Dear Zane,

We are sitting together,

on an urban patio

under the hot summer sun

Cold drink in our hand.

We are laughing,

Sharing stories of our separate adventures,

comparing notes of the latest antics

of our family members

Your sunglasses catch my reflection,

I see me smiling,

the joy of being with you

And that I am grateful for.

This summer marks 5 years

The summer you went to your favorite place,

Never to return

The summer that sent us to hell

It froze us in our grief,

Imprisoned us to the past

It has questioned our purpose,

challenged us to survive

Which is what we have done

And that I am grateful for.

I imagine what you might be doing

if fate had been different-

A writer, a model, a photographer

Even strangers tell me

You are unforgettable.

And that I am grateful for.

5 years has taught me that time will not diminish

the impact you brought, the lessons you taught.

Our family remains steadfast,

Remembering you, celebrating you,

Keeping your essence alive

And that I am grateful for.

Sending Tango to His Next Adventure

July 30, 2023 /

My daughter said it best.  He was the love of my life. Understandably, husband was working, kids had their own activities, I was the one left to walk, feed and care for our little beast. For 17 years he was my companion, my confidante, my unconditional love. He got me out walking each day, every day. He helped me consume my dinner plate; it is customary to cook 2 pieces of fish as he will surely eat one. He slept next to me, listened to me and yes, he talked back. He made me laugh and when I cried, he was there to dry the tears with his tiny pink tongue. I had great joy living with this dog.  I would never be prepared to say goodbye.

Then, ready, or not, for either of us, the day came. And my focus changed from not having him leave to how will he leave.  I would not have him in a sterile office that caused him anxiety and was filled with no familiar smells.  No, it had to be at home.  Surrounded by family and the love we have for him. Finding a vet available to do this at the last minute proved difficult until the phone rang, and a soft Spanish accent identified herself as Dr. Paty.  She suggested she could help.  “I’ll give him a little cocktail,” she said. I loved that term, rather than the word sedation. She continued, “then, we surround him with love and together, we send him to heaven for his next adventure”.  I loved how she described euthanasia. It was more about departing this realm.  She spoke my language.  She got me.  “How soon can you be here?” I asked.  “I will be there in thirty minutes.”

Our daughter and her fiancé arrived, and the family sat with Tango as he received his cocktail. Dr. Paty suggested giving him a treat while she did this to distract him.  I brought out a dog treat and she said to me, “Mama, that is the treat you want to give him today?”  I giggled.  He got a stick of cheese to eat, accompanied by a stick of pepperoni.  We moved him to a fluffy bed the good doctor had made and laid him down. He cuddled into my leg and rested his head on it. He looked up into my eyes and I leaned over and whispered, “it’s ok. You’re going to go see Zane. You’re going to a place where you can run without your leash on and eat all the cheese puffs you want!” I rubbed his head softly. He was not afraid. He cuddled into me and rested.

When we all had said our goodbye’s, Dr. Paty gave him his final needle and started to listen to his heartbeat. I felt a murmur in my ear and turned to see whose hand was on my shoulder. There was no one there, and then my heart knew. Zane had arrived to take his beloved dog home.  I nodded. Dr. Paty said, “he is gone now”. Our sweet man-dog, our precious little canine. His head still on my leg.  His warm body still pressed against me.

Dr. Paty said, “I’ll now wrap him up like a burrito”.  We chuckled at how fitting it was for him to be wrapped up like a favorite food.  She placed the little burrito in my arms.  It was like holding a baby, coddled in a warm sleeping bag.  I squeezed him and brought him to the car to be transported to the funeral home.

The result of losing someone you love is the same, whether it is a human or a pet.  A loved one is a loved one and grief is grief. As with any other massive loss, my heart broke, the tears have not stopped. Everything reminds me of him. I can hear his little toenails walking across the hardwood floor.  I look at the clock and think it’s time for his walk. I start dinner and look down as if somehow, he will still be there waiting for a piece of food to fall into his mouth. I cannot remove his toys or his leash or his bowls.  I can’t even clean the floor. I don’t want any proof of his existence to be removed.  I am at a loss. A total and complete loss.  My purpose seems bleak, my world seems dark and my heart screams for one more touch of his paw on my foot to say, “here I am mama. I am not gone.”   

