Tag: #grief (Page 3 of 9)

Road Signs that Increase Grief

September 11, 2022 / Mama Fish

In May when we visited friends in Kelowna, I told my husband that it was my last time driving there. I wasn’t sure if I hated the drive because of the construction detour or the fact we brought our dog who howled the entire 7 hours. Well, we are back, driving west to see our friends. This time, there was no detour, and we left the dog behind, and I figured out why I hate travelling by car. It’s the road signs. Specifically, two types of road signs.

The first sign are the crosses. The sign that someone else lost a loved one to a highway crash. Someone else walks this journey beside me. Even though I know not of them, I sigh, whispering “I am so sorry” under my breath. I can’t enjoy the majestic scenery my husband reminds me of. We are in God’s Country. And where was God then?

The second, and more personal, are the dozens of road signs stating, “Passing Lane 2KM”. You wait for these expanded areas to pass slower moving vehicles safely. Here, you are not as likely to have an oncoming vehicle in your lane. It is this sign that was at Zane’s crash site. It haunts me to this day; 2 km and my boy would have been safe. 2km was all he had to travel before the divided highway would have kept him apart from the other driver crossing the centre line. 2km and he may have survived. Every time we drive by one of these signs, I can feel my heart explode and my hands grip the wheel tighter and my jaw clenches. I am a ball of angry bitter tension by the time we reach our destination. These road signs kill me emotionally.

It’s true that our life is all about bittersweet. When I see a feather or balloon, a sweet sign from Zane, I am elated. Connected. When I see a bitter sign, like one of these road signs, I am reminded of my truth. The ugly truth. A grief warrior’s life is a yin and yang of bitter and sweet. It is part of grief. I must remember this. The bitter signs are just that. They are signs of what happened. They are part of the story but not the whole story. And I can choose which signs I want to focus on, the ones that elate me or those that crush me.

Our trip home I will experiment with this concept. I will search for the sweet signs that I know are also there. I will watch the skies and the countryside and the mountains for clues that Zane is with me. This is an exercise in choosing how I look at life and I wish to see it with my boy, riding next to me, past the signs that repeat he is not physically here.

Goals For Our Grief

September 4, 2022 / Mama Fish

With September, comes the rush of more work, school, and busier times. We know this. Summer leaves behind the long days of less. It is a time to plan as well. I recently read, for mothers especially, that September can be a quiet but impactful opportunity to look at your life. And to plan your goals.

January is when we make new year resolutions; it is a time where we are exhausted and needing to rest and perhaps why so many of our goals fail. If we choose to look at what we want, what we need, in September, our perspective might be different. If we use this month to focus on what goals would support our grief, perhaps the upcoming months won’t be as harsh. September goals are about self care.

What would you like to see this upcoming year for just you. Between now, when the leaves begin to change colors and next year’s summer heat? What would you like to bring into your life and what would you like to remove? When we are grieving, the answers seem obvious. I want my child back. I don’t want to feel like this. I want to have peace, maybe a little joy. We feel it’s impossible. This thinking stops us from healing.

Grief will never leave and because of that we must look at how we live with it. What do we do to include it as the big part of our lives it will always be. Our goals need to include our grief.

In the quiet morning hours, before the drama of life unfolds, what if we sat with a journal and meditated about what we need this year to live with our grief. What would that look like for you? Would it include more time alone or more time with friends? Would it include a trip or a move or just more walks? What would you like to incorporate or remove or change with the upcoming holidays. What do you need that would support your grief? Start writing your thoughts.

September goals are the secret wishes of your heart. They do not need to be shared, no one knows we have made them. They are between you and God. Quiet prayers of what we have discovered through journalling to try. Just try.

And what if these feelings were heard by the Universe? What then? Could we find the energy to chase these desires? Would we accept, if what we dreamed about, approached us? We must be open to such happenings. We must do the work to bring to life the ideas we have recorded in our journal.

Identifying and working towards the goals of what is needed to build a life around grief is good mourning. Only by searching our hearts for new ways or modified ways to integrate our grief, will we then know what may bring us comfort.

