Tag: #grief (Page 6 of 9)

Choosing Your Tribe

October 17, 2021 / Mama Fish

Recently, with the madness of today, I have found myself in a position where, because of my personal health choice, I am not welcome in many places. Including the home of some of my very best friends. We have spent a lifetime together. We raised our children, buried family members, traveled, got hired, got fired, faced cancer and health scares of all sorts and always over a glass of wine. Until now.

Defending my choice or debating the issue is futile. Their beliefs and perspectives are different. Although we have had differences before, on this issue, they have told me there is no room for compromise. This leaves me to just feel what I feel. I have lost my tribe.

Friends or family who have shared decades with you suddenly don’t get you. They don’t understand what you are thinking and why. They are uncomfortable with your choices. Whatever their reason, we find ourselves having to spend less time or no time with such relationships. This complicates our grief because loss is loss.

As in life, with grief, we are taught to choose our tribe. We need to be surrounded by those who are accepting and who understand us. The people needed in your life; family, friends, colleagues are easily identified by who shows up that does not pass judgement or criticize the means to which you live and grieve. Finding a group of supportive people to surround you may change as you do. We must review who shows up for us that we feel energized by and not condemned by.

Our insight of this, opens the Universe and our time to bring new friends into our lives. New, but more aligned with the path we are on. That doesn’t mean it has to be a fellow grief warrior; no, it is a person who understands and supports your emotions. All your emotions.

I have found new connections through on-line and face-to-face support groups. These people have become like family. I have stronger connections with friends who I would see casually but now relish in their company as their aligned outlook brings me hope and inspiration. And there may come a crossroad in the future where my long-time friends will be and our differences, behind us, we can enjoy a glass of wine together again. I have faith.

Thanks for Giving

October 10, 2021 / Mama Fish

“Well, first of the holidays, Thanksgiving, without your contribution of mashed potatoes and gravy. Some of your friends dropped by including Kat who came with a bunch of bananas! I had told her I couldn’t buy them yet because they were what I bought for you, for your smoothies. It was cool she thought of me. I cried… I am thankful this year for family and friends. And Zane, thankful to you for the countless times we shared. You are my sunshine.”

The above was a letter I wrote to Zane on the first Thanksgiving after the crash. Three years later, we nestle, following the restrictions, in our tiny home to celebrate the first event of the upcoming holiday season. Everything is in order. Turkey, stuffing, treats. The table set. The dog has his bone. Everything looks like a Norman Rockwell poster. The ‘empty chair’ is the elephant in the room. Time does not help heal the holidays.

These are the occasions where you need to practice extra selfcare. We tend to overdo, overeat, overdrink. All things that increase grief. We also notice families, social media happy posts, that remind us of what we are missing. Even if everything else is in place and you are surrounded by family and friends, your broken heart hurts more at these times.

I think it does one good to schedule a portion of the day to remove yourself from the activities. For a short time, find yourself alone, in a park or a room or a walk around the block. Feel the big picture. Look up to the skies. Listen to the wind, or the birds, or the water if nearby. Call out to your loved one. Whisper you miss them and that you invite them to come to the dinner table. Have a cry. A good, soul cleansing cry if you can.

Then, at the dinner table, share some of their favorite things about the holiday. Share memories of holidays past. Laugh. Laugh, knowing that your loved one is with you. Their spirit shines.

I am thankful that I am healthy enough to work and to give back to my community.

I give thanks to my friends that give me time and understanding and love. I give thanks to my family who surround me and give me space when I need it.

I am thankful every day of the year, for Zane. For the signs he brings to me that he is near. I am grateful for the many memories I carry in my heart of my sweet boy and the times we shared on earth. I am grateful for the new ways that I am learning to ‘be with my son’ while we are realms apart.

This year, I give thanks for the things that give me hope.

