Tag: #loss (Page 1 of 4)

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!

When Tears Arrive

November 26, 2023 / Mama Fish

We were told by our cable supplier that our modem will no longer be functioning after the new year, so we needed to upgrade. My husband planned for the service installer to come by. I listened as he told me what to expect. It was all for the better except when he said, “you will lose your recordings.”

I stared at him blankly. I thought of all the Hallmark movies taped that I was enjoying. They would be gone. I thought of all Jon’s Sunday morning shows. They would be gone. And then I remembered Zane’s recordings that I kept. Seeing them always gave me a sense of peace, pretending some how he would one day watch them. They would be gone too. And I gasped.

“What?”, I uttered, choking back the tears. He repeated, “there will be no more recordings. You will have to record again.” But Zane was not here to record. How could I do this? The poor young man had no idea why I was upset about my recordings about to be erased and yet there was nothing he or I could do. The upgrade was mandatory. I took a deep breath and said, “Ok”.

Jon arrived at this time, and I made an excuse I had an errand to run and left him to oversee the upgrade. As I got into my car I was thinking, “upgrade, this is far from an upgrade for me”. It was a step back into my grief having one less thing of Zane’s. I drove to the park and took a walk along the path that I had walked Tango so many times before and I began to sob.

I wasn’t prepared for this reaction. Sometimes grief makes no sense at all. Why did I have such a response to this change, this necessary technological progress? Perhaps it is the start of the holiday season where we get weepier. Or maybe it is all the work of the busy needy season, and I am overtired. Or maybe, it’s just more loss of things I love and more unwanted change arriving for me to face.

As I pondered why I was so upset, I let myself continue to weep. As I walked, the sun in my face, dried my tears. The silence of the park let my mind relax. There could be one or a combination of reasons why we are triggered and reduced to tears. All things that are about our loved ones are important. We are the protector of each reminder they were alive, and we do not want any of it to be deleted. The recordings, which would literally be erased, were a symbolic reminder that life is and will never be as I had wished. This simple conclusion came to me by giving myself permission to have a good cry. I returned to the car, fixed my make-up, and gently went on with my plans for the day.

We know that emotional tears release oxytocin and endogenous opioids, otherwise called endorphins. I believe that tears are the souls’ way of exposing the shadows of our pain. At the end of a long cry, we are left with our true sadness and with a quiet sensation of courage. It’s surprising how many tears are within us that spill over when needed to restore our sprit so that we can carry on. Strength is found in the salt of our tears.

When Sadness is Doubled

October 1, 2023 / Mama Fish

I woke up tired. There is a lot going on with a wedding to be planned, family in town, work deadlines to be reached and a house that needs attention. I wished I could stay in bed. And then I remembered it was the anniversary of my friends’ son’s death. And a milestone. Five years. Worse, it was the first year without his wife. There was no choice. I needed to go.

It was a wet, rainy, cold morning as we pulled up to the site of his son’s crash. As their tradition has it, there were roses to be tied around the lamp post and a rock, spray painted blue with a note of endearment printed on it to place in the grass. His stepdaughter, replacing the role of her mother, helped him tie the ribbon, securing the roses. I watched them work together, taking their picture so she could have one to include with her sentiments she would post on social media.

I wasn’t aware that this year would hit me harder. It had with Zane, so I think my soul knew how hard this must be on them to have the haunting ‘5-year mark’ come. And to come without the support of their loving wife and mother. I felt the tears come and walked away to compose myself so that I could be strong for them.

Later that same day, we all met as a larger group at their favorite watering hole to celebrate. This year there were two pictures on the table. The group hugged and toasted mother and son. More stories of the summer, of the past, of life in general were shared. I commented how strange it was, that although I never met their son, I felt that I knew him. Sharing the life and the loves of your child over five years makes one feel like you knew them on earth. And thus, maybe why their death touches a little deeper as time goes on.

I overheard my friend and his stepdaughter talk of how small their family has become and how much each other is needed in the others life. And I smiled to myself. Over death, the two seem to be becoming even closer. My girlfriend would love this.

Being a part of today, I witnessed the pain of loss doubled and the strength found in facing it together. I was a part of the traditions that we create to remember and honor our loved ones. There is nothing more holistic than the moments we stand still, in the rain and look up to the heavens to whisper, I love you, I miss you, I know you are still with me.

The Art of Ceremonial Purging

September 17, 2023 / Mama Fish

The gentle, or not so gentle, pushing of time has me looking at the personal belongings of my past, including Zane’s items. It has come time to hold them and decide if their future finds a place in my home or just in my heart. It is not easy, and I have been gentle with this process, taking me almost a full year to sort through decades of personal and family memories.