I have had years of practice dealing with grief and yet I find myself at ground zero. The pain is sharp and the loneliness of the journey large. I am trying to convince myself that comfort can be found in knowing that we did the right thing.  And we did. I understand this loss is not the same as other losses. I understand that he was not going to get better.  I understand that it was an old dog who had lived a great life. My brain gets all that. But my heart does not. My love for him was deep and thus, as we know, the grief will also be deep. The small, frail ray of hope that I will survive another loss is now the piece that I hold on to with each breath.

I read, if a dog is loved so deeply by its owner, then it will return to earth in human form as its reward for being a good dog. Tango will be back.

“Mourning has Broken” by Erin Davis

July 23, 2023 /

A friend gave me a book to read to which she felt might inspire joy in me.  The story, “Mourning Has Broken” was written by Erin Davis, a mother who lost her 24-year-old daughter. Erin was a popular radio broadcaster and was in Jamaica when she received the news. Her sharing of what happened and the events that followed in her journey were so different than mine that it made for a surreal reading.

Erin’s connection to the world through her radio channel was a gift to express her pain and share with her dedicated listeners what was happening.  She had her own social media through this that I wished we all had. Her story included reflections of times as a family, with her daughter, the challenges of finding out what happened that caused her death, the sharing of how she self-medicated, and her relationship with her husband.  Her story was her own, and I appreciated her openness.  She also included a few tangents related to others that I had to reread trying to understand how this was a part of her story. 

I did relate to her reaction to an acquaintance comparing his loss of a dog six months prior to her pain of losing her only daughter. She innocently asked him if he would get another dog and he sharply replied, “Are you going to have another child?” Ouch. Proof that no one escapes dumb comments from those trying to compare grief.  Her sense of humor I enjoyed. She writes, “I bet they get another dog.”

At the end of the book, she is inspired to have a spiritual interview with her daughter related to if Erin is finding joy.  Erin admits pure joy may forever be elusive.  But she does find joy in her grandson and her work and her marriage. Simple things, that some of us don’t have; she encourages us to find our own joy.

I am appreciative to be at a point in my own journey to be able to read about such a different experience and value it for that. It inspired me to think about joy and what can I do to increase that emotion in my daily life. Erin lives in a world so different than mine and yet, we are connected through the understanding of life without your child. We are women who share the commonalities of honoring our loved one, looking for signs from them and searching for joy in this life.

My Son, Larger Than Life

July 16, 2023 /

Each year since Zane was killed, I have tried to do something to honor him. He has a business degree I advocated for as he was only one semester short of graduating. I started this blog in honor of his love of writing. We have started a mindful photography program and a bursary in his name. What could I do to mark his upcoming fifth year…. five seems like a gigantic milestone.

Then I came across a marketing campaign for Pierson’s Funeral Services.  A fresh campaign called “Life by” which posts a larger-than-life picture that captures the spirit of the person. The first one I saw was “Life by Mary”. She was a woman in her golden years in a wet suit on a beach carrying a surfboard.  I wanted to know her. She looked like she loved life and would make you laugh.  I enjoyed looking for these billboards.  Each picture told a story of the person celebrated. So, I reached out to Michael, a friend, and the owner of Pierson’s to discuss an idea.

“What if your campaign also captured those individuals that passed way before their time”, I asked Michael. What might the impact be of someone seeing your ad of a young adult? “If ever that was an idea, perhaps Zane could be a model”, I suggested. And Michael agreed.

He introduced me to (another) Michael, the artistic zealot behind Make More Creative.  We talked about Zane and his personality and his antics and the reason why I would like him to be in the campaign.  I shared pictures we had of Zane and left Michael to produce his magic. When he called to invite me to his office to see what he designed, I brought Jon, who was unaware of this meeting, and introduced him.  I said, “Jon, I would like you to meet Michael, he is Zane’s modeling agent.”  Tears of joy followed.

With Payton’s input too, our family selected the picture of choice. When the time came, we were invited for the unveiling.  Our son, larger-than-life, covering the entire back of a Calgary City Transit bus! Words are unavailable to describe the emotions that flooded us. The absolute honor, a gift, given to our family to share ‘life by Zane’ with the people in the city that he was born and raised in.  A City he loved. 

We opted not to tell anyone. We thought what a surprise it would be to have his friends driving along and spot it. Without disappointment, we have had feedback from those who have seen him.  “My heart skipped a beat”.  “A perfect picture and right at Stampede, his favorite time of year, how cool.”

It has become a game to check the back of the bus passing to see if Zane is there. It is so much fun to be driving and spot him.  It feels as if he is in town. That big contagious smile.  That happy-go-lucky sense of play captured in a photo and now travelling through town for all to see.  I wonder what Zane might say.  He was never one that needed to be the center of attention. But he did bring the party and that is the essence one feels when they see my son, larger than life!

