Tag: #loss (Page 1 of 5)

Holding Tight to the Pain of Loss

February 8, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

I saw a video where a grieving mother told of how her friend had said to her, “I wish I could take away your pain…” and her reaction to this was a strong NO. She did not want her to take away her pain, any of it. I thought to myself I have said to others what her friend had said to her. It is not easy to watch someone you love in such pain. You wish you could take it away. This statement comes from a place of love, how could she be upset with such an offer.

She continued to describe her pain, the feelings of despair and the hardship of trying to breathe with a broken heart. These awful, life-changing attributes were hers. Because she lost her child. Hers because no one else had her relationship with him. Hers because no one could fix her fate. Hers because it was what she had left of him. His death left her with this pain. The pain of missing him.

What a beautiful way to see your pain. To hold the pain as a medal of honor. Yes, raw and cutting, but love remains and within the pain are the memories, the never-ending bond for your child. I had looked at the pain as something you do one of two things with. You live with it, trying to become amicable, complaining of its tincture. Or you run away from it; you find distractions to ignore the hurt. Throughout the days, you might do one and then the other but the third option of holding it tight, selfishly letting no one touch it…well, that was new.

When I reflected on how I handle my pain, I realized that there are moments when I hold tight to it. Bittersweet moments when I am with Zane’s friends recalling his adventures that seems to naturally become part of our conversations. It is why I enjoy being with them so often. Each time I am transported to another time where through stories I feel as if Zane has joined us, sipping a gin soda, laughing with us over his antics. Some stories I have not heard. Some his friends have not heard, thus every time is like a new chapter being told.

I know some family and friends feel this prolongs my grief, thus my insistence to keep these relationships has been questioned. I have been angry with the inuendo that I should move my grief to a different space or pace to align better with the expectations of others, yet it feels self-seeking to not oblige.

Grief is the other side of love and there are no one-sized answers to how pain is held. One can only do what aligns with their current pain. Perhaps time and understanding are required. The understanding that the need to hold the pain of loss is an equally important choice to letting it go.

The video I saw brought clarity. A mother, sharing how holding her pain close and not wanting anything or anyone to remove it made so much sense. When I hold tight to my grief, it softens. Within the angst of loss, I feel the eternal connection to my son through the shared comradery of his friends. It is how I hold tight to my pain.

Loss Through Divorce and Death

July 13, 2025 / Mama Fish

It is hard to sit next to a loved one and watch them continue to make decisions that will extend or accentuate their state of sadness. One of our own has been trying for over a year to ‘save’ their relationship. Although, to all of us it seems very one-sided, I find patience in the fact that to the truth, there are always three sides. Then, recently I overheard a conversation of someone we don’t know, which made me think about the correlation between death and divorce and the role of loss.

A couple was arguing of his whereabouts. I heard him defend himself, explaining in detail where he had been and what had happened. It seemed simple. His lack of patience and tone increased as her refusal to accept his explanation continued. Screaming ensued and she left. I don’t know the full story, I do know neither were happy.

Relationships should end when there is abuse or reconciliation is impossible. It’s when do you say enough and go your separate ways. That is the tricky part. Relationships are hard. There should be a gallant effort to save the love that once was, that might still be there. But when, at the end of the day, there is a divorce, that is where loss steps in. And grief soon to follow.

Some of the books I have read, the author shares their story of loss through divorce. It contains all the aspects of grief; the emotions, the struggle to accept this change, the emptiness of reality, the search for identity of who they are now. If the heavy pain of loss becomes too much in this scenario, there is an urgency to get the relationship back. Regardless of the notion that together might not be better, for one or both.

With death, they are not coming back in physical form. The only option here is we must learn to live with grief. As I pondered this detail, the obvious difference between the two types of losses, I realized how important the mantra, “loss is loss” truly is. There is a different strength required to let go of something that has died but that still lives elsewhere. I believe that it has its own unique bag of questions, challenges and heartaches.

