Tag: #grief (Page 1 of 9)

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.

With Grief’s Permission

November 30, 2025 / Mama Fish

As a kid growing up, I enjoyed American Thanksgiving. My cousins would travel to our home from Montana to join us. The holiday included a trip to Eddie Bauer, shopping for Canadian treasures to take back, like bacon, wieners, Tylenol 222 and Canadian beer. Dinner was the traditional turkey, with all the fixings. It was a favorite time for y’all. We still celebrate it, in remembrance of those days.

This year I noticed how different my favorite holiday has become. Empty. It is without the fanfare of my childhood. It lacks the full table (so many are missing, including my cousins). It lacks the sounds of chatter with a slight drawl. It lacks my mother’s kitchen, small with the window steamed from the heat of the oven and pots boiling. It lacks my father’s presence, rocking in his chair with the dog on his lap, cocktail on the side table, next to the ashtray with a cigarette always smoldering.

This holiday was always about family. The whole family. Not the small Canadian Thanksgiving family. No, American Thanksgiving was big, bold, loud and oh so energizing. It included everyone. It shouted we are together. It contained the sharing of what was happening, what was being planned, and always the latest antics of my crazy southern family. You went to bed that night so full of food, wine and laughter that you couldn’t sleep.

For some reason, this year, the happiness of yesteryear came through the front door, stomping around in my head like a full piece band. Perhaps it was because this year was like any other day. It started off rough, it included too much work, stress, mess and a rush home to ‘whip up’ dinner. It did not contain any extended family. It did not pause any ugly realities. The day had me so totally exhausted that I found myself having a hard cry before my daughter and husband came home to join me for dinner.

Grief. This Thanksgiving my grief sat at the head of the table. It reminded me of how old I am. How tired I have become. I countered it with the game of gratitude. I am aware and appreciative of all that I do have. Then my grief reached its hand across the table to hold mine and whispered to me, “it’s ok to cry for the many empty seats at your table.”

And with that, with grief’s permission, I leaned in, letting my broken heart mourn for all those that once sat at my table. Those who raised me, those I grew up with, for family that shared decades with me. And I cried for those who once sat at my table that I raised, mothered or mentored. For the kids that have sat around my table sharing their dreams, their gratitude at their young age. Including and especially, the twenty-six Thanksgivings I shared with Zane.

This year, I missed the physical presence of my family. All of them; those who join my table in heart and those who join my table in spirit. This year, I longed for the simple, naïve and joyful times of Thanksgivings past.

Connection Through a Wind Phone

August 10, 2025 / Mama Fish

I came across the story of the Wind Phone a few years ago and called the woman who brought this novel idea from Japan to the U.S. It is a symbolic phone booth built and placed in a public spot, for those grieving, giving them the experience to call their loved ones. A healing concept I felt should be brought to Calgary. Time marched on and when I investigated how this might happen, I found out it was already here.

I waited to experience it, choosing the day before Zane’s ‘death day’. I found this simple undecorated wooden telephone box on stilts, with a black push button phone inside. This wind phone is found in the lovely and peaceful Union Cemetery. I walked up and picked up the receiver. I dialed Zane’s cell number. I imagined him picking up the other end, “hello?” and I began to speak into the phone.

“Hi Zane.”

“Hey mama…”

“So, here we are. I keep saying to everyone, can you believe it’s been seven years.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe this. I am at a loss pooh bear of how I have not yet awakened from this madness. I keep searching for you, waiting for you to come home.”

“Mama, I’m good.”

“I know.”

“Do you see the signs I send you?”

“Yes, I am grateful for them. Thank you.”

“I’m always close. You can’t forget that.”

“I know. I won’t forget. It just hurts…”

I continue, telling him about the latest events in our family. And after a few minutes, I said,

“Well, I’ll let you go, but I’ll call again soon.”

“Love you mama.”

“Love you more.”

And then something happened. It was time to hang up. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to end my conversation. Suddenly, I felt like I had this real connection through this unplugged phone to the heavens and what would happen if I hung up? It was a bizarre feeling of not wanting to say goodbye. Again.

