Tag: #grief (Page 4 of 9)

Laughing with Grief

April 3, 2022 / Mama Fish

April Fool’s Day this year was to be glum. Dan, having just left this realm, would not be here to try to fool me. I woke thinking what could I do to honor him and distract myself from my grief. I received a text message from a stranger asking for advice. I received another text from my sister that she had dropped his urn. The beautiful glass urn she had special ordered lay in broken pieces over her wood floor, ashes exploded everywhere and the dog rolling in them. This had to be an April fool’s joke! I sent a message to her suggesting I come over and we could snort the ashes off the floor together.

I replied to the text from the unknown number with a vague comment as I could not figure out who might be playing this joke on me. Or was it a joke? My cell line is also my business line. Just for fun, I sent it to my sister asking if she knew who it was (the person had alluded to knowing her husband) and the message was a very strange request.

I sent a message to my daughter telling her that her father informed me that he wanted to move back to Ontario.

I got dressed, packed a bag of tricks, and set off to have lunch with one of Zane’s best friends and his 7-year-old daughter. The tricks were for his daughter. Over hamburger and fries, she opened each trick and tried them on us. Her favorite was the exploding ketchup bottle. As she practiced (over and over) fooling us, we shared stories with her of her ‘Uncle Zane’ and how each year he would think of who to fool and how. She donned the red clown nose I brought with a big grin and giggled, “this is a great lunch”!

The afternoon was filled with laughter, reminiscing of the antics the two boys shared growing up together. It contained a couple of tears; typical when you share love and loss together.

At the end of the day, the two went off to play more tricks on unsuspecting family. I went back to my phone to read the replies. My daughter figured out her father was not moving; I sounded sad in the text she said, and she doesn’t think I would be that sad! The stranger turned out to be my daughter, using a friend’s phone and devised the request around knowing Dan to bring him into the joke. Well played! I laughed so hard. She did good.

And my sister. She said it wasn’t a joke. And I told her we could replace the urn and trying to lift her spirits, I said “was it all ashes or are there bones too?” She replied, “ashes, but there is one tiny piece that looks like it could be his tooth and somehow seeing that piece brought me comfort.” I laughed. “Is it normal that we are so abnormal?” I asked. She responded with “Gotcha!”

Oh Dan, you would be so proud of us.

When Remembrance and Acknowledgement Combine

March 20, 2022 / Mama Fish

We had the pleasure of celebrating St. Patty’s Day with fellow grief warriors, including a friend whose son has been gone for just a year now. The festivities included shared stories of those we have lost, jokes, tears, laughter and always a shooter to toast those we love who are on the other side. In conversation, she noted that there were no calls this year, no one showed up to say hello. “His friends are already moving on” she stated.

The worse fear we have for our departed is that they are not remembered. The popular Disney movie “Coco” tells us that their spirit lives on (and visits us) if we remember them. Only if we remember. We know this. As a community we mark special days (like Remembrance Day) to remind us that it is important to remember. In the grief community we make a special note of birthdays and d-days of those we lost to acknowledge we remember.

When death hits home, it is easy to remember. There is no way we can forget. We live with the daily pain that our loved one is not physically with us. I am sure that the friends of her son do remember. I am sure that there will be times, signs that will stop them in their tracks, individually and as a group, that they will remember him with a smile or a tear. Or both.

So, maybe what bothers us is not that they don’t remember, but that they don’t share that with us. As parents, the bittersweet connection to our child’s friends is something we need. Our child chose these people to be with, they know him and the possible conversations or just a quick text “thinking of you” assures us that they have not forgot.

This acknowledgement re-confirms that our child’s life made a difference. That they were of value, they were loved and that they were important. Somehow this acknowledgement connects us to the life our child had. It comforts us. That is why remembering is important, but it is only the first step. Without acknowledgement that you remember, there is a void to which increases the feeling of loneliness.

When we remember and then acknowledge we remember, it brings us together and gives us strength. Shared grief is key to good mourning.

Comfort Found in a Vigil

March 6, 2022 / Mama Fish

My brother-in-law Dan passed away yesterday. I had the honor of sitting next to him, with his wife and son, as he took his last breath. Prior to that moment we spent two days chatting off and on, sometimes alone and often with family. This opportunity enabled each of us to have one last conversation so that, as Dan said, “there is nothing left to be said.”