I’m not comparing the two. Not in the least. I am only suggesting that it is important to recognize the loss, more so than how it came to be. My loved one, as they struggle with an unwanted breakup, is focused on how to fix this, hoping for reconciliation. The use of energy is spent working out the odds of maybe. It is an option, rather than selecting loss. When sitting still, my loved one can admit this. Their brain comprehends ending this relationship is for the best. It is the heart that is unaccepting.

True loss is something is gone, regardless of why. With death, loss is very clear. Grief arrives with it. With divorce, loss is misconstrued, accompanied with necessary decisions that make it messy. It is only when loss stands alone with no other options that grief arrives in its entirety.

What is needed, with any loss, is to focus on the exquisiteness of the love that was once and shape this into something beautiful to carry in the heart, honoring the memories and the impact of the time shared. That may not be simple. But it is all that we can do. That we should do. Because loss, no matter how it arrives, stays with us forever.

Another Star is Born

October 20, 2024 / Mama Fish

His passing was peaceful. Expected. The family surrounding him with messages of love and permission to go. Knowing he was to pass; the family had the ability to do some pre-planning, and the result was a celebration of his life that was filled with many beautiful extras of who Geoff was here on earth.

It included his recipe of carbonara, a matchbook with icons of all his favorite things. It was held at his favorite watering hole. There were speeches, pictures and videos of his short time here and his impact on all of us. There is even a book of stories to be bought. The choice of shooters was Fireball or Jamesons. Geoff was the one who insisted Zane ‘man up’ and drink Jamesons, so to see a cinnamon shot on the menu made us all roll our eyes as to why that couldn’t have been the one we toast to Zane with! I could hear Geoff laughing at us and shrugging his shoulders like he did whenever he fooled us with one of his antics. I can hear him say, “who knew?” He did.

The service itself was like a high school reunion, filled with his friends that grew up in our homes. Now, young adults, having said goodbye to Zane years ago, they gathered to say goodbye to Geoff. It was hard to see the (repeated) pain on their faces, the emptiness of the realization that there will be no more brunches, games or conversations to be shared with their friend. My heart cried hard for their loss. For our loss. For the journey my friend has been forced to travel now.

When his sister spoke of her brother, I looked over at my daughter. How was she feeling? Did what she was hearing resonate with the pain, the emotions she felt about Zane? Of course they would. Geoff’s sister now travels on the same path my daughter does. A journey that took away her brother, her children’s uncle. And I felt like I did with my own daughter when Zane passed. Inconsolable. I cannot heal her pain.

Their entire family were stoic, as most of us in our darkest hour tend to be. Perhaps the shock of death, whether it is sudden or a terminal illness, freezes us so we appear to be strong. Whatever it was, they rallied and created an event for all of us to be together and share our grief in a tribute that Geoff would be smiling about.

It was two years ago; Geoff was diagnosed with brain cancer. He faced his fate with courage and grace and always kept what was important to him up front. His friends and family. So many people have said to me, there is peace found in the belief that he is with Zane. Up to their antics on a universal scale. I know in my heart this to be true. I see it in the night skies. Another star is born.

To Geoff, thank you for loving us as your ‘other family’-for being with for us for 33 years. I carry you in my heart. Forever.

The Battles of Grief

September 29, 2024 / Mama Fish

The day before we left for our Mexico trip, we went to see Geoff in hospice. He was actively dying, and I had suggested that I wanted him to hold on until I got back. As I sat with him, just the two of us, I realized it was his time. I hugged him and told him how much I loved him. I reminded him that I don’t believe in death and thus, I do expect him to find a way to let me know he is still with us. I told him that he did not need to be afraid, he was about to be set free of his pain and would be able to see Zane. He could still be a part of his beloved Lauren’s life. Just not from this realm. I leaned in and kissed his cheek, I took his hand and put it to my cheek. I said, “my sweet boy, if you must leave now, go get Zane and meet us in Mexico.”