I just stood there, holding the phone to my ear. Finally, I whispered, “please stay in touch.” I gently placed the handset back into place. I sat on a set of cement stairs next to the booth, placed my head in my hands and cried. When I caught my breath, I stood up and began to walk through the cemetery, accompanied by butterflies and a blue dragon fly. It was a beautiful, quiet, grounding experience to walk in the gardens amidst the markers of so many souls.

I am grateful for those who took part in the placement of a wind phone for all of us. The opportunity to be able to call a loved one and to hold conversation with them is therapeutic. Spiritually fitting, the phone, in a setting that holds so many stories and has witnessed so many tears. The same place that now connects hearts across the realm to be able to utter, “I miss you.” And the wind carries the message home.

Grief’s Visit In The Waiting Room

May 25, 2025 / Mama Fish

The long weekend ended with a trip to the Rockyview Hospital when my blood pressure kept rising and the pain in my chest made it impossible to breathe. An overnight calamity of tests, I was sent home for bedrest waiting for a cardiologist to call for more tests. Any feeling of whoa-is-me was silenced when I began listening to the stories of the other patients around me. It brought people watching to a whole new level.

A woman had brought her brother in, just before us. I overheard her telling the nurse that he was suicidal and she was afraid, not knowing what to do.

A couple next to us, sat quietly and at one point, he reached over to pat his wife’s hand and whispered to her, “how many times do you need to go through this with me?” She smiled and replied, “we just need you to get well.”

A mother sat across from us with her young daughter. I overheard her on the phone, “I am in the emergency. Every time she pees, she says it feels like sharp prickles.” Whatever was the diagnosis, the little girl came out eating a popsicle and the mother was in tears.

An elderly man is told that he has an ulcerated bowel that requires immediate surgery but not without complications. I hear the nurse ask the wife if she understands what DNR means and if his last wishes are in order.

Grief is palatable in the emergency ward of a hospital. You are not there by choice. It is not a quick fix either. The long waiting increases the agony. As a human sponge of other’s energy, I could feel my blood pressure continue to rise, my heartbeat pounding out of my chest. When the nurse called my name to insert an IV into my arm, he said, “you appear anxious.” I just stared at him. What did he mean by that? Of course I was anxious. My blood pressure is 217/109. How did I get here? It was a quiet, pleasant day. I was resting. I worked on a puzzle for God’s sake, not a marathon.

As we continued to sit waiting for the next test, I overheard a conversation that hit me hardest. It was a teenager whose friends had brought him in. We wondered what his reason might be; his hand was covered in blood like he had punched something. He was wrapped in a blanket and appeared in shock. I heard his friend call the mother telling her what happened. It wasn’t a bar fight or a prank gone wrong. The three were hiking and the trail ended with a waterfall cascading down twenty feet to the ground below. He had slipped and fell over the falls, to the bottom and lay unconscious in the water below. His friends climbed down to his rescue but couldn’t carry him. So, one stayed with him, the other ran to find cell reception and call for help. It took the helicopter six hours to find them and pull them to safety.

As the boys sat there, the one who had rescued his friend, said to him, “hospitals get me, but I guess I should get used to them. I will be seeing them a lot from now on.” I thought to myself I wonder if he is planning on a medical career of some kind to state that. And then his friend gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder and said, “hey man, it’s dialysis. You’ll get through.”

The waiting room in ER fosters a weird reminder of how delicate life is, how fast it can change and how important good health is. Grief sits in the emergency room, quietly waiting to rise or to leave.

As the doctor summarized my test results with me, he said, “I am wondering about your SLE” Exhausted, and trying to focus, I asked, “SLE?” “Your lupus”, he answered. He continued, “your heart may be effected by that so the cardiology tests we have referred for you will confirm it is just that.” I thanked the good doctor and went to the bathroom to change out of my hospital gown. I looked in the mirror. My lupus? You mean this quiet ‘condition’ I have had for years that has never caused me grief. My heart is vulnerable because of lupus?

I have struggled with poor health all my life. I have fibromyalgia, never slowed me down. I have conquered cancer. Lupus is different. I was told that lupus blows up your heart. There is no cure, it is only manageable. How do I manage living with a broken heart. Literally, a broken heart. When I walked out the emergency doors in the early morning, nothing had changed but everything had changed. My vision of who I am, how strong I am does not align with the reality of my condition. Grief comes in many forms. With my hospital visit, a new form of grief rose and followed me home.