My conversations with him centered around his boys, the love he has for my sister and my perception of where he will be going next. At one time, as we were sitting in silence, he said, “it’s weird; I’m laying here, and you are sitting there and there is nothing in between us”. I asked if there should be. He said, “no, I guess not.” I suggested if he had any bones to pick with me, he should now. He smiled. And then I said, “I’d like to share with you how grateful I am….” And proceeded to tell him of all the things he was to our family and how lucky we were that the Universe’s plan was to include him as part of our crazy clan. Then I shared with him what I would miss most. The annual tradition we had of pulling an April Fools’ Day prank on one another. We both have a dark sense of humor the rest of the family didn’t quite get. Each year we would try to outdo the other. We talked about which pranks were our favorite and then I shared with him the prank I had planned that would not be happening now. He laughed. He laughed so hard his oxygen mask fogged up. He turned to me and said, “oh yes, that would be a good one.”

His one regret was that he didn’t travel more. I told him that big travels for him were about to happen; his life was not over yet. This body was about to shut down but with that his soul will be able to go anywhere, filled with love and light and no more pain. He will travel. And as it seems to be something our family needs, we will each have a memory bead of his ashes, representing his body as it was on earth. As we travel, taking our memory bead, he will be with us. “That will be one way we can honor you”, I said. He smiled. Then I told him that I expect signs from him. “I get signs from Zane, baby feathers and license plate messages and Instagram pop ups. What will be your signs? So, I can watch for you”, I asked.

Knowing when death is coming does not make the death any easier. But the opportunity to share how we feel and how we will miss them, how we might honor them, sending them off with that knowledge seems to comfort both the person dying and the person who will be left behind.

Before he passed, Dan said to me, “April Fool jokes, that will be your sign”. I look forward to a lot of laughs coming my way.

Thank You for the Sympathy Card

February 27, 2022 / Mama Fish

I was going through some boxes as we continue to purge to fit into our tiny condo. I came across a card we would have received right after Zane was killed. It was from a fellow grief warrior who had lost her son decades before. She had enclosed a letter letting me know what I could expect. I had no idea then of the truth she spoke to. I was naturally in shock and numb to receiving her message.

She told me that the pain will get less. That I must grieve in my own way, there is no right or wrong way. And there is no timeframe. We will not get over the death, and that our friends who have not lost a child will not understand. Her words, only a grieving parent could say, and true to the experience I am living.

She learned to live on for those she still had here. She wrote, “As I think back all the memories that reminded me of my son were difficult, but they were also healing.”

Her letter closed with the final paragraph saying that with time she was able to forgive the driver who was responsible for her son’s death. And that hit me. Have I forgiven the driver who killed Zane? I feel no hate towards him. I have focused on how his mother would feel, I focused on the shared loss. But forgive him? Ouch. That is territory yet to be explored.

Reading her letter, her words reminding me that I am not alone, I felt compelled to write her back. I have never met this woman. She is the sister of a friend. So, I called my friend to ask for her address and I wrote. I let her know that her letter was read but not understood until now. That I have continued for the sake of my family here and that I live with Zane’s spirit, missing his physical presence with every breath. I thanked her for the card and the reminder that I live in a community of strong women, mothers, like her.

What do we do with the many cards we receive? Store them in a pretty shoe box. Or several pretty shoe boxes if needed. And in quiet moments when you are feeling strong, go through them. Toss the ones that are from people you don’t know or whose message grates you. (We all have received at least one of those, ‘all is well, you’ll get over this’ type of card.) Take pictures of some cards you like but want to toss. That way you have more space but keep the memory. And for those cards that resonate with you, let them resonate. Let yourself feel the message, feel any pain that message brings, knowing that you are here now and doing your best to be your best for your loved ones.

If you feel compelled to write back, I recommend you do. And like grief, there is no timeline to do this. Sympathy cards are given to express words of kindness and support. There should not be an expectation to reply; goodness knows we have enough on our plate, but there may be a card worthy of reaching out to say thank you.

As in my case, “Thank you Joyce, for sending a message, the foreshadowing of my new life. You were bang on. As only another grieving mother would know.”