When we arrived in Mexico the next day, our group were boarding the suitcases onto the bus to take us to the resort. A blue dragon fly landed on my suitcase and sat there. Another flew by. I pointed it out to my daughter and then we boarded the bus. I said to my husband, “Zane is here. And I think Geoff might be too.” We smiled. Payton was sitting in the row ahead of us and as we waited for the bus to pull out onto the road, she turned and looked at me. “Geoff died last night.”

She reached out for my hand and held it. The news had come via Facebook messenger. Our family sat there, stunned in anticipated grief. This trip was about happiness; the joining of two of Zane’s friends in marriage. It was about them. It was not to be ruined. Our family made a pact; no one knows about this but us until after the wedding. So, for the next week, our family put on our masks and smiled while totally broken.

My daughter and I would take a walk together to cry and feel our pain. Then we would wipe the tears, put on a smile and rejoin the group. One afternoon I took a walk to the beach by myself. I ordered a shot of Frangelico (the liqueur that I drank when the boys were young). I stood alone, facing the ocean and remembered the beauty of Geoff, the laughter he brought to all of us, the love he shared with us. And my heart, in its pain, twitched with the soul knowledge that our boys were together again. Not that any of this is right, but they are together again. I lifted my glass to the heavens and said, “have fun boys. I love you both.”

As I watched my family push through, soldier up, I realized how strong we are. We knew this was to be a tough trip. We were going for Zane, to represent him. He, that should have been there. Watching the happiness of his friends and the antics of a Mexican holiday were as difficult as we had thought. Each of us struggling with our grief to be somewhat ok. But what we had not thought of was the effects of doubling that grief. And with Geoff’s passing, that was what the Universe handed us to deal with. Enhanced by the fact that we could only communicate through messenger, I felt disconnected from my ‘kids’, my friends, his family that I had so wanted to be there for. But, before coming to Mexico, we had set up a plan in case the worse were to happen while we were away. And it did. And we put the plan in place and mastered it like the grief warriors we are.

To Zane, Hope for What Six Brings

August 4, 2024 / Mama Fish

There is something to be said

about the power of the number six.

It is to bring balance, harmony

It is the number related to absolute love.

Ironic, isn’t it, a number that connects to the spirit

Encouraging one to seek peace within themselves

is the number for this year-to-be…

Something I have yet to achieve.

I wonder if this could possibly be a proposition,

reflected in the number of years you have been gone.

Perhaps this years’ number can present a solution

to how I might carry on with the burden of my grief.

Could it be thinkable that this is the year that

my internal screams hush

or the rage of the injustice settles

into a more manageable madness.

Or that my broken heart does not encourage

The rest of my body to manifest into another type of cancer.

Could there be some magic in the number six

that delivers what it is supposed to,

A peace, a harmony through its reminder

that it is all about unconditional love.

The type of love I have for you

and what you gave to me,

An eternal love that crosses the veil.

Maybe number six might bring with it

more of its meaning, in small seen doses

Perchance it may be that I will feel you more often.

Thus, I will put my hopes in this taunting number six

that it comes gently, carrying with it

The prophecy of better.

The Train Home

April 28, 2024 / Mama Fish

On one of our visits with our friend Kirk, he shared how he was troubled by a dream he had. He was on a train about to leave for a trip but the people he loved were standing on the platform and not going with him. I asked how that was upsetting and he said it was because he was alone on the train. And I wondered if this was the murky straddle between staying on earth and leaving for the other realm. So, I asked if he was afraid to be alone and he nodded yes.

I held his hand and tried to offer some comfort. I told him that he was not alone, he would never be alone. I said, “did you see us, all your family & friends, gathered on the platform to show you that we are with you as you head out on your next adventure. And we will keep you here,” I placed my hand on my heart and then on his. I continued, “we will always be here for you, you are never alone. And look on that train, you are not alone. Look, you will find your mom and dad, friends, family whom you have not seen for a while. Your beloved dog Bear is on that train. So is Zane.”