I began with my childhood report cards my mother kept for me. That was an easy one. Chuck. I read my old diaries laughing at what was so important to me as a teen and my choice of boyfriends. A couple of sentiments I wrote down and some things I shared with the people they were about, like a friend who I was jealous of when a childhood boyfriend liked her better. We both chuckled at the truth that here we are, great friends and where was the boy? As I purged, I found that it got harder to decide whether to throw out or keep as the years came closer to the present time.

This can work for any item you are considering, what should I do with this. Some mementos were easy to say goodbye to. Extra photos, old birthday cards, anniversary cards, done. The kids baby calendars, I took and typed out in a word document all the milestones, giving me a paperless record of their growth. I took pictures of the kids’ artwork, so I have a collage of all their drawings.

Some of the piles took longer, like Zane’s things. His belongings were the hardest. And to be honest, most of them I couldn’t depart with. I did consolidate some things. I did find new homes for other things, thanks to his friends. And a quilt of his favorite t-shirts will be made in the future.

With each pile, I reflected and basked in the memory. I experienced laughter remembering some aha moments and there were a copious number of tears. With the items that I decided could not continue travelling with me, I created a process I call ceremonial purging.

With each group of items that I went through, the things I was to throw away I put into one pile. When I was finished with that group, I took the ‘garbage pile’ and spoke to it. I thanked it for being a part of my life, for giving me lessons and leaving memories behind because of it. I acknowledged that the items making this pile included teachings that were part of my life and who I am today. And then I would lovingly pick it up and kiss the top of the pile. And without putting it down, I would walk, ceremoniously with good thoughts to the garbage bin. There, I would give thanks one more time for all it brought me, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And then with a dramatic pitch I would throw the pile into the bin with an AMEN. And I would turn and not look back.

Strange? Maybe. But this ceremony, the disposing of things that at one time were so important to keep, helps let them go. It honors what the items symbolize; my life and the people in it and the gratitude of the blessings that accompanied such. I feel lighter knowing that the inanimate keepsakes of the past have been loved and sent to the bin with appreciation and that the things still here have a new home of honor.

Too Busy To Grieve

September 10, 2023 / Mama Fish

Our family has experienced eight deaths in less than five months. I have spent the entire spring and summer in hospitals or hospices, travelling to help plan and attend the celebrations of life for each. This was on top of my regular work, the planning of our daughter’s upcoming wedding and our annual gathering of Zane’s Death-Day. Summer is always tough, this year it was brutal.

I have been far too busy with life ‘as is’ to recognize or experience the anticipatory grief that accommodates four of the deaths during this time or the shock of sudden death of the other four loved ones. Our family seems numb. And no wonder, we have been handed a lot and we have dealt with it as best we can. It is no surprise that we have not been feeling quite like ourselves lately. Grief, waiting impatiently to come through has brought emotional outbursts and physical pain to varying degrees and never in unison to combat them effectively. We continue to soldier on…

No one tells you when loss will come to your door. Or how. Or why. Each loss brings with it, its own personality. Its own baggage that you must unpack and sort out. Each one takes time, and nothing is linear.

Experiencing multiple deaths at the same time or relatively close together exaggerates the single components of grief. The shock, the disbelief is totally numbing. I have to remind myself, “yes, they are gone. It’s true.” The exertion of energy required to plan how to best honor the loved ones wishes gets confused between each of the deaths. “Was it this one or that one whose favorite color was blue?” Why can’t I remember! The brain fog of multiple deaths is more like a thick swallowing quicksand than a mere memory lapse.

It was my herbalist that unknowingly clarified for me what was happening to my health. She sent a message that said, “you have had so much to deal with, there has been no time to grieve”. Her words, an expression of compassion hit me like a slap in the face. Yes, I am doing too much. Self care is the first thing to be dropped when one is too busy. It is easy to overlook the ‘slow down’ signs as we continue to push on. I had disregarded what grief does when ignored.

The first cardinal rule of grief is, give it the space it demands. Follow its lead. I’ve been pulled from one death to the next allowing NO time for grief. So, it sits within and festers. It does not care of the many excuses and justifications I give as to why I am not facing my grief. It does not care how hectic I am or how much there is to do. I read her message again, “…too busy…” One can not be too busy for grief.

I took out the calendar. Five months, eight deaths. This is purpose to stop, to take an extra moment to sit in silence, to honor the ones that have just departed. It is what the soul requires to stay grounded. I must minimize the everyday tasks; they can wait for my sadness to be addressed and held. Each loved one I have lost deserves their own moment of remembrance. Each deserves thought as to how I will honor them. Each deserves their own share of my heart. And my tears. One by one. I can create a life that gives each of them their own spot to live on, with me and, within me, as I continue my journey. I can give them admiration only if I am not too busy. They deserve the respect of my grief.