Connecting Through Shared Stories

February 20, 2022 / Mama Fish

This past Super Bowl was a party at my daughter’s home with friends whom she inherited from Zane. It was the first bittersweet event of the year. It was a wonderful afternoon, each of us wearing our favorite team, bets placed, comfy chairs and lots too eat and drink. It was missing only one thing. Zane.

Zane had a close group of friends fondly referred to as ‘La Familia’. When Zane was killed, his friends adopted our family, bringing us in to be a part of what Zane loved to do and who he loved to be with. We all feel very lucky for that. We have been invited to birthday parties, BBQ’s, holiday events and social afternoons. We know the invite comes to us out of respect for our son. (The picture above is one of the many get togethers with some friends to share stories).

When you lose a child, their friends become an important connection. They share stories of adventures that you might not have known about. They hold a different perspective of our children; they were friends, not parents or siblings. If given the opportunity to sit and talk with them, take it!

Listening to shared experiences they had with your child is no easy task. And watching these young friends live the life that your child was robbed of is painful. I am secretly dreading the upcoming weddings and children of their own that will fill their life with love. And yet, I want to be a part of their happiness. I want to know more about my son’s life and hear how he affected his friends lives. These are the people that he chose to spend his time and energy with. Getting to know them, brings another dimension to who my son is. I want to hear his name and his friends are happy to share. It is a blessing that causes tears and smiles.

I was standing in the kitchen during half time and one of Zane’s closest friends came in to hug me. He said, “can’t you feel him? it’s like he is here with us” I agreed. He hugged me and when he pulled back, he said, with tears in his eyes, “I just really miss him…” “I know, sweetie,” I replied and hugged him again, “we all do”.

That evening I realized that maybe there is more to his friends including us than just out of respect for Zane. Perhaps they too feel that connection, through his family, that closeness to him. They too hear a different perspective, different experiences that we know of that Zane had not shared with them. Together, as a group, through conversations, there develops a well-rounded image of all that my boy was. And with our conversations continuing, of the person he will always be.

Getting Outside of Your Head

February 13, 2022 / Mama Fish

I had a pity party this week. A work meeting went sideways, demands of a new program, an extra project thrown into an already packed day had me driving in my car cussing at how unfair life was. As I pulled into the parking lot, I received a text from my sister. “Hey sis, which one do you like best?” And four pictures followed. Each, a different urn. I realized she was at the funeral home, arranging for her husband’s death. I started to cry.

In life, and very common for grief warriors, we tend to focus on what we don’t have, what we have that we hate and what we want that seems elusive. This thought pattern stunts our ability to see anything else; the good, the bad and the ugly of other things happening around us. I am not critical of this. The truth is we have been given the short straw and there takes an energy to care for others that we might not have.

One of the ways to deal with grief, we are told, is to volunteer. To get outside of our own head and thoughts by helping others. Research shows that volunteering increases empathy, distracts your grief and makes one feel good. I know, it’s what I sell in my job, the positive impact of volunteering. I also know, that living with grief, this desire is difficult, if not, sometimes, impossible.

How do we show up for others when the day-to-day tasks of work and life make it impossible to show up even for ourselves? I wonder if we started with those close to us. I wonder if we could muster the energy to reach out to a relative or friend or neighbor. A text asking how they are, or a loaf of bread dropped off with a note saying, “I’m thinking of you”. These small acts can be planned around our energy. They take not a lot of effort or commitment to ‘get outside’ of yourself and yet they connect us, and we feel good that we have noticed those we love. We feel good. In thinking of others, we also help ourselves.

Living in my own mess, the fact that my sister is living with anticipated grief, took a back seat to the mundane trials that will not be important nor remembered years from now. What will be remembered is me showing up for her pain. I must plan for this. What energy we have is dictated by a lot of factors, how we use it is our choice.

And with that aha moment, alone in my car, I replied to her. “I like the 3^rd one.” I finished my day and went home to make a pot of comforting chili to which I dropped off to her door the next day.

Finding Your Truth

February 6, 2022 / Mama Fish

I have been inclined to defend my thoughts and actions in the past while to current times or more specifically that grief has turned me into a bitch. I have become less tolerant; I say no more often, I exercise boundaries more often and feel less guilty about it. I am starting to practice self-care, still being kind to others but also to myself. I am looking at my life as if it were in a petri dish under a microscope and what I like I want more of. What I don’t like, I am losing patience with keeping around. It is a new and scary feeling.

