Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #holidays

Switching Up the Holiday Outlook

December 3, 2023 /

I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention that this month is Drunk & Drugged Driving Prevention month. Last year 40,000 loved ones perished due to someone choosing to drive impaired.  This number does not touch anywhere near the real number of those devastated; the many more hundreds of thousands effected by such loss. The dreams and plans and hopes, smashed with no chance of ever being the same again.  It happened to us. But I’m not going there. This is the Christmas season. 

The holidays are a time of hope and miracles and love and faith. I want that. I want to replace the sound of a busy mall with the crackling of a fire. I want the smells of gingerbread and mulled wine filling my home. I want my heart to feel the quiet peaceful morning before the demands of the season come rushing in to take over. I want that Hallmark truth about this season. Each year, I believe I have tried to make it special and ease the pain of Zane not being here. And each New Year, I debrief with a sigh and a shrug that next Christmas will be different.  So why do I think this pattern will ever change?  Because I need it to. That’s why.

Sometimes our grief permeates into a sadness that we become too comfortable with to change.  This season brings an excuse to hold tight to our grief.  “The holidays are the heaviest time of year for those mourning” we are told. I don’t disagree, but I am starting to think that I might be turning this ‘fact’ into an excuse. Should I not be trying harder to get along with my grief if this season is as tough as we know it to be?  When I look at the list of all things to practice easing grief, those practices go out the window with the common pressures of the oh-too-commercial of a season. Maybe I should work harder on bringing the magic of the season forward and ignoring the business side of Christmas. 

My daughter texted me, “I want Zane to run up the stairs and open his stocking with me”. She is feeling the apprehension of the season’s loud message that we are to be with the ones we love. When that is impossible, to do what we used to do before our loved ones left, we need to switch up the holiday outlook. I am going to try this. For my daughter.  For Zane.  For me.  I am going to embrace the real reason why this time of year is to be celebrated. I am going to take my grief and show it a good time.

This year I am going to focus on what can I do to celebrate, include, honor Zane over the holidays. I’m going to take a day each week to do something that brings the holidays home. With Zane.  He loved to “rock the first candy-cane of the season”. He loved taking pictures of the bright lights.  He loved snuggling in his blanket with a good book or a great show. He loved to connect with friends over a drink and bake cookies to share. He loved to build a snowman. He knew how to stop and smell the roses. I need more of that. I need more Zane in my life.

I know that being still raises our vibration, our awareness that those we love are with us.  Perhaps that is the practice I need this holiday season. Whether it eases my sadness or not, I am aware that it will never be as we want, so finding a bittersweet compromise might improve my holiday debrief in the New Year.

Mindfulness and the Empty Chair

November 27, 2022 /

We recently celebrated American Thanksgiving.  I always enjoy it more as it has a tone of a quieter enjoyable holiday, compared to the Canadian Thanksgiving and the upcoming holiday season that brings with it all the commercial hoopla. American Thanksgiving contained no fuss. We shared KFC and M&M’s buffet with our daughter and friends. We toasted to things we can be grateful for and shared wishes for things to come. All in all, I did not feel the typical intensity of grief that accompanies traditional celebrations. 

That does not mean our pain is any less.  In fact, currently both emotional and physical pain are at an extreme. And there is always the empty chair; the place that Zane should be at. Yet, that night, there seemed to be a sense of calm as if grief had chosen to sit in the corner and leave us alone for a bit.  Even the empty chair didn’t seem as empty. I pondered why.

I am not sure how to explain it, but it was like we paused life that night. We had no expectations.  There was no pressure about making this holiday dinner all things we think it needs to be. We were in the moment, together. We were a group that shares sorrow and joy. We talked about our boys, not in past tense but in how they fill our life, still. The attitude was like the boys were there, sitting in their chairs, joining in the conversation. This brought an air of peace.

I wonder how we can repeat this with the upcoming holidays. We know that the holidays make grief bigger. We know the empty chair at the table shouts this is not right. Grief warriors hate the holidays.  And for good reason.  Yet, the holidays are always going to come around and I don’t want to be the emotional mess every time.  I don’t want my daughter to be the emotional mess every time.  Can this not be fixed. Can we do something to fill the empty chair.