Sitting Quietly With Pain

September 19, 2021 / Mama Fish

Lately I feel like I am not heard. I have opinions that when trying to share, I’m cut off or eyes roll, or phones are looked at. I’m not sure if it is because my opinion is not the same or they don’t care, or they are just indifferent. Whatever it is, I feel frustrated and more alone.

In grief, this is a common irritation. We have the right to feel and express outwardly our grief. Yet often we are cut off or appeased or hushed by well-meaning listeners. Of course, their intention is with love, and they believe they are helping shield us from the pain no one wants to feel. The truth is it is a lot easier for one to respond in this manner than doing what is really required. To sit quietly with us in our pain.

I believe I am more sensitive to the lack of ‘hear me out’ now that I live with grief. If others were to sit, quietly listening to my opinion, my raw feelings of the moment, I believe I would experience gratitude rather than disappointment. Interrupting one with advice and dictation of what should be said, done or felt, discounts how a person feels. This cycle of being silenced makes grief become louder.

When grief is not heard by others, it is disturbing. When your grief is not heard by yourself, it is damaging. Our grief wants to be heard. All parts of it; the intense, raw, ugly side of reality as well as the gentle loving side of memories. When we give our grief the respect of sitting quietly with it, not interrupting it, letting it have its say, we become more in tune with who we are and what we need to live with this sadness.

I will take this awareness and give my own grief the same respect as I wish from others. I will sit quietly with my pain.

Surrendering to Change

September 12, 2021 / Mama Fish

In my first year of grief, my therapist was trying to explain to me what the milestones of grieving are. Apparently, some moms find their inner voice when a death happens. Usually around the 1.5-year mark. They become less tolerant, practice self-care more, speak their opinion and most importantly, know their truth. They become more assertive with a “this is who I am, take it or leave it” attitude. I had forgotten this.

Consumed with grief, I feel like I’m just trying to get through each day. But for about a year now, I have been experiencing less tolerance with those around me. I have insisted on me time. I am asking, who is this person as I shout out another opinion that I wouldn’t have shared before. I was blaming the ugly nature of our current times. Which I am sure has contributed to these feelings. But it has not created them. Grief has.

When our child dies, we do too. We are left in shock and pain, changing us into something different. We can never be the same. We can’t because nothing will ever be the same again. This unbearable knowledge we can try to deny or resist but change will happen. Death changes us. How it does, we have some control over.

When we realize that we can still have a (different) relationship with our loved one if we ‘vibrate’ higher, self-care becomes mandatory. When our energy focuses on healing, we become intolerant of irrelevant things that distract us. When we have experienced such injustice, like the death of a child, keeping quiet becomes a very hard thing to do.

If we know that grief changes us, if we can feel the change stirring within ourselves, then perhaps how we change, who we change into could be the focus. Surrendering to change does not mean we lose connection with our child or what we hold dear. No, surrendering to change empowers us to explore how we can connect more, deeper. It gives us a cleansing of what wasn’t working to leave room for what might work. It can be inspirational rather than depressing or frightening.

Who do we want to become to honor our children, to respect ourselves and to impact our community? Let these questions motivate you to trying new things and exploring new ways to be you. Let the strength you carry be the catalyst. Let these discoveries bring with it hope. And let the changes show the world the eternal love you have for your child.

When Angels Cross Your Path

September 5, 2021 / Mama Fish

As grievers, we are taught to be open to the idea that our loved ones will send us signs that they are near. We are taught that there are guardian angels that will guide us. If only we believe. I choose to believe. I can’t imagine not wanting to receive messages from your loved ones. I am wide open to any possibility, any venue of achieving this.

I hear stories every day of fellow grief warriors who have received signs and what form they came in. Rainbows, butterflies, rocks, birds, feathers, license plates, social media posts…these heavenly messages comfort and soothe our broken hearts. Often, one can connect the sign to a request that had been asked of the Universe to provide. I have such a story.