“On Life After Death”

August 21, 2022 / Mama Fish

Our beloved Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, through her books, has supported our mourning by talking about death, identifying the stages of grief, and offering us strategies to cope. My recent read, “On Life After Death” she deepens possible healing by reassuring us there is no death.

Her book reads like a conversation. I can imagine myself in her living room. A cup of tea is poured. There are cookies set on a plate. She sits down and in a soothing voice she begins to talk, “…the death of the human body is identical to what happens when the butterfly emerges from its cocoon.”

This book is about the three stages of what happens to us when we die. It is based on the vast experience and the commonalities across the globe, she has had with patients who have had near-death experiences. Her examples cannot be explained by science. A little girl tells her father she liked when she ‘had died’ because the place was so full of light and the feeling of love and that her brother was there. She says to her dad, “the problem is I don’t have a brother.” And her dad confesses that she indeed had a brother who passed months before she was born, and they had not told her. A female patient, blinded in an explosion, when out of her physical body, could see the whole accident and describe the people who dashed in to save her, but when brought back to life, she was totally blind. Example after example the good doctor discovers at the time of death, each patient was acutely aware of what was happening as they watched from above in perfect physical condition. And each patient then saw a path, a bright light and felt a love that was pure bliss.

Her words are comforting. She insists that our loved ones do not die alone. Those we love that have gone before are waiting to greet us. There is no pain as they transition from cocoon to butterfly. She tells us, “…it is no longer a matter of belief, but rather a matter of knowing.”

I relished in this suggestion. There is no death. There is this life, in this cocoon, that we must make the most of. At the end of this stage, the next life we maintain our identity and our personal energy pattern, taking up no space and able to be many places. Our loved ones are here, connecting with us, guiding us. They are the butterfly.

To Zane, on the Fourth Anniversary

August 7, 2022 / Mama Fish

Dear Zane,

It has been four years today,

an indescribable hell

trying to live in this realm

knowing you live in the other

It has been four years of ugly rituals

like crying every morning

and screaming every day in the car

It has been four years of not believing, believing

And then not believing again

It has been four years of mockery

watching my friends’ kids do, be, experience

what was to be for you

It has been four years of anger

Not able to comfort your sister

Or any of us from this pain…

It has also been four years of honoring you,

asserting you are still here,

friends and family include you

in our daily lives

which brings some peace

as a mother’s greatest fear is

there will come a time

when life goes on without you.

It has been four years learning

that the diminutive conciliation

of holding your hand

are unexpected symbols,

enigmatic Instagram posts

feathers on our path

dragonfly on the window

bubbles and balloons

signs that I cling to

as oxygen, for my own survival

There is also the Universe’s gift,

the subconscious reality through nighttime slumber

where I can feel your hug, hear your laugh

our moonlight conversations,

when morning arrives,

my broken heart holds tight to

giving the energy I need to walk another day

It has been four years today, my sweet boy

and if I have understood only one thing

It is that my love for you is endless

as are the tears I cry.

The Physical Damage of Grief

July 31, 2022 / Mama Fish

At my annual doctor’s appointment, I was expecting the usual battery of tests and probes to be told I am ok. Living with chronic physical pain, I am used to “everything looks great” even though I don’t feel that way. But this year was different. When your doctor pulls up the stool, closer to you, and starts the conversation with “we have to count on diagnostic tests and when they fail us, we are all in pain…” What the hell?

According to this year’s blood and x-ray parade, it is confirmed I can add lupus, severe osteoarthritis and a cancer scare to my list of health ailments. Dear God. It is almost laughable. How do I go from ‘perfectly healthy’ to ‘this is worrisome’ in one year? I call my trusted herbalist to chat with her about these new findings and part of her advice is to review what am I doing to address the anger of my grief. Wow.

I came home stunned. I randomly opened my journal to a page in December 2020 that read:

You have no idea

How much energy it takes

To keep the screams inside me

From escaping

My soul is in constant pain.

Can grief cause a major illness? We know it effects our memory, our heart hurts, we are emotionally stripped but major physical ailments. Isn’t this just about growing old? It sent me down a web search rabbit hole and here we have it.