Mindfulness is about being in the now. Not reliving the past, nor fretting about the future.  When we practice mindfulness, our anxiety is reduced. Our breathing becomes deeper. Our focus centers around what is happening right there; what you have created is experienced. Our Thanksgiving dinner was a combination of no pressure, good food and drink and all of us being there in spirit. We did not talk about the upcoming what ifs. We did not reminisce about the level of how much we miss our boys. We sat, in the present moment. We were subconsciously mindful.

Grief is a part of our lives. Perhaps we can practice mindfulness during the holidays to help ease the pain that these times bring. We will always miss our loved ones. We will never forget what has happened, our reality. But if we can try to create moments that are filled with what brings us peace and then sit still in those moments, perhaps this practice can bring us closer to truly feeling our loved ones in the chair beside us. And if that can be the feeling, then the chair is not as empty.  

There is No Boxing Up Grief

December 26, 2021 /

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.

Finding Joy this Holiday Season

November 14, 2021 /

Every year I try to be ready for the holiday season so that when it arrives, I can enjoy it. It is a perennial battle that I have yet to win. This year, for some reason, I have higher hopes it might work.  It might be because it is our first Christmas in our little home. I must scale back including no fresh tall tree…it gives me permission to shake things up. And perhaps with small edits to our family traditions, I can find some joy this holiday.

I remember Zane teaching me about the difference between joy and happiness.  He said happiness is fleeting.  It is a quick moment in time you feel elated because of something or someone. Joy is eternal. Joy is a deeper, quieter, peaceful feeling of contentment.  It is the emotion one should seek.

Once, when I told him about doing something I wasn’t happy to do but that I had completed it and had done a great job, he smiled.  He said, “but mom, you did not do it with joy”.   If I had, the experience would have been so much more.  How did my son get to be so wise? These were the type of lessons he taught. I must remember this one; that joy is found in everyday, simple things.

What I hope he does know, is the joy he brought me.  I wrote to Zane.

“…How much joy I have had in raising you, sharing life with you, watching you morph into this beautiful, caring empath.  Oh, the joy you brought me.  The laughter. The insights to life. The love. My soul is filled with the love you shared with me. I have enough hugs and kisses from you that will sustain me while I live here on earth. I was looking for more joy and the truth was, with you, I had enough.”

As we prepare for the holidays, and even beyond the holidays, let us try to remember that there is joy even in grief. We can find that soft feeling joy brings in the memories of times spent with those we love. We can feel our hearts warm to the recalling of conversations and adventures we had with our loved ones. And the joy that these thoughts bring us, will always belong to us.  Even when our loved ones are not physically here, they will always be our joyful memories. May that awareness help ease your grief.

Thanks for Giving

October 10, 2021 /

“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.

Plan for no More

April 4, 2021 /

There is something about knowing it is your last time. As we continue to prep to sell our home, I realized that this Easter will be our last one here. Suddenly it becomes very nostalgic. Each thought around what to serve, how the table will look, what could we do extra consumes my thoughts.  And memories of Easters past come back to visit me.

We had years of egg hunts in this home, always ending up in the laundry room where the ‘big prize’ was hidden in the laundry chute. Friends and family would gather around our table, living out Zane’s definition of happiness; good food, good drink and good company.  We have been blessed.

I have kept our Easter traditions since the crash but with new twists. I make Easter bags to share with friends and family which now include a tube of bubbles to honor Zane. My daughter and I still dye eggs, with one, a bright blue for Zane. This ‘last time’ melancholy encourages me to look at this holiday and ask myself, what do I want this Easter to be? The last Easter in my children’s home.

We often say, “Oh, if only I had known it was the last time.  If only I had one more time.” Why don’t we treat each celebration, even each day, like it might be our last?  In the daily hustle, it is hard to slow down enough to think it might be the last time. We believe there will be more, many more, or at least one more.   But we have learned in the most tragic of ways and now we know better, there is never a guarantee for ‘One more’.