When I am over scheduled I feel a loss of connection to Zane. So, I try to practice work-life balance every day. In a morning meditation, I asked my spirit guide how I can reach him better, more often, deeper. Later that morning, as Jon and I walked the dog in the meadow, we watched afar as a person was walking on the same path toward us. The sunlight from behind us illuminated her, she looked like an angel. We both commented on how beautiful and serene she appeared. As she got closer, we noticed that she had taken off her runners and was walking barefoot along the path. I said to Jon, “Oh, she is on a meditation walk.” (I had just read about how walking barefoot increases mindfulness.) We noticed that the ‘wings’ was a large bunch of wild foliage that she had picked and stuffed in a backpack she was wearing. She carried a smaller bunch in her hands.

As she approached us, she commented on how cute our dog was (that happens a lot, he is cute!) and Jon told her how we both felt she looked like an angel coming down the path. She bowed her head and said, “you see that because I am finally united. You understand me, right?” And I did. In that split second, I knew that she had, some time ago, a near death experience and was now enlightened and quite spiritual. I don’t know how, but I knew. So, I said yes. Jon asked for clarification.

She said it was a long story and proceeded to tell us of how she had been in China and went outside to answer a call and was hit and in a coma and came back to Canada with a brain injury that has taken her over a decade to heal. But that it had healed and that her journey had opened so many new things and that her energy, her vibration level was so very acute.

Then she turned to me and said, “I see your energy. You are on the right path. You need to just feel, be more and focus less. You understand, right?” Again, I did. Somehow, she was the answer to my meditation. I felt my sweet son, who knows I have gone to this field for hope and guidance for so many years; I felt him come across our path in the form of a small Asian angel.

The whole thing had so many serendipities to it that a flood of spiritual connection came to me, and the tears came, and she bowed her head and opened her arms to me, and I hugged her, the smell like eucalyptus circling me. I whispered, “thank you, I love you” and she said, “I know, you know, I can feel your energy”.

She continued, barefoot, along the path into the sun. I walked the other way, tears streaming down my face. What had just happened? I didn’t make this up. This happened. Jon witnessed it. My body felt like it was in shock. Surreal. There was not a single doubt that her message was from Zane. A direct call.

I believe that communication between the realms exists. I believe our loved ones want to and DO connect with us. And this connection is a gift, a heavenly gift we receive from angels who cross our paths.

A Grief Book That Gets Me

August 29, 2021 / Mama Fish

There is a library onto its own to support dealing with the many varieties and levels of grief. Some of the books I have read, I have had a hard time getting through and others I can’t put down. “It’s OK That You’re Not OK” is one of those page turners! Written by Megan Devine, a therapist who was thrown into our community witnessing the accidental drowning of her partner, Megan writes from professional and personal experience.

Megan’s early grief was the inspiration behind this book, experiencing first-hand the reception and expectations our culture has related to death. She gets us. She writes…

“I remember my own early days after my partner drowned-shoving myself out into the world…. doing what was reasonable, expected, ordinary….” “All the while, beside me, inside me, was the howling, shrieking, screaming mass of pain…”

She gives us permission to do what we need to do and take as long as we need. Her book includes tips and exercises to support ourselves as we feel our pain. I knew the power of deep breaths before I read this, but did you know that to maximize the benefits of breathing, one should exhale longer than inhale. Who knew? And it works!

Her book clarifies commonalities grief has like how some of the people in our life step up and others seem to vanish. She calls it, “Grief rearranges your address book”. She is bold enough to say what we think when people compare our grief to the death of their goldfish. Yes, there are different levels of grief she points out, some grief is worse than others. It’s the comparing of grief that is an attempt to ‘understand’ or empathize with us, to which it almost always backfires.

Her book is divided into four parts making it a great read in early grief or years later. She even includes a handy checklist to give to friends and family on the “Do’s and Don’ts” if they wish to be truly helpful.

Because she walks our path, she also encourages us to be strong in our grief, to not shy from it and cave into the guidelines given by our society on when and how we should ‘be better’. This attitude will help our own grief and even bigger, there is hope that adapting these actions will educate those in our own community, bringing change to our culture. What a blessing that would be for us. And for those who, sadly, will find themselves where we live now.