Grief When It Grows Up

February 9, 2025 / Mama Fish

When I was pregnant with Zane, I read every book I could find on how to have a healthy pregnancy, be a good mom, raise a respectful child. Not that reading prepared you for the raw details of motherhood, but no where in those manuals was a chapter on how to grieve if your child is killed. And not that anything can prepare you for the unthinkable. Now, my reading is about how to ‘move through’ grief and I am learning that I have done it all wrong.

My grief is in trouble. I didn’t practice solitude or self-care; I didn’t slow down for a moment. Rather I continued to perform, like a robot trained to do what is expected of me. Daily. Year after year. Having ignored it for so long, it has compounded to the definition of complicated grief. No wonder I feel lost most of the time. According to the experts, my grief has grown into a rebellious teenager because I did not properly care for it in its infancy. Who would have known?

When I had my mastectomy, I was told what to do to heal. I half listened; taking care of the side that had the tumor and ignoring the other side because it didn’t have cancer. I didn’t stop to think that that side too needed healing. After all, that breast was also removed. Two years later, I am still in pain, with keloid scaring and lymphoma that resembles a new but smaller breast on my right. The probability of me fully healing is narrower as I did not take care of myself in the beginning. Trauma needs to be dealt with when it happens, not years later.

The trauma of grief is no different. Giving yourself permission to stop and soothe your pain is a must. Saying no to what you don’t have energy for and yes to what comforts you is a must. Even when it doesn’t align with the expectations of your life before grief. What we tend to forget, is that our life has blown up. It is not, nor will never be, the same again. So why do we expect ourselves to live accordingly to how we did pre-grief?

After Zane was killed, I pushed through like nothing had happened. In shock, yes, but I pretended like it didn’t happen. He was merely away, at school, or on an adventure. He would be back. There was to be no big grief. I had too many people to care for. I had to go back to work. I had a dog to walk and a house to clean. I felt like I had to cater to every need socially and emotionally of my family. It was exhausting and at the end of the day, there was no time or energy to face my own grief. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I screamed alone in the car, I cried every day, every night. Every breath hurt. But I ignored it.

I watched life around me happen like it was a Netflix movie. Only I was part of that movie; playing a character that was unrecognizable as I continued living my life as it was before grief. I ignored my soul screaming out to what I now needed. I put myself into situations that were ok for others, but not for me. Simple things, like dinner out when I wanted to be alone. Late nights because the drinks carried on. This was my life before and I had enjoyed it so what was happening that I was becoming angrier and resentful? I wasn’t letting grief in, nor did I understand that it was to change me.

From this, the biggest lesson, and the one that I share with all my fellow grief warriors, is that your grief is only yours. It is like no other’s grief. And your grief needs to be cared for. It needs space. It needs to be recognized, heard and felt… I take full responsibility for my unawareness. My family ask often, what do I need, how can they help. The truth is I didn’t know. Only now am I starting to know. And the answers scare me because they are so unfamiliar.

Thoughts for Thanksgiving

October 13, 2024 / Mama Fish

Thanksgiving is here; the annual inventory of what we are grateful for. The symbolistic holiday of who sits at your table. It is a beautiful fall day as I write this and as I reflect, I have much to be thankful for. Many bittersweet things to be grateful for.

This year highlighted the importance of time. The speed of it and the ability to cram more into it if we choose. Before the loss of both Kirk and Geoff this year, time gave us the opportunity to build other memories to carry with us and meaningful conversations around how special our relationship was, will always be. I am grateful that the families of Kirk and Geoff let us in to share the last months with their beloved.

This year highlighted the power of Mother Nature. Our trip to Mexico to celebrate love included the beauty of her majestic ocean and the heat of the afternoon sun. It also brought fear and loss through the hurricanes to which we personally witnessed the sights and heard the stories of the damages such causes. I am grateful that our group returned home safe and my heart hurts for those who were not as fortunate.

This year highlighted the magic of family. My first trip back in nine years, it was a week of reuniting with those I love through marriage that I now call my own. It included meeting new members, sharing their story and knowing that our souls have always been family, connected through mutual beliefs of what this life is about. And my own family; trials and tribulations related to life and choices, some to which we can’t control and some to which we can, has reminded me that family is always first. Always. I am grateful for family, and the friends that we call chosen family.