He looked into my eyes, and I think he understood what I was trying to say. He nodded. I told him that this next trip would be a fabulous journey with so many beautiful walks waiting for him. “Where do you think you will be going?” I asked. He didn’t know. “Where do you think might be your first stop?” I asked. “Nova Scotia”, he said with a smile. I agreed with him, and he closed his eyes.

On Earth Day, in the early afternoon Kirk boarded the train home. His son had previously called all his family to say goodbye. Kirk was able to hear their voices. He could feel the energy of love that surrounded him. He was aware he was not alone; in fact, the platform was crowded with a lifetime of fond memories. He knew the affection he had for us was reciprocal.

It was his son, his daughter-in-law and me that happened to be in the room, when the train pulled away, taking our beautiful, positive, giving friend to his next adventure. It was a peaceful moment where, as he lay facing his son, drew one last breath and passed. We sat there, a surreal sharing of relief for Kirk and sorrow for us.

“All aboard” was Kirk’s philosophy. Fitting to the concept of a train ride home. He believed that each experience, good or bad, was the way it was supposed to be. He faced every adversity with courage and confidence he would overcome, teaching us all the power of positivity.

He taught us by example how a walk can clear your head and bring you strength.

He taught us the true meaning of hope, and that this lifetime is worth fighting for.

Of the many teachings he demonstrated through his actions, my favorite lesson is the importance to ‘chill’-his word for 2024 and the word I will practice in his honor.

His legacies are his family and his optimistic outlook. Kirk LOVED this life and wanted nothing else but to stay here with us. To which he also accomplished; although we waved goodbye, his promise to send us post cards, we are already receiving.

Kirk, thank you for being our million-dollar friend. How blessed we are to have been in your company for decades and now to have you as a guardian angel. Your life here continues. Enjoy the train home.

The Commonalities of Child Loss

March 24, 2024 / Mama Fish

One of my friends was scared when her child was diagnosed with cancer. She survived and is now cancer free. One of my friends is scared as her child is currently fighting cancer. I didn’t have a chance to be scared. Sudden death does not include any time to be scared. It does not bring with it anticipatory grief. This has its own merit and its own pain. The cause of death can affect the grief process.

Our society likes to fit death into specific types, each one dictating the period we are permitted to grieve openly, how we should feel, behave, and move forward with our grief. We are judged by how we grieve. “Oh, she acts as if nothing happened.” or “It was just a dog…what is wrong with her?” or “She needs to be there for her other children.” or “She is too young (or too old) to remarry now”. Society has it wrong. In the end, it is the person grieving that must find their voice and stand firm in the chosen way they need to grieve, often leaving behind family and friends who cannot support this.

One cause of death brought this thinking to mind. I was reading about miscarriages and the impact of how irrelevant our society seems to address this loss. One in four women will have a miscarriage. That’s how we look at it. Another statistic. But what about that woman, the one in four. She was holding life inside her. She was excited about being a mother. No matter the debate on when life begins, if that woman was anticipating giving birth, to care for and do her best for this fetus, she is now a mother. No matter what fate brings or choices she had (or didn’t have) control over, she is a mother.

So why do we not stand next to that family like we would if it had been born and lived for a longer period of time. Why are we advised not to ‘celebrate’ we are pregnant for the first trimester? The medical answer is because that is when most miscarriages happen. Perhaps this is our society’s way of shielding others from the pain of a potential loss. It is absurd when you think about the instructions to not hope until you know more, when we never truly know the fate of our children. Ask any grieving mother. I personally had no idea of the trauma, the pressure to accept and move on mothers of a miscarriage or stillborn baby endure. Not until I started hearing their stories. A mother’s umbilical cord connects her to a soul, transforming her life. That cord is eternal.