Big thanks from my heart to both Michael’s for making this possible. How lucky are we that you two are part of our tribe.

Soul Coaching from Audrey

July 9, 2023 /

She came into my life as the woman who married my husband’s father. She was grandma to my children. She was not always easy to be with because she was opinionated and blunt.  Some would say no filter. I’m not sure why she was like that. She seemed oblivious to how some of her comments came across as criticism, but you had to appreciate her “I told you so” attitude. She knew what she liked, and she made sure she got it. These attributes made her seem difficult at times for everyone except my father-in-law.  He loved her unconditionally. And when he passed, he asked if we would care for her.  And we promised we would.

I woke to the news that she had died. It was not shocking; her age and poor health gave reason for why. It has left me pondering, would my father-in-law say we took care of her?  I can find comfort that I did reach out with letters and phone calls.  But was that enough? I can make excuses as to why I did not do more. And that made me think, do we create regrets by choosing to not connect. The family and friends that we have who are not as seemingly loveable as others we choose to spend less time with. If there was a misunderstanding or a mishap, it justifies even more why we don’t hang out with them.  But does this choice become the foundation to stunt our own growth? Perhaps, in some ways it might.

We have so little time here on this earth. Where do grievances benefit us? If I believe that we all sat at a table planning this life and who would play what role, before we landed here as humans, do I not owe those I encounter some respect for agreeing to share this life with me prior to even meeting? At the very least, when they are hurting, am I not to put my differences aside to hold them? Maybe these are the souls that can enlighten us. If so, then if my choice of action is to ignore, mistreat or walk away, how will enlightenment be mine? I think in our life come these souls whose role is to give opportunities to practice compassion.

Audrey was one of those souls. Her antagonistic wit had us all on our toes. She taught us the importance of clarifying one’s motives. She taught us to go after what you love. She demonstrated that perfection is not part of being human. She taught us that anyone can apologize. She cared deeply for those she loved. She opened her home to us and relished having us travel with her. She did it her way and although that made her come across as sometimes salty, she was real.  I liked that about her.

 Our family, especially my sister-in-law, took the promise we made seriously.  We continued to include her in our lives after the death of my father-in-law.  We welcomed her with the understanding that no one is perfect, and we are not to judge the capacity or depth of love expressed from another. We accepted her for her, and we shared time as family. An extra ten years, we would not have had, if we had chosen to walk away. And in those years, there were some great moments that included laughter, cold drinks on a sunny patio and heart-felt conversations. I enjoyed her. I loved her.  

As for Audrey, I know she appreciated us. I know that she loved us. I know that wherever she is now, she knows we tried.  And that must be good enough for me.  We kept our promise.   

Audrey, thank you for enlightening me. From you, I have learned that life is too short for regrets. I am grateful for the times we shared and trust that bliss greeted you on the other side. Say hi to everyone there for me.

First Lessons of a Death Diva

June 25, 2023 /

They say when you experience deep grief, you find yourself. Your truth north is formed. I’m not sure if that is right but it might explain my calling to be a Death Doula. Or as my good friend told me, “You are not a doula, you are a Diva…claim it”.  That makes me giggle. I succumbed to this invisible push and signed up for certification training just before my brother-in-law was told he had advanced cancer. He became my practicum to which he took his last breath shortly after I graduated. I learned a lot and since his passing a year ago, I have had opportunities to practice my new skill. It has been bittersweet learning as they have all been close friends.

The biggest lesson I have learned is that no one wants to talk about death until it is too late. I have a friend who kept procrastinating the conversation and now she isn’t cognizant to have a meaningful one.  Discussions about death are hard but necessary. It includes the answers to obvious questions; do I want to be resuscitated, cremated, or buried etc. But the questions that I feel are as important, if not more, are the ones about after-life. Is it ok to keep some of the ashes for memory jewelry? What specifics do you want at your funeral? What do you want us to do to honor and remember you?  My brother-in-law had us promise, among a few other things, that there would always be pineapple torte eaten on his birthday.  These answers from our loved one, before they depart, bring us solace when they do die. It gives credence to the fact that we are doing the right thing for them.  There are fewer regrets. It is why these conversations are essential but sadly, seldom had to the degree they deserve.