Research says that the emotions of anger, resentment, hostility, and grief unexpressed can harbor and change our health at a cellular level. There is a definite connection between life-threatening health conditions and trauma experienced two years or more prior.

When we are grieving, our health practitioners, family and friends say we must take care of ourselves. How many of us listen, truly listen to this advice? How many have a daily regime in place to address the anger and resentment of our grief so that it does not fester inside our bodies to create more issues? For 3 years, I have been dealing well with grief. Or so I thought. I had not taken seriously enough the fact that anger is a part of grief that necessitates attention.

If this year’s check up has illuminated one thing, it is this. We need to be very cognizant of the length of time that grief has accompanied us. The longer the emotions related to grief are with us, and ignored, the more dangerous they become. The internal screams need to be released. For the sake of our physical health.

The Promise for Red Roses

July 24, 2022 / Mama Fish

My brother-in-law and I took advantage of time before he departed. We talked about many things including his love for my sister. A request he asked of me was to surprise her for their, what should be, 32^nd anniversary. I agreed. I was told to buy red roses from Costco. Those two factors were not to be compromised. They had to be red roses. They had to come from Costco. When someone who is actively dying asks you for a favor, you do not ask why. You say, “I promise”. And I did promise.

When the anniversary came around, life was busy. It would be easier to pick up roses at Safeway while I was getting groceries. I heard Dan’s voice, “has to be Costco”. So off I went to battle the line up and traffic to pick up roses. They had so many beautiful rose colors, and so many types of flowers. There was one bouquet that was stunning, and I thought to myself how my sister would enjoy these. Again, I heard Dan’s voice, “has to be red roses”. I chuckled to myself. A promise is a promise.

When we arrived at my sister’s home for the anniversary dinner, I handed her the roses and said, “You must not have heard the doorbell, I found these on your porch.” “The doorbell is broken,” she said, looking for the card. I kept walking into the kitchen. She followed and I watched as she opened the envelope. The card was signed, Love Dan. She gasped. Her eyes filled with tears. “Did someone forge this?” she asked. I hugged her and said they were from her sweetie.

As she put the flowers into a vase, she asked me, “did Dan tell you red roses?”. “Yes,” I said, “and they had to come from Costco”. She started to laugh through her tears and told us of how he brought her red roses from Costco for a long time, and she doesn’t like roses! “He brought me a bouquet of them every week”, she said, “and finally I just had to tell him, I don’t like roses!”

We laughed. What a wonderful memory to recall. What a double whammy that Dan promised to play tricks on me and did so in recruiting me to spoil my sister with something he knew she did not like. It was so him to remind us of a funny ‘do you remember when’ moment. He did this for us, through his request and it brought us joy. We sat around the dinner table sharing stories and laughing and each of us knowing, that Dan was right there. At the table, laughing with us.

We know too well that life does not always tell us when we will depart. When we are given an estimated death date it does give us an opportunity to hold conversations, to make promises. We can prepare for their departure. And, during a very sad time, together, we can plan future events that will become memories our loved ones will share with us across the bridge of life and death.

Just Ask

July 3, 2022 / Mama Fish

We are told that if we wish for a sign from our loved ones, to just ask. Call out to them and suggest you need to know they are near. Some say you can even specify the type of sign you wish to see. I shy away from this practice because I don’t want to be disappointed. But this weekend, I tried it. And it works.

We were in Canmore. The magic of the mountains that Zane and I both love, poured over me as I stood alone on the balcony. The crisp morning air, the view of the wooden path to town below me. I looked up and said, “I’m here, are you?” Suddenly, out of nowhere walked a man along the path. He wore a royal blue suit jacket and tan dress pants and beige shoes. He had a Herschel backpack on. He looked just like Zane, who had the same attire. I ducked to try to get a closer, longer look but he faded away into the trees that shade the path. I smiled. I imagined Zane off to work and I laughed that my motherly advice of the kids not being able to move past Canmore when they grew up, Zane had honored. There he was off to work.