I encourage you this year, as holidays and special occasions arrive to treat them like the last time. Slow down to think about past times and traditions built around each one.  Consider ways to do things different or new or what might you always want the same. With each holiday, think of ways you can honor and include our children who are celebrating with us from a different realm. Acknowledging that each celebration may just be the last time does not have to be depressing. In fact, it can be the fuel to invite gratitude into our lives.  And that is good mourning.

It’s a wrap-Holidays 2020 Done!

December 28, 2020 /

We made it. I can’t say I’ve ever liked the hassle of the holidays.  There is too much of everything; food, wine, spending…I am sure that Christmas didn’t start out like this.  Leave it to us to make a spiritual holiday a commercial event. There always seems to be drama too. Who didn’t get invited, whose house, which day to be at is always difficult with blended families. The ban on gathering inside our homes caused more tension.  Friends, who we would always welcome into our home, this year, dropped their gifts at the door and left. It goes against my open door policy. The need to be together and share stories helps our grief. This season, because we were limited, I know, my grief was intensified.

Two of our friends, who lost their only child, dropped by with a book that Zane would love. It was a thoughtful gift, recognizing our son, and our pain, as they miss their own daughter.  I broke ‘the rule’ and hugged her. My heart ached for the emptiness I know she feels. I wanted to pull her daughter from the heavens and hand her back to her. There is nothing you can do or say to comfort this level of pain. And so I just hugged her.

This was our third holiday season without the happy go lucky boy of mine here to make the mashed potatoes and doubt we have enough gravy.  Zane loved gravy on everything, and lots of it, so a traditional gravy boat was not adequate. Our gravy boat is a massive Alice in Wonderland tea pot.  Used only for gravy.   This year I could not bring it out to use.

The first Christmas we were in shock, the second in disbelief.  This third year I am angry.  It’s time this cruel trick was over and he showed up, like physically showed up.  I am sick of pretending that I am ok. And so I brought the holidays in for my family to enjoy them and when it was over, I went to bed and took the next day off.

Alas. We made it.  May this holiday be a reminder, fellow grief warriors, of the incredible strength you have. Take a look at what this season demanded of you.  We prepared for a holiday, compromised by the current times.  We travelled through malls, saw TV ads, and had casual conversations about the season’s glitter and the merriment of it all. Something we might not feel but we nod anyways. With our heads held up and a smile on our brave face, we took on another Christmas without the physical presence of our beloved.  This courage, this strength to plod on facing the appalling reality we live with is something we do.  Perhaps this strength comes from the love we have for our missed one.  Perhaps it is a way to honor them; to represent them.  Perhaps it is their very essence that provides us with this incredible strength. (A topic for another day). But today, give yourself a yahoo, a pat on the back, a self hug, for managing this difficult time of year.

Holidays 2020, done. We made it. And together, we will face 2021 with that same strength.

Filling the Empty Chair

December 20, 2020 /

The holidays are here. It is a time of year when all messages are about  hearts coming home, being together, cheer and joy that becomes, to those grieving, a LOUD reminder that there sits ‘an empty chair’.   The pain is compounded when your loved one was born or passed this time of year.

This morning, friends from our grief community dropped by to bring us a piece of cake, napkins, chocolates, a sour candy cane and pictures of their sweet son.  Tomorrow he should be turning 27. I know they have planned this for the last while.  A distraction from the empty chair, they chose to create a celebration that had components of what would be happening if he was still living here on earth.

Celebrating what should be but cannot be isn’t easy.  It takes a lot of energy to which we have little or none. And how do we celebrate one that can no longer be physically here to enjoy it?  We do, by reminding ourselves that our children are still with us.  However you wish to define it; in spirit or energy or in your heart, our children are still with us. And keeping special occasions, including their favorites in your gatherings, is important.  I believe our children want us to celebrate them.  I believe it is a way to honor their life.  I believe it is a way to create space to remember them and the unique place they have in our lives.

I know, in the moments of planning a birthday sharing for their son, it brought my friends some comfort.  It created an opportunity for them to share stories about their son.  I now know sour candy is his favorite. I know blue is his favorite color. By creating a birthday remembrance for their son, and then sharing it with us, he is recognized and celebrated.   And that is good mourning.

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