Tag: grief (Page 1 of 2)

Covid Complicates Grief

November 16, 2020 / Mama Fish

Let me start by saying that I am in no way trying to minimize the seriousness of our current pandemic. We are all trying to learn the new rules and navigate through these unknown times. Having said that, I am consumed by the real and troubling ‘side effects’ of keeping safe.

Recently, a friend’s daughter was diagnosed with cancer. Another friend has had to move her husband to a hospice. Within my grief community I am connected to several moms who have lost their children during these times. These are sad and cruel realities of life in any time. With Covid, it gets complicated.

Face to face support groups have been moved to on line chat rooms. Funerals are limited to less people allowed to attend. Visiting hours are for family members with restrictions. You are told to keep your distance, share nothing and gather socially in small groups only. So we now meet around a fire pit where one bottle and great conversations have been shrunk to one glass and, off I go because I’m cold. As a social being, it has me edgy.

We all need support, especially when grieving. A Zoom meeting cannot replace the magic and healing power of human contact. There is no better cure for grief than a hug from a friend who cares. And yet, here we are. Deep, heart to heart conversations seem to be replaced with a quick high level, how are you doing. We know social distancing is not emotionally healthy; anger, depression and anxiety are all on the rise. These difficult emotions are a part of grief and with the scare and protocols of Covid, they are compounded.

I asked my friend how her daughter was doing. She told me that they had gone wig shopping that day. Sitting our safe 6 feet apart, parka and mittens on, I started to cry. I tried to reassure her by saying that perhaps shopping was a positive way for her daughter to take some control of a potential side effect. To which she replied; “I know. I just thought I would be shopping for a wedding dress for her. Not a wig.”

Our conversation, had we been snuggled on a couch together would have continued. Yes, more tears would have flowed and for sure a long hug would be had. And perhaps that would have given a bit of comfort to her; an acknowledgement that she is not alone in her grief. But, outside around the fire pit, we were interrupted and the conversation ended and she left before we could pick it up again. A moment lost.

Covid complicates grief by increasing isolation and removing human touch. We need to find some way of supporting each other better during these times. If we are safe physically but emotionally suffering, we are not well.

I believe that there are still occasions that mask on, fear aside, I need to hug and be hugged.

I Always Remember How You Like Your Coffee

November 9, 2020 / Mama Fish

Zane’s friends wanted to come to his celebration wearing his favorite color. The consensus was blue. Then it changed to dress blue or dress how you think Zane wanted you to dress. The joke was who would come naked. Thankfully, no one did. I remember thinking to myself, is that his favorite color? Oh yes, yes, of course it was. What was I thinking? Memory goes out the window when you are fresh in your grief. And we struggle with it forever after that.

Forgetting the little details of our loved one is one of the biggest fears. We want, need, to remember their laugh, their face, their voice. Grief does give you a foggy memory and that creates worry that we will wake up one day and the memories of our loved one has faded.

It is compounded by the awkwardness of others not wanting to bring up your loved one’s name. There is a hesitation of including them in present conversation when their physical life here is in the past. But if we believe they are always a part of our life, then they should be included. And the more we talk about them, the more we remember. And that is a good thing.

Then there’s the tricky concept, do we remember correctly? It goes to say if I acknowledge that I am having trouble remembering current things, then how do I remember the past with accurate detail?

I remember my mother started speaking of things about my father after he passed that I doubted were true. I would call my sister to say, “hey mom said this….is that what really happened?” Usually it didn’t or it was a twisted version of the truth. We would laugh. Maybe the fact my mother ended up with Alzheimer’s made it worse. I’m sure it did. But you get the point. Our memories don’t get sharper with age.

So how do we keep the details of our loved one from becoming fuzzy?

Start writing! We need to record all that we wish to hold onto. Start a list of their favorites, their milestones, their habits, hobbies and dreams. Maybe it’s a journal or a list on paper or a video you do. Maybe it’s a letter you write to them to capture the favorite memories. Whatever you choose to use and the style to record isn’t the focus; it’s having it captured to ensure that when we are having a moment we can go back to it and remember with clarity.