The night before we left, I was meditating in bed. My window open to feel the night breeze, I lay with my eyes closed and let the wave of gratitude for being there flood over me. I whispered to Zane, “I am thankful for the signs, I know you are here, I just miss your laugh”. A few minutes later a laugh, a belly laugh from outside my window broke the silence. I opened my eyes just as another laugh filled the air. The reality was there was group of young men walking back to the hotel, laughing, and talking. The one laugh was so like Zane’s. I started to giggle. “Thanks, Zane, I needed that” I said.

I believe there is no harm that I imagined the young man that morning, looking so much like my son, was my son. Nor was there any harm that I imagined Zane was part of the group coming home from a party, laughing at the antics of the night they had. We dream of what our children might be doing if they were still living on earth. We dream of who our children might have become, where they would be living. When another human who behaves or appears in some manner like our loved one comes along, I think it is fair that we may dream, ever so briefly, that this might have been them. If life was different. This does not make us delusional. We know better but the comfort of pretending, for just a moment so to feel good but not so long that we become depressed, makes these types of signs playful.

When we ask for a sign that they are present, they provide. Whether it is a feather or a dime or a look-a-like or a laugh, it is a reminder that they are very much present. They are near. They are with us. I encourage you to just ask.

Father’s Day Race

June 19, 2022 / Mama Fish

Friends, we met through grief, have a son who loved to race cars. He was good, travelling across the country honing his sport. It was a passion the entire family shared, bringing home photos and trophies. It was a hobby that bonded father and son. So, when our friend announced he wanted to race his son’s car, we were not surprised. We joked about being a part of his pit crew.

In grief, honoring our loved ones sometimes means finishing something they started or taking on what they loved. For our friend, it wasn’t that he wanted to win. It was this need from deep within his soul to get out on that racetrack and run a race to honor his son. It was to comfort his heart, placing him in a time of years past that he spent as his son’s pit crew, driving, and supporting and cheering him on. This is a father who lost his son too soon. This is a father, lost in his grief, wanting to connect with his boy.

He appropriately chose Father’s Day weekend to debut; a time that celebrates the love between a father and his children. When we experienced a few glitches and the practice run got missed, we became doubtful that his wish would come true. But he was relentless, this was going to happen. And when I saw this in him, I understood. The drive we have, when we want to do something for our child, does not end at death. In fact, it becomes intensified.

He needed to be ready because any other weekend would not be Father’s Day weekend. This was an important detail. We called for a couple of racing friends to come over and a small team helped get his car ready to enter the qualification run. The car passed. There were two heats of 10 laps each and a final race of 25 laps. We were ready. Father was going to race for his son.

There is an energy, physical, financial, and of course emotional when honoring our loved ones. It is hard work. It can bring doubt and fear that it can’t be accomplished. It is always a blatant reminder that they are not here. But it also brings a sense of comfort, sharing what they loved, what we had with them and what we still have that death cannot take away. It is worth the agony of grief to experience the moment of spiritual connection. And that is what my friends got.

It was an incredible experience. The other driver’s understanding the purpose of his race, zoomed past him up high while he stayed low and raced his laps. I stood beside his wife staring at the track, thinking of how many times she would have stood here watching her son beside her husband. With that thought, I put my arm around her and looked up to the sky. There, high above perfectly positioned over the racetrack, was a cloud. It was the undeniable shape of a heart. I squeezed my friend and said, “look up!” We both took a picture. He was here; their son was with us.

The race was overwhelming for my friends. It was a race that father and son did together. On Father’s Day weekend. The emotions of being in a race their son loved to do, dad driving son’s race car brought us all to tears. One cannot explain the powerful feeling of being a part of love expressed through grief unless you stand next to it. The invitation to be a part of our friend’s pit crew was a gift I did not see until I was standing next to them, encompassed in their energy of good mourning.

Finding A Room for Grief

June 12, 2022 / Mama Fish

It has been a year, since we moved from the home that I raised my children in. I have friends asking me, how is it? Do you like it? Are you getting used to the small size? This morning as I sipped my tea I looked about and reflected. How do I feel? How has it been moving from 3,000 square feet to 900?