This book is a must read. I felt comforted, assured, hopeful and inspired. I am not ok. And that is ok. Thank you, Megan Devine, for helping us practice good mourning.

An Upside to Funerals

August 22, 2021 / Mama Fish

When a child dies, you have no idea where your grief will take you. And yet, you are expected to plan and host a ‘celebration’ for your child right away. This is our culture. We followed protocol as most families do. I have one fellow mom who could not and has not in the past two years held any sort of ceremony for friends and family to gather and remember her son.

Her child’s friends have complained about this; about not being able to have some closure. For mothers there is no closure and if this mother chose to not have a memorial, for whatever reason, let her grieve her way. Then I attended a funeral for a mom whose son passed in March and because of circumstances, we gathered just this week. And his friends came. And I saw a different side.

Somehow, this ability to gather as a larger group and remember their friend was very important. The ability to cry openly, and share stories and hugs was therapeutic. The opportunity to give their condolences to his mother and to share her grief of a loss that affected all of us was necessary. We went from the church to the graveyard where more tears and more memories followed with us.

This mom had gone an extra step. She had taken his best friends to the cemetery prior to the funeral to share and receive feedback of the plot she had chosen. One of the stories from a young man who had been a part of this day, told us of how they had asked for a sign that their departed friend was with them. And in the skies, the clouds spelled his name! All who there that day nodded, they had seen it too. And they all smiled. Smiled. Yes, this is good mourning.

The strength this mother demonstrated was inspiring. She was a strong woman before his death. Her strength has only grown from the love of her son and the innate understanding that he needed to be honored and his friends needed to have some sort of forum to grieve.

She asked me if a funeral is just a technicality. I said yes and no. For us mothers, it is just another terrible day, an event to gather our strength and show up. Every day is a funeral after you have lost a child. However, for the friends of our child, it is a necessary step to begin healing. I knew this but had not witnessed its importance until I attended her sons’ funeral.

I do believe we all choose what we can do and how we do it to honor our children. Judgment is not found here. What is here is a comment that our society has this neat package around death. We are taught that funerals are the main event which enables us to move on. If we could create a culture where living with and bearing witness to pain outside of a funeral is reality, perhaps then we wouldn’t need them as much.

Maybe funerals are avoided because the pain is too great but that is the funny thing about pain. It doesn’t go away so we need to tame it and somehow the upside to funerals is that it creates a place that can start that.

Three Years Later

August 8, 2021 / Mama Fish

I woke up August 7^th, the day marking three years since Zane was killed. I poured a tea and sat in the early morning light and wrote to Zane. “I went to bed last night, begging you to stay out, to not be on the road as if somehow that plea could take us back in time and I would wake up from this nightmare”.

At three years, shock is not the right word. Disbelief is better. Anger is still the number one emotion. Hope is the same; that I will be able to have a relationship with him in some new cosmic way. Loneliness has increased alongside heartache. The messages from friends and loved ones who say they hold us in their thoughts are comforting. I am grateful that they remember.

Our family discusses how the last three years have been. We agree that the first was numb; we are only now starting to remember the details of that year. The second was brutal because shock is less which leaves you feeling the pain of grief more accurately. The second year also brought with it the realization that grief will be with us, for the rest of our lives. And that is disturbing. It leaves you to try to come to grasps that you will never be the same.

So, what does the third year bring? I am thinking we should take the learnings and the awareness of our last two years and start to shape our new beings. We can’t escape grief. It is a huge and everlasting part of our make-up now. Maybe the third year will offer us a bit more strength to face our grief and build around it. Maybe it will introduce us to ways we can do that. Maybe we can hope that this is the year grief doesn’t beat us up as often. (Although I will not hold my breath about that.)

Whatever it does or doesn’t bring, it is here. And we summon the courage to face it.