Is it important to have clarity? I believe it is another way to honor our loved one. Zane insisted on having 3 sugars and lots of cream in his morning coffee. Every time I make my coffee, I think of that. It makes me smile. There was more cream than coffee in his mug. Our loved one’s life had value here. They made mistakes, they had accomplishments, and they had a personality, a way of doing things that made us laugh and cry. The details should be remembered vividly, as it is the details that make them so very special.

The Agony of Bittersweet

November 1, 2020 / Mama Fish

My daughter received a marriage proposal that she has been anticipating all year. Her boyfriend did it right. He asked her father first, then carved a pumpkin with the words “will you marry me” and presented the ring in a tiny black casket. Creepy? Not if you know my daughter; she wishes to be married on Halloween.

I met them at our favorite watering hole to make a toast to the happy couple and to call family and friends to let them know the good news. It was a glorious, happy moment; a very sweet moment.

It was also a bitter moment. Her brother should have been the one to make the toast. He should have been the one to give her boyfriend the ‘big brother lecture’. He should have been the one to post on Instagram how happy he was for his lil’ sis. For grief warriors, sweet moments are tainted with a sad bitterness. I think this, feeling truly happy, is one of the hardest battles of grief to which victory may never come.

When you are grieving, happy times are complicated. You might feel guilty to feel something lighter than despair. You might feel anger that your loved one was robbed of this moment. You might feel jealousy that you can’t share with your loved one happy moments your friends share with theirs. True happy has become bleak. And that just brings on more guilt.

How do we fight bittersweet? How can we relish in the blessings that life brings to those we love here? We can try to include our missed ones. We can speak on their behalf; if they could talk what would they say about this moment? We could include a picture of them as part of the celebration. We could give a gift that symbolizes our missed one. Actively bringing our missed ones to the celebration is a way to honor them and to emphasize they will always be connected to our current moments.

I believe that we also need extra self-care during happy moments for others. It takes a lot of energy to join a celebration. Give yourself some down time prior to and after to rest. Let go of the guilt that feeling bitter brings. Remind yourself that, if grief and love are intertwined, then bittersweet is the emotion of the two.

I’ll meet you in the Mountains

October 19, 2020 / Mama Fish

I have always felt better about life when I visit the mountains. It is something my children and I share.

I’m not sure if it’s the crisp air or the majestic scenery or the quiet sounds of nature.

Maybe it’s the combination of all these things. It is soothing. It is calming. It gives you permission to slow down and take deep breaths. The pressures of life are left behind in the city, as the snow capped mountains encircle my view. They seem to say “welcome home”.

So, when my grief overcomes every aspect of my life, I pack up an overnight bag and head to the mountains.

I usually travel with my sister and the day will be filled with some retail therapy, a bottle of wine and heart to heart conversations that go well into the night.

By morning I have a renewed hope that I will be ok.

The beauty of these short but necessary trips also make me feel closer to Zane. His love of this area and trips to experience Zen meant so much to him. The mountains have always been magical for me; as he knew and encouraged me to go often. In the mountains, I feel his presence beside me.

I think when we visit a place our loved ones treasured, we can energetically feel the shared joy, the positive experiences had and it reassures us of the connection we will always have with them. When we visit these places, we are in essence, reaching across the realms to spend time with those we miss.

Building a Life of Mindfulness

October 4, 2020 / Mama Fish

In the spring of 2018 I was under the care of a Professional for high blood pressure. She wanted me to practice mindfulness. Her theory was that if I was ‘more in the moment’ that I would feel less stressed, less anxious and less worried about things I have no control of. In August (2018) at my appointment, she asked me if I was practicing being in the moment. I shared with her my summer. In July, my daughter was driving my car home when a man ran a red light sending her to the hospital and my car to the salvage yard. As I dealt with insurance and her physiotherapy appointments while looking for another vehicle, I was also waiting for the results of a biopsy to rule out I had ovarian cancer….and then Zane was killed…what particular moment did she want me to be in? Which one of any of my present moments did she think would bring me less worry and more peace? Mindfulness was not a priority or a desire. She agreed.