The next lesson is all about anticipatory grief. When one is dying, we begin grieving.  And grief brings out the best and the worst in a person. I have been snapped at, cried on, and asked to do a multitude of mundane tasks.  I was asked to be at home or at the hospital and then told to get out. I have seen families split apart over the details of care and after-life desires. Anticipatory grief is grieving without the comfort of shock.  It is raw and ugly. And no one escapes it. It includes judging, blaming, assumptions and irrationality. It is the hardest part of this new role when I want everyone to be ok but that is impossible.  

The third lesson I have learned (in this early journey I am on) is that self-care becomes a stranger. You wish to be with your loved one every second. The sounds and disturbances of a hospital or home care create an environment that does not compute rest for those sitting next to their loved one. Showers, meals, and routine go out the window fast. Adrenaline is the ingredient that keeps you going.

It was 11:00 am when I was buying tea for a friend who had been with his partner all night.  The young cashier looked at me and asked, “have you had breakfast?” I said, “what do you mean?” He said, “iced tea at 11:00 am…did you eat or is this your breakfast and probably your lunch?” I stopped to think.  No, he was wrong, but I appreciated his thoughtfulness. And the reminder that we must care for ourselves so that we can fully care for our loved ones.

I value this new role of death diva. I want to help, to be there as a source of comfort in whatever way I can. It is a privilege to be a part of readying one to travel to the other realm, to listen to their needs and to assure them that we will fulfill their hopes and dreams as best we can and support their family and friends left behind. It brings peace to both parties. The dying feel sanctioned that their last wishes are respected. Those left behind are empowered knowing, not guessing, what their loved one wants. It is the foundation to enable you to carry your grief better, in the confirmation that you are doing what your loved one requested.  That is my highest and most valuable message as I explore this path towards my north star.  

Three Cheers for Fathers

June 18, 2023 /

I was blessed to have had 3 fathers share this life with me.  Mine, my Godfather, and my father-in-law. Each one I had a very special relationship with that I carry with me long after they have gone. Each man was very different in his career choice, hobbies, and passions. The commonality was each of them was insightful, giving, and protective of those they loved. They did not say too much and did not say it loud.  So, when they talked, if you listened, lessons abound. And those lessons, are part of who I am today.

My father worried that God would punish any of his sins through me. I was his first ‘little girl’ and his inability to spare me from harmful experiences molded him into a private detective that cared for me behind the scenes.  He was my guardian angel. He was my first experience of kindness.  Never did a stranger cross his path that he did not receive something from my father. He was the epitome of ‘do unto others as you would like them do to you’. My desire to nurture comes from him.

My Godfather kept me out of trouble, big and small. I was his girl that met him for lunches and shared my woes and found solutions in each conversation we shared. He stood next to me when I was threatened and guided me to safety. He was my shelter from the storms. He was my first experience of justice. Every situation he faced, he did with integrity to which he practiced in his career and his personal life. He was the epitome of ‘by the Grace of God, go I’. I watched him handle his own battles without a complaint and with the power of a gentle man.  My desire to understand comes from him.

My father-in-law took philosophy to a higher level. I was his girl that we could share truths with about life, family, and ourselves. Our heart shared conversations about the things that mattered were a special part of our visits. His sense of humor hugged you like a cozy blanket while your soul giggled. He was my shining light. He was my first experience of self. Never did he condemn another’s actions or dreams. In fact the opposite, he encouraged one to follow their own path with honesty and goodness. He exhibited that in his own behaviors.  He was the epitome of ‘to your own self be true’. My desire for discovery comes from him.

I think of each of them every day.  Our families celebrate them often. It is hard to believe that they are not still physically here. But I guess that is the thing about fathers. Their absence is softened by the knowledge that their love is imprinted on our hearts. Their lessons a part of our makeup. Our souls know that they will always watch over us. We will always be, ‘their little girl’.

Slow Down, Your Soul Is Speaking

June 11, 2023 /

If you’re like me, you don’t slow down. I relish over setting goals, project planning, and task lists. I am an A-type personality that has been raised and has lived as an extrovert for sixty years.  It was only in the last decade that I discovered I am an introvert. And accordingly, is the foundation of why I am an emotional, physical, and spiritual mess.

All my loved ones have begged me to slow down. Including Zane. In the days after Zane was killed, when my grief brought me to my knees every waking moment, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to not have to talk to anyone or listen to them or care for them.  I didn’t want to slow down, I wanted to stop. I wanted just to be by myself. Of course, that did not happen, in fact quite the opposite. I ended up with more family and friends and social events that I was “obliged” to attend that my physical health got worse. Life did not slow down, it moved faster with work, moves, deaths, travel, and at the end of the day, cancer arrived.