This year also highlighted grief. It brought with it many levels, many forms of itself. It brought a clear understanding that loss is loss and each loss we experience must be felt. It connected me to new friends in the grief community and brought old friends into the same. It demonstrated how strong it is and encouraged us to try new ways to live with it. I have become grateful to the truth that grief is the constant reminder to live my best in honor of those I have lost.

Thanksgiving this year will be in the mountains. It was my son-in-law’s idea. I was thrilled he still wanted to hang out with us just after spending a whole week together in Mexico! The turkey will be packed with all the trimmings. The day will include shopping and happy hour at Bridgette Bar before tucking ourselves in for more wine and food. Zane will be joining us. After all, it is our happy place to which he and I go to be together. And that fills my cup with gratitude.

May each of you be filled with gratitude, of knowing that we are connected. Death cannot change that. Take this holiday to look at those sitting at your table. Without judgement. With patience and love that they are on their own path, to which we have the fortune to be travelling with. And ‘see’ those who you love that still sit, in spirit, at your table. Grief ties us to the love we hold in our hearts.

Message In a Pot of Soup

August 25, 2024 / Mama Fish

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Spirit at Stampede

July 21, 2024 / Mama Fish

Stampede has always been a unique holiday for our family. Especially Zane whose sister now carries the torch and makes him proud by spending almost every night there enjoying the food, the music and the fireworks. Part of our stampede tradition is going as a family for one day of games, shopping, wine and trying one weird food dish. This year we added a stop to Nashville North. Something we typically leave to the kids to enjoy but this year I felt I needed to go for just one drink. Turned into two. I came home tired and overheated and under the fan took out my notebook to write to Zane.

Dear Zane,

We just got home from stampede. A great time where I had an urge to go to Nashville North. Somehow, I knew you were there. I needed to see you. And I did. In the middle of the tent there was a spot where you would have stood, and the music was so loud that the beat was felt in my heart. I stood there feeling your spirit, strong, I could envision you dancing into the night, the mood, the energy and I knew you were here. It was great!

Oh, I know how much you enjoyed this annual festival. It brings tears of how much you loved it. How happy I was to have your spirit there to enjoy it with me. We love our signs and this year they were loud and clear. I saw the feathers, the donuts, the moon, the sky and stars. I could feel you with us.

2024 is the sixth, (magic number six), that you have been at stampede spiritually. Maybe that is why Nashville North was imperative. Maybe that’s why the wine was Rodney STRONG. Maybe that’s why the food catered to all my favorites, like macaroni and cheese poutine. I’m not suggesting you orchestrated this. I’m suggesting that the Universe celebrated you hard tonight. And invited us to be with you.

Sweet poo bear, you are SO here. So alive that strangers come to me knowing we are connected, and they feel your energy. You rocked stampede. You rocked Nashville North. This is your party and will always be your party. Good to be with you.

Every year the stampede feels different, but each year it brings with it a spiritual awakening that I recognize only after the day is done. This year the mood seemed lighter, and my cares stepped aside. Maybe the energy of thousands of people together to laugh and live in the moment is contagious. Maybe my ability to connect to my sons’ spirit is stronger. Whatever the reason, the veil seemed nonexistent this day. This year, grief took a moment to hold hands with me, and together we celebrated Zane’s spirit and his enthusiasm for life.

Time, the Complex Accomplice

June 16, 2024 / Mama Fish

I received a picture from my friends’ husband, of her tombstone. I replied how beautiful it was and, as I knew her urn was not yet placed, asked if he would be placing it soon. He said yes, and added what date that would be. I stared at my phone. The date reminded me of what he said when she passed. “I’ll keep her with me for a year, and then lay her to rest, beside her son.” It will be a year this July.

In life, time is a friend and an enemy. They say time softens grief (to which I have yet to experience) and they say time reminds you of how fleeting this life is. I know she passed; I was there. But a year ago? How can it be that already? Her family has gone through the ‘firsts’-first birthday, holiday, anniversary, and they are now coming up to their second year. To which we all know when living with grief, is when time plays the enemy more often than not. I am so sad. This is life with grief. A continuum of what we know, the pain of loss and the reality of traditions starting, ending or modified.

