Tag: #grief (Page 6 of 9)

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.

Waiting for the Answer of How

July 11, 2021 / Mama Fish

Recently I was honored to have the opportunity to sit and listen to a fellow mom who lost her son earlier this year. When the police came to tell us about Zane, they began by saying, “We are here on behalf of Zane”. My (new) friend was told, “His death is under investigation”.

There are many levels of grief. When Zane was killed we were told what happened. There was no question of how he passed. The coroner’s report came back relatively fast with what we had been told in black and white. We had those awful answers and knowing the cause of death, our questions became focused on the why and what if. We had the answer of how.

How is the one first answer you need; the manner to which my child left this earth. When you don’t have an answer, grief is put on a whole other level. All the other questions arrive and are complicated because you can’t begin to comprehend when you don’t have any idea of what happened. It is sheer madness exaggerated.

As we sat in the sun sharing stories of our children, of how the police came, of how our other children found out…we shared tears and a few giggles, creating a bond that ‘others wouldn’t get’. There is comfort found in shared grief. We talked about how we honor our child and what we do for ourselves to make it through the days. Grief is a solitary journey. Yet when we share our journey with those on the same path, we discover similar happenings and we begin to understand we are not totally alone. This awareness brings a silent strength to face our grief better. And she has to confront this grief, while waiting to hear what happened to her child. That takes extra strength.

I admire her beauty. She carries her head high and lives with a trust that the answers will come. And while she waits, she puts one foot in front of the other with her son as her driving force, wanting to honor him and do right by him. She is a noble example of how one can practice good mourning.

When No One Knows Your Truth

July 4, 2021 / Mama Fish

At our new place, no one knows of our truth. No one here is aware that we have ‘lost a child’. One neighbor, who has seen Payton come by a few times, asked if I only have a daughter. I said, “oh no, we have a son too”. It is the truth even though the assumption would be he is alive. And that is what I like about here.

There is some sort of peace that comes with people not knowing my story. It doesn’t include the apologies or misguided questions and comments. Grief, even when shared with friends, has a solemn energy. The energy is different with the illusion that our life is normal, even though it is far from normal. And it isn’t that I have lied; it is that no one has asked any questions that I would have to share our story in order to answer them.

And then it happened. We were taking Tango out for a walk and our neighbor had a friend over. The friend recognized us. Her daughter dated Zane for years and actually lived with us for almost two years before they broke up. They stayed friends and I took her in as my own. To this day she keeps in touch and is like a big sister to Payton. The mother hugs us; we have not seen her since long before the crash. She tears up but says nothing about Zane. I am relieved. We comment on how long it’s been, how fabulous we all look and then we leave to walk the dog.

I told Jon I was a bit saddened. We know she will tell our neighbor what happened. My bubble is no longer and my new community will know of the hell we live with. I am not sure why this bothers me. I have no illusion of what my reality is. Perhaps what I have enjoyed is the fantasy of others not knowing and therefore thinking that my boy just hasn’t come over yet for anyone to see. This unawareness was ok for me; it was an unexplainable cushion for my grief. It was a feeling that I will miss.

I will carry on, anticipating the “I just heard” to which I will reply (yet again), “thank you, yes, it is unimaginable….”

Grief and Gratitude

June 27, 2021 / Mama Fish

I kept a gratitude journal for over a decade. I taught my children to do the same. In some small way, recording five to ten things of what you were grateful for that day seems to put things into a better perspective. When you are grieving, gratitude is difficult.

As we unpack in our tiny condo, I came across a journal of Zane’s. The first entry, he had written, “today, one day becomes day one” and each day he had written 10 things he was grateful for. His family, his friends were at the top of the list on many days. Some days he was grateful for a social day on a summer patio and other days his gratitude included having a home and a thick woolen blanket to snuggle in. What I enjoyed about this journal was that he counted his blessings and his life was full of big and small experiences that brought him comfort and joy.

He had a months’ worth of writings in this journal. I pondered ripping the pages out and giving the journal away. I am trying to create more space in this small home; every item needs a place and a purpose to stay. I would keep his writings, which would take up less space than the whole journal would. And then I remembered what I am learning; if you want to see signs, you have to be open to them.

I have not been very grateful lately. I am consumed with move, work and complicated grief. Actually, I have become quite good at complaining. Zane was always telling me, “you have to do with joy” and that, quite frankly, has been lost in the last years.

So I took finding this journal, specific to recording gratitude, as a sign. Here is my boy reminding me that I have a whole pile of things to be grateful for…and I better start writing them down daily to refresh my attitude. I am picking up where his last page ended. And each day, I will list what I am grateful for.

Zane, you will always be top of my list. Thank you.

Did you get my change of address?

June 20, 2021 / Mama Fish

The night before possession of our house, we gathered to say good bye. It was quiet and somber. We walked through each room, sharing stories of favorite memories. Tango went off into the yard, Jon and Payton went upstairs and I was left in the basement alone for a moment.

I sat on the floor of Zane’s empty bedroom. I closed my eyes and I asked him to join me. I thought of all the conversations we had in this room; of all the plans he made to change up this room at his next birthday. I thought of all the parties he had with friends and the many sleepless nights at his desk studying for the next exam. This was his suite we called it. It was his place. It is the room I will miss most of all the rooms in this house.

We gathered outside, next to the tree that Zane had planted in grade 3, each of us with a shot of Jameson’s to toast our home, the memories made here and to Zane. And with that we closed the doors and went back to our new abode.

When I first found this condo, through a dream with Zane, it was to be my healing place. I am not sure what that meant; I just knew that coming here would be of value to my mourning. Every night I would pull up the real estate listing and fantasize about living there. I would be with the dog. My husband was not usually a part of it; grief is a solitary journey. I had this little place decorated in my mind. I had each of my beloved possessions placed perfectly in its tiny spaces. It brought me comfort to play this game after a long tiring day.

Alas, here I am. Reality is that I share this space with Jon. Reality is that many, many compromises were made and saying goodbye to several beloved pieces was not a choice. I am so grateful to my sister and daughter for ‘adopting’ the things that I could not bear depart with but had no room for here.

I listen to friends and family and I hear that they are hopeful I will heal here. This has forced me to move Zane’s things, albeit they are still with me or in storage. The move puts me in a new place that has no reminders of all the memories I cherished at the old home. And yet those did come here with me; memories do not have a fixed address. They move easy.

I found solace in being in the place my son grew up in and knew. Grief does not live in a house; it lives in your heart. And although I am comfortable and enjoying the reduced work that a small space brings, my grief is as big as it has always been. In fact, there is a new emotion attached to my grief; the fear that I will not have the same feelings of connection with my son that I had there.

So I ask for signs to let me know he has my change of address. Sitting on my new patio, in the quiet sunny afternoon, a bunny comes through the complex and hops right up to our place. It sat still, looking up at me and not moving. Even the dog noticed but stayed quiet. I whispered, “Thank you Zane, and keep the signs coming.”