My husband and I have opposite tastes in decorating, entertaining and lifestyle. When you own a small apartment condo these differences are more obvious than in a larger home. There is less room for anything, including compromise. My vision of a small, antique parlor vibe quickly went out the door to become more of an urban eclectic with a mancave twist.

My home office shrunk from a whole room to an alcove that has spotty reception, so I sit in my car to hold telephone meetings. Working from home with a husband who has retired has its’ challenges. Either he must hide in his room while I host a zoom meeting, or I must find a coffee shop to work at when he entertains his friends. I am grateful of the attempt he makes to keep quiet and find things to do during working hours, as much as a guy can keep quiet…and he has become very proficient at grocery shopping and running errands for me. It works, it just was a big change for me. And for him.

The dog, whose backyard is now a busy street that he must run to whenever nature calls, he has even adjusted. He loves the cement patio that he lays on and watches the neighbors passing and the deer grazing on the garden bushes. The smell of the flowers from the Mayday trees fills this community. It truly is a beautiful complex to live in.

What isn’t working is any healing of my grief. My grief is too big for this small place. I struggle with the missing pieces, literally, the things that are not able to be with us, like my aunt’s dresser and my round puzzle table. I miss the ability to go to a different level of the house when I need to cry or scream. Or just be alone. There is no solitude in 900 square feet. I enjoy my new space. My grief doesn’t. It wants its own room.

I take my grief with me, outside of this little place. I take it to the park and walk with it. I take it for a car ride and let it overwhelm me in an empty parking lot. I take it to the mountains when I can. Which isn’t often enough. I am finding new ways to cater to it over the last year while I unpack and purge, trying to carve space in my tiny home to accommodate my very large grief.

Grief is like an over packed room, chaotic and unsettled. If we treat our grief like a move, finding places for it and clearing the way to put comfort, love and hope on our shelves, our grief might just settle in amongst these things. Grief never goes away. It requires its own space. I must find room for it and perhaps then, it will become a less noisy roommate.

young plant growing in garden with sunlight

Season for Planting Plentiful

June 5, 2022 / Mama Fish

June. The beckoning of summer. My favorite season up to 2018 because it was also Zane’s favorite season. It doesn’t seem right enjoying one of his favorites when he is not physically here to do the same. Alas, it will arrive, as it has each year and bring with it missed celebrations with my boy. I have grown to hate summer.

Summer is all about life in full bloom, alive and colorful. It depicts everything I am not. It brings with it Stampede, D-Day and birthday. It brings with it the memories of Zane reading in the back yard or sipping his coffee in the mid-morning sun. It brings with it the memories of BBQ’s and tasting his newest recipe, or meeting to enjoy a cold drink at a local patio bar together. It brings the sounds of his laughter coming through my window as he arrives home from work or a night out with friends. Summer was his season. It belonged to him; he is the essence of summer.

I feel as if I get pulled kicking and screaming through summer. My life is now full of award-winning performances as I pretend, I am ok with any of this. But the toll of summer, it has an effect on my physical and spiritual being that cripples me. I need to change. I need to do something different. I go back to my learnings, what we are taught to do to face the day with hope and strength. How can I take these lessons and implement them into each day, all summer long, that might support my grief?

We are taught that grief is softened when we are honoring our loved one. We are taught to spend time quietly with our memories. We are taught to place things in our lives that are what our loved ones were about, what they liked. And I know this. My better days are when I bring Zane into them. True, they are bittersweet, but I will take bittersweet over just plain bitter any day!

So, how do we do this? Well, this is the season of planting. Let’s plant things. Let’s plant a tree or a flowerpot or a garden of all their favorite things. Let’s plant a new tradition that brings family and friends together to celebrate them. Let’s plant ourselves in a spot with pictures and memorabilia of them and create a memory album. Let’s plant an idea in our own circles of how to gather and remember our loved ones as a community. And let’s make a point of finding and planting ourselves in places that bring us serenity. Whether that is a park or a coffee shop or a friend’s living room. Let’s remember how plentiful life can be. Let’s plant the seeds of good mourning. Let’s create a season of plentiful in honor of our loved ones.