When you are grieving it is VERY difficult to be in the moment. It is unbearably painful. The present sucks. And mindfulness is all about being and appreciating the present moment. Mindfulness is for the blessed.

So how does a grief warrior use mindfulness as a tool to mourn? You create a present that you can live in. You fill your calendar with things that might bring you joy like music or movies or wine with a friend who listens. You create habits that support your mental and physical health like a walk in the park or a bike ride along the river. You say yes to more cuddles with your pet and afternoons reading a good book. You collect and fill your home with things that bring you peace…pictures, plants, blankets that belonged to your loved one or that your loved one would have liked or that you yourself feel good about. And you continue to honor and speak of your loved one.

By filling our days with as many things as we can that ground us; we can begin to build a present we can be mindful about.

What are you really wishing for?

September 21, 2020 / Mama Fish

I bought a battery operated pillar candle that had a timer. I placed it on a small patio table by our front door. I had it timed to go on a little before Zane would come home from work, around midnight. He enjoyed listening to podcasts sitting next to its artificial flame as a way to unwind after a long busy shift. For the first year, after the crash, I would go to the door before bed and see it shining, waiting for him to come home. And I would whisper, “Love you, miss you, wish you were here”.

The number one wish for grief warriors is “I wish you were here”. Lately I’ve been thinking about this. Does this wish negate our belief that our loved ones are always “here”? If we believe, to any depth, that they are at peace, in a better place or free…is it selfish to wish them back to here? We want them here because we miss them. We want them here to share (more) life with us. We want them here so that we can hear their voice, their laugh. We want them here because we miss hugging them. But when we say “I wish you were here” we are telling ourselves they are not here…and good mourning is all about looking for signs that they are still with us. Our loved ones are always here with us. We must believe this.

Perhaps our wish should be more about what we are really wanting, really missing. Maybe the wish is actually for us. Perhaps we should reword this wish. Perhaps we should be more specific. Maybe the wish YOU is really about I. I wish I could hear your voice here. I wish I could see you here.

With my grief, I have found it helps when I believe to my core, Zane is still here. Although his (new) spiritual form I wish was not reality, it is a form to which I am still his mother and he is still very much a part of my life. And for this belief to be solid, I can’t say wish you were here. I must tell myself he is here. So I have changed my wish. And at night, when I look out the door, I now whisper, “Love you, miss you, wish I could hug you here”.

The Silent Demands of Grief

September 14, 2020 / Mama Fish

I have always been an A-type personality. It has caused physical illness and mental struggles and yet I keep living my life like a squirrel caught in traffic. The upside has always been that I get more done than the average person. I am organized and I take on the world, so lots to do. But is this an upside?

I have been told by everyone in my life, current and past, that I need to slow down. How do you do that when you are engrained to do all for all in only a 24 hour period each day? That has been my struggle.

Now, with grief, it is so much more difficult. It is complicated. My grief demands my time. It demands me to sit and cry and ponder the ‘what if’s’ and pine for yesterday. It does not take note of the growing task list and the time ticking to the deadlines for work projects, social engagements or personal goals. It shows up unexpected, it never leaves and it is loud.

When I try to ignore it and focus on what needs to be done, it becomes tricky. It messes with my memory and I begin to forget obvious things, like my friend’s name or that dinner was in the oven an hour longer than needed. It seeps into my muscles and bones causing arthritic flare-ups. And yet, I move on, ignoring it and the side effects it brings. And when I do that, my grief becomes angry and I become short tempered, snapping at the poor dog because he is taking too long to sniff the grass. And if I don’t pay attention to how busy I am, my grief then crushes me with a tidal wave of emotional pain, triggered by something I didn’t expect and the tears come and the day shuts down. And the guilt sets in.

Grief cannot be put into your day timer at a convenient time to experience it. You cannot schedule grief. If you try life becomes complicated and harder to cope. Grief demands that you pay attention to it. Thus, we must plan our day to be gentle. Our schedules cannot be over loaded. Our social life must be simple with a plan to exit if need be. Our calendar needs room, every day, for grief to be addressed.