Sometimes grief is ignored around what is true because it muddies the happy moments. Then time prompts us it isn’t going away through a calendar of events now changed forever or added to because of our loss. Sometimes grief is faced with courage and strength because the counting of time tallies the days we have survived. Sometimes grief shows up unexpectedly and the struggle is real and time whispers, “breathe, this too shall pass.” Time can be argued by science, whether it is real or not. But for sure, it is measurable. Grief warriors become experts at measuring time.

How fast time flies is a statement everyone understands. Because everyone has, in one way or another, experienced this. In grief, time becomes more dimensional with more substance of how it controls you, and, oddly, how it supports you. Life gets divided into sections before loss, and after loss and then subdivided between the number of years. Time is very real.

Yet, we begin to see many signs that our loved ones are still here with us and that gives depth to the idea that time is only on our realm. The notion that our loved ones defy time and can stay with us for all time is a comforting belief.

In any case, time makes grief very complex, as with my friend. How has she been gone for a year when my heart still feels that a summer drink in her backyard is a possibility. Time reminds me I had that once, I can have it still, just that it will be different. The yin and yang of time is the same as grief. Bittersweet. And the only control we truly have with time is how we choose to value it.

Honoring Bereaved Mother’s Day

May 5, 2024 / Mama Fish

I had this notion to make Cinco de Mayo a big deal this year. I thought of having multiple dishes with festive décor hung and friends coming over to enjoy all of it with me. I thought it was time to start my own celebrations of fun and frolic. Then grief came and a busy-catch up schedule and the energy to do anything related to a party went out the front door. Suddenly I just wanted to be alone. My sweet daughter, feeling much the same way, spoke to me about why don’t we just have one drink as a small family and spend the night in our own homes. I agreed. What I didn’t tell her was that this particular day fell on Bereaved Mother’s Day.

Bereaved Mother’s Day falls on the Sunday before Mother’s Day. It is a day where mothers who have lost a child can gather to share stories and the pain that accompanies such. I just thought I wanted to be distracted from the reminder “we” have a special day that shouts, “you lost a child!” And yet, the closer this Sunday came, the more I felt like being in a park with a camera talking to Zane than I did hosting another loud party. I am starting to listen to my grief and make space for her to be acknowledged.

We are told, early in our grief, by those we seek counsel from and well-intended friends, that you must have the freedom to say no. We must listen to our pain and not show up if it is too much or change plans if it becomes too much. It is a boundary building skill each grief warrior learns. And yet, as time goes on with grief, others expect more of you. “Get on with it” and thus, just about the time we are learning to feel our mood and act accordingly, we are then told we should be done with that feeling. It is ironic.

This year, my feelings for what I thought I wanted with a Mexican holiday and what I ended up feeling, I honored. It was a relief. I felt less stress not having to create an event where I needed to be smiling and hospitable. I thought I wanted that. I thought I was ready. But this time, and perhaps because it is Bereaved Mother’s Day, I changed my mind. I changed the plans. My (usually social) family agreed. I am guessing on some level they needed the same and I, the matriarch, let everyone off the hook by choosing what I thought only I needed. The party was cancelled; everyone is feeling a little less pushed. And the pinatas can come out another day.

So, a message to my fellow grieving mothers; take today to pause. Listen to what your grief is asking of you and take today to honor that. It is the one day set aside for us to do just that, and we should take advantage of it. I mean, who is going to argue with you telling them I am celebrating me, as a mom, who has lost a child?

Bring your sweet loved one into the day. Speak to them on a quiet walk. Do an act of kindness on their behalf. Put a picture of them on your social media with a note of gratitude. Yes gratitude. We are the lucky ones who had this amazing soul choose us to be their mother. We cared for them, loved them, raised them, only to have them leave. This is the day to remind yourself how much strength we have within to continue being ourselves here and now, in our many roles, but today, honoring our role as a mother to a child of the other realm. This is a day to celebrate, quietly, like the breeze that whispers to the meadow, I am always with you, my sweet child. And I am grateful that I am always to be your mother.