As a mother who lost her child, I can relate. One can argue at what age is more painful to lose a child, but every age brings with it the same feelings of loss, of deep anguish. Each of these deaths, regardless of the child’s age, brings the questions of ‘what if’, and ‘could I have done something different’. The only concrete known is that the heart is now broken.

The ugly and truly sad common denominator of every mother who has lost a child is that it brings with it the anger that fate has stolen our opportunity of more time with our child. It robs us of memories, dreams, hopes we had for this child. It replaces a future with a past we long for and a bitter-sweet present.

We are taught that loss is loss and the greatest loss of all is your loss. Whatever loss that was. The cause of death does bring different elements with it but what is important is that we have ended up in the same place of eternal sorrow. How we got there is minimal compared to the long journey ahead. Grief is universal.

The Lesson of Repeated Loss

February 25, 2024 / Mama Fish

I don’t think God got my message. After our family endured so many deaths last year, I thought he and I had an understanding that we would get a bit of a break this year. However, we lost another two members last month and two more this month. It reminds me of a meme Zane posted, “I know that everything happens for a reason, but WTF?”

Del was a colleague of my mothers. I grew up with him. He was a true family friend that coaxed my mother to let her hair down and have some fun. He had a love for life, a faith in God and a laugh that was contagious. You could not hear Del laugh without joining in. His kind, inspiring manner brought the best out of everyone who sat next to him. Yes, he had a full life and his celebration service confirmed that through the stories shared. He will always be with us. We just have to close our eyes and hear his laugh. As his friend said at the funeral, if you do this, you will open your eyes smiling. He was 88 years young.

Our other loss does not carry with it such a happy tone. My girlfriend lost her husband, her companion of 37 years. It was an intense battle with cancer that not only took him but abruptly ended the ongoing retirement plans they made together. They had moved to BC from Calgary years back and so our monthly breakfasts to compare notes on raising two teenagers each were shortened to letters, email, and the annual visit when she would come out. In no way does that reduce the importance of our friendship, in fact it alters it as time together was not something we could take for granted. I so enjoyed her smile, her soft voice telling me about her latest adventure with her beloved. The plans for their next trip, the travels to see their children and hang out with the dogs. Her life centered around this man, her partner in all senses of the definition. Grief has arrived at her door and brings with it the comfort of shock and denial that this is happening. My heart aches for her. There is nothing to be said.

We have reached the stage of life where we can expect more funerals than weddings of our friends. To know this, doesn’t make it easier to say goodbye. But what I was reminded of these past months, is that there are four friends who I spoke to suggesting that we ‘get together soon’ and failed to do so. I’m not beating myself up about this. Life is busy for all of us. Foolishly, we always think there will be more time. This year, the message seems to repeat itself. We don’t know when the time will run out. Do not put off to tomorrow, what matters today.

When loss, of any size, is experienced, the body goes through physical, emotional, and mental stress to which we need time to slow down, grieve, and heal. I am not sure how we do this when the hits keep coming. Maybe it is a good practice in accepting that death is a part of life and if we fully feel this way, perhaps then the loss could be condensed to, we are truly sad but not devastated. If death is a part of life, then we continue to be with our loved ones, in a different but still meaningful fashion. I think this is a lesson our clan is presented with to which we continue to learn.

The Proof, Written In the Cards

February 18, 2024 / Mama Fish

The hectic, never-ending list to do caught up to me this week and I landed in bed with a cold. I’m not sure if it was that my daughter had it first and I looked after her or that it seems EVERY time my husband goes on a holiday, I get sick. Whatever the reason, I took it as a Universal sign to unplug. Well, not so much a sign, I had no choice. Remaining vertical caused my sinuses to explode so I stayed on my back and went through a box of cards my friends had left behind when they died.