I told my family that I believe my diagnosis was because the angels are fed up with me not listening to what I need so have given me a life-threatening wake up call. SLOW DOWN. And I did; but as a properly raised extrovert, I did for just a wee bit.  Not long enough to correctly heal nor long enough to make it a lifestyle. So, no surprise that 6 months later, I find myself back in the doctor’s office with complications that require more tests, x-rays, and medications with scary side effects. Will I ever learn?

Here’s the thing. My therapist told me that when we are grieving, time alone to sit with our pain is essential. What she didn’t tell me, or I didn’t hear, was that sitting alone brought me closer to Zane. When I take the time to slow down and retreat, I feel my energy.  I receive more signs. I have more dreams. I am in less pain. Time alone to sit with my thoughts and dreams recharges me to be able to be there for my family and friends better. Including my son.

I’m not sure why when we feel good, we forget to slow down.  When the energy is there, we often keep running until it is depleted. A friend told me that when illness does not show on the outside, it gives people reason to think you are ok and expect more of you than if you were visibly ill.  And we don’t help ourselves by saying, “I’m ok” when we know we are not. A-type personalities are great at faking being ok. Whether the struggle is mental or physical or both, we soldier on with a tough guy attitude that people learn to count on.

My nephew, struggling with his own health, wears a jacket that has imprinted on it, “Everything’s OK”. He wears it because of the irony of this statement. I laughed the first time I saw him wear it. He smiled and said, “right?” We get each other.  If I was honest, my jacket would bear the statement, “I’m not ok, so don’t ask”. I hate having to explain why or reassuring those asking “it will be ok” when I don’t know.

All that said, we need to be honest with ourselves and others when we are not ok. We need to be comfortable with the times we are not ok. We need to quit pushing ourselves and pretending. We need to set aside time to sit alone and heal. Whether you are an extrovert or an introvert, slowing down and taking time to be alone is essential to feeling our best and to staying connected to those we love here and on the other realm.

It’s Going To Be OK

June 4, 2023 /

There were five of us diagnosed with cancer over the last year. Two with a brain tumor, one with melanoma, one with prostate and me with breast. It was another ‘thing’ that brought us closer. We all are good patients; listening, following doctor orders and so far, we all are ok. Until the phone rang.

I remember sitting in the doctor’s office with her. She was scared as an infection was now being biopsied. I held her hand. “It’s going to be ok.”  We found out it was skin cancer. Surgery came.  It going to be ok. Then more was found in the lymph nodes. It’s going to be ok. More surgery. It’s going to be ok. Then a lump appeared. It’s going to be ok. And then the lump grew. And now the treatment is radiation to ensure the lump doesn’t blow up until they figure it out. The answers will come next week.

While we wait, her sweet husband is calling all of us. It’s going to be ok, has turned to, “It’s not looking good”. And each of us holds our breath and sends prayers to the heavens. How is this possible? It was just 6 months ago we were shaking our booty to Pit Bull at her birthday party. A milestone party where we laughed at how she could shake it and would be shaking it for decades longer. What the hell happened?  How did we go from that to this.

The sudden death of our children (3 of the 5 of us have lost a child), has taught us that life is not always how we wish. Through our children’s death we have learned to be warriors. But when ill health hits us personally, the art of being a warrior takes on a new meaning. A physical fight needs to join the emotional battle we endure every day. We have so much more living to do.  Not for us.  No, this is an unselfish request, plea to the Universe that we have another child, a pet, a spouse, more family…we have a ton of reasons as to why we must still be here.  We are not ready to go because we know we are still needed.  Our loved ones have already lost, and we want to spare them the pain of losing more.

These earthly emotions bring energy to your battle, strength to withstand cancer treatments and the pain that has you popping pills every four hours.  It brings that smile to your face that your family so desperately needs to see. It also brings you closer to fate. The closer we get to our fate, the clearer we become of what is happening.  Bravery becomes the mask worn.

Our group is blessed with the belief that we do not die. We live on. This doesn’t mean that when death comes close, it becomes more comfortable. No. It becomes the energy for our life’s task list. The clarity to see what still needs to be done, what can be released, and what we need to delegate becomes the focus. It is not giving up; it is getting real. We do it with the hope that there is a miracle still in the bag. It is demanding more time to ensure that when this life is completed, we pass with a feeling of peace that, “It’s going to be ok”.

That has now become the wish of my friend. And for the five of us, our friends and family, the term “FU** Cancer!” is shouted in unison. And shouted so loud that the heavens rumble.  

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