As a text book A-type, I must accept that my grief keeps me busy. And my grief is a priority. It is ironic that through my grief, I may also learn how to slow down.

Pictures Immortalize

September 6, 2020 / Mama Fish

It took one phone call to one close friend of Zane’s to fill our home that day. In a matter of hours, over fifty people came through the front door, bringing food and drink and tears. I watched Zane’s friends, many who we knew since they were babies, have a shot of Jameson’s in honor of our son. They laughed. They cried. They hugged. They shared stories of Zane and reassured us how much our son loved us. “We were his all”. They stayed until late that night. One friend, as he left, hugged me and said;

“Thank you for opening up your home to all of us. It is the only place we can find comfort right now.”

His words reminded me that we were all in pain.

Zane’s friends are inherited blessings. They brought pictures of Zane and the adventures they shared. They brought letters and stories Zane had written. They left them with us. The pictures adorn our walls now and the letters and memorabilia given to us bring us comfort. We would not have these without his wonderful friends.

Some people have troubles with pictures. We have one friend who asks us each time they see Zane’s picture up if it is slowing our healing down. Some grief warriors can’t look at any pictures. It’s kryptonite. There is no right way to grieve. For us, I have Zane’s pictures and his belongings naturally scattered around the house. As if he was still living with us. I find comfort in these reminders that he is and will always be a part of our life.

Pictures and items of our loved ones are filled with their energy. They hold the essence of our child. They are a snapshot of an experience they had, one of their stories. These stories are now one of our shared memories. His pictures bring me back to that happy time and place. I can feel grateful that he laughed and had such fun times.

Yes, certain days his pictures are painful when my grief is crashing in. But it is not the picture that brings this grief on. I don’t need a picture to remind me that there will not be another snapshot to frame. Zane’s things are proof that my son was involved, adventurous and loved. And when I hold his things or look at the pictures, I tell my grief that.

Don’t Change the Dishes

August 30, 2020 / Mama Fish

Recently my husband bought a brand new set of dinnerware. And I lost it on him. Flipped out, shouting what the hell do we need another set for? Why would you do this? Typical, just go out and buy stuff we don’t need. The truth is we did need another set. Our current dishware, although in relatively good shape was old and we were down to 3 plates. So why the inappropriate melt down?

I came to realize it wasn’t about the dishes at all. It was about change. Whether you like change or not, and I don’t, when you’re grieving, change of any kind can be unsettling.

Every little change screams at me that things are not like they were before. Things are different. Zane is missing. Time is moving on without him here to experience new things with me. It isn’t the dishes. It’s another change in my life. The dishes were a reminder of all the meals I served him on the old plates…that he will not have on the new plates…. It’s these types of changes that taunt me and pull at my grief bringing it to new levels of pain. My rant towards my poor husband demonstrated that change can bring on ugly grief spurts. This is the complexity of grief.

I have accepted the new dishes. I took the old ones out of the cupboard and took a picture of them. I then carefully wrapped them in tissue and boxed them to give away. Someone else can enjoy these dishes that my kids and I chose for our family years before. I washed and put the new dishes into the cupboard. They are beautiful; I am happy they look like a set my mom had before she left. I rationalize change by connecting it to something that I enjoyed in the past. It helps soften the fact it is still a change.

One More

July 26, 2020 / Mama Fish

I am longing for one more hug with my son. One more “I love you”. One more touch of his manicured hair. One more listen to the sound of his laugh. Oh how I loved his laugh.

For those of us grieving, the wish for just ‘One more’ is a popular wish.

We ask for ‘One more’ for reassurance. Did they know how special they were? How much they were loved?

We ask for ‘One more’ for closure. What did I need to tell you?

We ask for ‘One more’ for forgiveness. Did I do enough? Was I good enough?

We ask for ‘One more’ for love. That needed hug and touch of our loved one.

Why do we choose to cry out for one more? Why not a hundred more? Why not a million more? What could there possibly be in ‘One more’ that would make this grief any less? The truth is one more would never be enough.