I was told in grief counselling that around the 1.5-year mark after a child’s death, mothers begin to ‘find their voice’. We have been stripped of every ideal reality, every role we know of and are left to start again. Within this, it is common for us to find our truth.

Part of this finding involves the grief bursts and rage bursts. We are out of our body with grief. This is normal and practicing grounding is a suggested technique to help. It is simple and can be done anywhere without looking crazy.

Stand with your feet slightly apart and solid on the ground. Close your eyes. Feel the ground under your feet. Know the ground is solid, you are touching it, connected to its hold. It will not let you fall. Feel your energy flow through your body and down into your legs, your feet and into the ground, tying you to its earth. Feel this strength. It is calm. Solid. It can carry you. Breathe.

I practice this exercise lots. I find it works; the angry energy, the silent scream from inside travels through me and into the ground where it is soaked up and contained.

As we put into place new practices to survive, there is solace in knowing that we are not crazy. We are given permission to try new things and change it up to create a warm, comforting environment that supports our pain. We have permission to reflect on what we want, what we need, and how to change to receive that. That is enlightening.

I wrote to Zane about this.

“…so, we don’t really become bitches as I thought. We develop this gentle but firm presence, a sort of this is who I am take it or leave it attitude. All things you wanted for me. How ironic… so, I have chosen to look at this upcoming transformation as another gift from you.”

I am curious, who I will become when I find my truth. I do know that it will be centered around what Zane had hoped for me and what I had hoped for him.

Tattooing Grief

January 30, 2022 / Mama Fish

My daughter has over a dozen tattoos. Each one I would complain, “how can you do that to your body, you know it stays there forever”. To which she would retort, “my body is my life canvas, I am painting it”. Working with youth, my theory was (and still is) that tattoos are a way of expressing emotional pain.

Each year, since Zane was killed, I find myself at the table of my beautiful tattoo artist. The first year, Zane’s words, telling me he loved me were imprinted into my forearm. The second year was a feather on my ankle (a touch up of a teenage tattoo that I have regretted and wanted covered) and the third was an outline of the kids and I when they were younger. I have this year’s tattoo picked out.

A fellow grief warrior shared with me that she has a plan for not one, but two tattoos in honor of her son. She never had one before and didn’t really like them. She was perplexed that she wanted any, let alone two. I shared my story and she asked why do we feel an urge to do this?

I believe it goes back to my original theory. We live in emotional pain and a tattoo is a way of expressing to the world, “I carry loss”. The desire for a tattoo is common amongst those in mourning. I have come to believe that the choice of getting a tattoo is not the point, but rather the choice of what would you like inked for eternity on your body is.

What message do you want it to say? What do you want it to represent? Of course, it is about our loved one so it should contain something that they liked or were like or reminds you of a certain characteristic of them. I believe where it is placed is important, especially if you plan for more. (And I have found never say never to that idea!) Certain body parts are more sensitive like your ankle or rib cage where the skin is thinner so a smaller tattoo in those places might be preferred. Angel wings, butterflies or other mystical, message-carrying guides are also common to incorporate in a memorial tattoo.

Color is important. Bright colors bring a different energy than a soft watercolor or the subtle tones of grey. What was your child’s favorite color? What colors bring you a feeling of peace? Imagination and Pinterest are your friends as the ideas are infinite.

For me, there is no plan to stop this tradition, which I do each year before or on the day he was killed. I have told my family that it is something I feel I NEED to do and one year I might wake up and say enough. Until then, this ritual brings a weird calm; an annual testament letting the world know, “I am in pain”. And to Zane, it states, “I will never forget you. You are always with me”.

Packing My Invisible Suitcases

January 9, 2022 / Mama Fish

Since my brother-in-law’s grim diagnosis that the cancer has spread, he has gone back to work. And not just a nine to five shift. No, he has submerged himself, literally locked himself in his office to continue working against his doctor’s advice to quit his job and enjoy the last few months given to him. Classic denial.

In grief, denial is a stage we all experience. My brother-in-law could be spending this time writing letters to his wife to receive after he is gone. He could be mending fences with his son. He could be resting in hopes that taking care of his health might grant him extra time. Denial has replaced all these opportunities with the need to work rather than face his sentence. I get it. If he doesn’t think about it, it won’t happen. If he works hard, time will fly, money will come in, needed money to leave his family. It is almost heroic. It is also small picture. This is the sadness of denial.