The Place of Delusional Bliss

August 1, 2021 / Mama Fish

I was having a quiet morning in my chair when I heard the sounds of laughter coming through my window. I turned to see a young man opening the door for his friend, entering our building. His friend, whose back was turned to me, was a spitting image of Zane. The hair, the physical build, the clothing style, even the white legs…It was so him. And in that relaxed, peaceful moment my brain went to the impossible place, the place of delusional bliss.

I jumped up and my heart raced a happy beat. Oh, I thought, what a lovely surprise. Zane’s coming for brunch. I can’t wait to hear about his week. I went towards the door, to open it for him, awaiting one of his incredible hugs. This is the place of delusional bliss.

It lasts only seconds before reality comes back to slap you across the face. I stood there, looking at the closed door, the knowledge that there would be no footsteps coming down the hallway, no “hello mama” opening my door. And suddenly my place appeared a little darker and the silence grew a little louder. I sat back down in my chair. I closed my eyes to imagine if Zane had walked in. What would he tell me? What would he want to drink? Where would he sit? I pondered these as the place of delusional bliss was now gone.

Most of us get these delusional blissful moments. It is the first moments of the morning when you wake and your brain has not yet connected you to the ugly truth. It is the sight of a stranger who appears like your loved one. It is the sudden smell of something that was of them like the smoke of a pipe or a perfume. These moments last only seconds. But with it comes the feelings of the joy, the love that we once had when they were physically with us. And these moments remind us that they are still within us. These are feelings that will never be removed or forgotten or replaced. And that understanding brings its own bliss.

I relish in these moments. Yes, the second after I realize it is not real, the pain comes back. But the pain of our grief will always be. We know that. So I will take as many delusional bliss moments as the Universe wishes to send me. And I will take them with a grateful and joyful heart.

We Must Lead the Way

July 25, 2021 / Mama Fish

A mother in my grief circle posted it was her son’s first year anniversary and none of her family acknowledged it. She felt guilty that she was upset with them for this. The overwhelming response (from those of us who know) was that this reception is sad but true. People forget. They move on. They expect us to do the same. And this societal belief isolates us, deepening our grief.

Our society does not know how to handle grief. We like it to be wrapped up with a beautiful tribute at a tearful funeral and we then ‘move on’. This is for many reasons. Our loved ones don’t want to see us hurting. They feel powerless that they can’t make us feel better. They miss the person we were before the death. It is from a place of care that our loved ones try to hurry us along in our grief and get past it and back to ‘normal’. A normal we will never be able to go back to.

This desire is hard on us who are grieving. We too want to be our old selves. We wish life was normal but as that will not be now; we struggle to find new ways to go forward with this grief. It is difficult. It is work to mourn and learn who you are becoming with grief as part of you now. This journey will cause friends to fall to the side, adding to our loss. The friends that stay with us, these are our angels.

I recently had a chat with one of my angels in her new space. I had looked forward to seeing her. She met me with a hug and a tour of her creative room and we sat to catch up on life since we last spoke. She makes things so very natural. We share the frustrations of our current climate, the hopes for new projects at work and the status of what our kids are up to. And the true beauty of her is that our updates include Zane. In her quiet and loving manner, she will speak of him and ask how I am doing with my grief journey. She is interested and asks what I am presently doing to honor him and offers possibilities. Her visit comforts me and I leave with a refreshed calm.

I am grateful, and lucky to have friends like her. I listen to my fellow grief warriors who feel alone that they have no person such as this. I can’t imagine. It adds to one’s grief. It must. It demonstrates there is work we need to do to help our society understand and respond to grief better. We must help our loved ones be brave with the discomfort that comes with speaking of what has hurt us most. We must lead them in conversation, reassuring them that we want to speak of our beloved. That we need to speak of our beloved. We must remind them of special occasions of our beloved and share our desires and our expectations of what we need from them for these dates. It is up to us to lead the way because the alienation that comes from not sharing our grief or ignoring our grief is not good mourning. We need more earth angels, like my precious friend, one of the few whose soul needs no training on how to be such a wonderful support.