“The sweeties” were the classic love story with a twist. I wrote about them before, and their chosen way to leave earth. It will be a year next month since they departed. The box of cards and pictures was one of the last things I had promised to take care of for them. How to disperse of their treasured memories in a way that honors them. It has been no easy task. They had bins of photo albums of trips and family events and childhood gatherings. We kept a lot. I gave some pictures of their golf buddies to the course they loved and belonged to for years. We mailed some to friends and a bunch to her sister. It was the large box of greeting cards that surprised me how hard they would be to dispose of. I read each one. Birthday cards from friends, get well cards and thinking of you cards but most of the cards were from each other. Every Valentine Day, Anniversary and Christmas card was kept. And each one had the same message. Eternal love.

This couple, with all the trials of combined families and complicated health scares, truly loved each other. Forever. I mean they died together. Reading the cards reminded me of that love. The partnership they held tighter than anything else in their lives. They were soul mates. His signature on every card was “Love your DA” with a heart and kisses drawn. In the early years, the signature and the drawing were clear and as time went on, the signature was messier and the heart not so clear. Still, one can see, his heart was always for her. Her signature, on every card was “Love always, your sweetie.” There was no mistake, they belonged to each other.

I have had mixed feelings about how they left, when they left; the time leading up to their departure was not as ideal as any of us would have liked. This made grief come with mixed emotions, like anger and worry if we did enough or could have done things differently. Alas, there is no options for a repeat, so we continue to grieve while we attempt to answer these questions. The truth is that it was as it was to be. The cards proved that.

In the end, I have two great friends that faced life together, always together, always ‘yours’ and they left here the same way. ‘FOREVER YOURS’. How can I be anything but happy for them? And I am. When I look past the anguish of not having my ‘sweeties’ here to share a glass of wine with me, or to hear their laugh, or hear her tell me, “Love you, love you, love you” …. I just need to remember that I witnessed, a one-of-a-kind love between them. Like all loves, it did not come without its’ bumps and bruises, but the cards reminded me, at the end of the day, they always chose each other.

Old Blue Eyes

January 21, 2024 / Mama Fish

There was a holiday season, a long time ago, where we visited two friends often. Then health, travel and kids took priority and we saw each other less. Every time we got together it was like picking up where we left off. That is the way of good friends. Time means nothing. Until it does.

The last time I saw our friend, we were walking Tango. He pulled up beside us and we chatted about life, the age of our dog, the battles we all were going through with our health. He was concerned about my cancer; how my recovery was going. He didn’t want to talk about his own battle with cancer. His health “was pickled with the scotch I drink” he’d laugh. His blue eyes twinkled. They were always filled with a light, a love for those around him. It earned him the nickname, ‘old blue eyes.’ “We must get together soon,” I said as Tango pulled on his leash to let me know it was time to keep going. “Yes, we will”, he waved goodbye.

The news of his death came as a shock. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Another friend I somehow felt would be around forever. Or at the very least until we had that next drink we were planning.

His physical absence will be missed by a very large community. His soft demeanour, sense of humor and love for family and friends attracted a big group of admirers that relished in his company. We were lucky to be a part of that. He is the man that sent a card to us, each birthday, death anniversary and holiday of Zane’s, letting us know he will never forget him and how lucky we are to be loved by our son. I treasured his kind gesture, honoring our son in such a tender, personal way. That was so typical of the kindness he showed. He was always just a call away and if the porch light was on, the door was open to come in and enjoy a drink.

His passing hit us all hard. Even my daughter burst into tears. That’s how special he is. That’s how deep the impact of his friendship is. We are taught that grief is the price we pay for love. And as we sit quietly together, grief joins us. And yet, somehow, the love our friend had of this life spills over us, washing us with a sense, a reminder, that the game is not over, only the course has changed.

“In golf and life, it is the follow through that makes the difference.” My sweet friend, you were a sure hit, making a difference as your soul gathered many to enjoy the beauty of this life. May we continue to see you at tee time!