I have often said that denial is the stage I could live in. It is a stage that protects my heart from the truth. It is a stage that allows me to ignore my hurt and bask in the concept (the hope) that this is not my reality. The reality that there is nothing you can do to change it. Denial shouts inside of you, “THIS IS NOT HAPPENING” as if this scream could change things. It is loud and upset with God. It keeps me from looking at the big, ugly picture. This is the anger of denial.

And so, when I watch my brother-in-law, I understand. He is living in the stage I go to when the pain is too much. I am patient with him. This is something he needs to wallow in; the denial of the truth that he will not grow old with his beloved wife. I get it. I just hope that he wants to examine his reality, if even for a couple moments, to ensure that when the time does come, he is leaving this realm personally satisfied in how he spent his last months.

I selfishly want him to leave this denial stage for just a bit. There are so many things I want to talk to him about before he goes. There are questions and shared memories and more laughs I want from him before he goes. Knowing he does not have long, I have invisible suitcases that I want to pack full of memories, conversations, understandings that will sustain me after he is gone.

We are told time is not on our side. Who really knows. Past the denial, he is ultimately aware of this. I must remember, this is his life, his time. I must respect how he wishes to spend it. So, I pack my invisible suitcases with all the love and fondness and the gratitude I have for him; folded next to all the things I want to say to him. When he is ready, I will open it up and share. And in the sharing, I hope for more memories with him to add to my suitcases. Alas, if time does not give me this, then I will open my suitcases in ceremony to share with the heavens. And that will have to suffice.

There is No Boxing Up Grief

December 26, 2021 / Mama Fish

It is boxing day. I had thought I wanted to shake up this holiday and it happened. Christmas ended with my daughter going to see her fiancé’s family after giving us a gift to go enjoy the night in Canmore. We took the dog. I drove. It was -28. We found Famous Chinese Food open and shared a dinner for one in our room. We had wine and magazines and appies (previously packed in Calgary to accompany our adventure). All in all, a nice night. Different. The mountains are always a soothing sight and the fact that Payton wished this for me was a gift.

I received some wonderful gifts this season. Among them was a gift from Alyssa. This thoughtful young woman dated Zane and remained friends with our family after Zane was killed. She is the one that filled our home and albums of incredible photos she and Zane had taken on their adventures. Last year, she gave me a framed print of Zane and her sitting on Santa’s knee. This year, she posted a ‘live picture’ of Zane. We could hear his voice and see him smile as he turned in the three seconds of time this photo carried. It was alive. We all enjoyed this gift.

In Canmore, I took my phone out after Jon and I had retired to bed and played this picture. Over and over. Hearing his voice, seeing his gentle shy smile. He was enjoying that day. I began to think of how many days he enjoyed, his adventures with his camera, his friends, the girls that he loved. And my grief came crashing into the room to sit next to me.

I know I am a proponent of taking time out to feel your pain and reflect, meeting your grief face to face. However, on the very cold Christmas night, huddled in the silent room, the hustle of the season faded away, and left me sitting in the middle of a lot of memories of holidays past. My reality became very loud. My holidays are no longer filled with his incredible laugh and tight hugs and no matter what I do to ease the pain, the holidays seem to bring it bubbling to the surface. I know this. We all know this. It is why the holidays are dreaded.

I remembered what we learned about grief bursts. I took a deep breath and closed my phone. I took another deep breath. I poured myself a tea and pet Tango. I curled up with a pillow and reached out to my grief friends online. “Thinking of you…” And then I talked to Zane. “Would love a visit; I know you are here but send me a sign. I am really missing you right now”. I took out a magazine (another gift I received) and started reading it, letting my mind fill with health tips and new recipes to try. And I nodded off to sleep.

We know things don’t get easier; we just grow stronger with practice. And the holidays offer us lots of practice! We shook things up, tried something new. And it was lovely overall. What I realized is, although I don’t want, I need distractions at the holidays. I was reminded that grief travels with you. Santa can’t bring me the miracle I want. The ghosts of Christmas past will show up. I am not surprised by these understandings, but I am a little saddened. And why I think next year I will choose noise and a movie. Distractions have their place. Christmas is one of them.