Tag: #loss (Page 1 of 5)

The Murder of Monday

September 6, 2026 / Mama Fish / 0 Comments

For a year now, I have had the pleasure of spending Monday afternoon with my son-in-law. As we all navigate the transition of happily married, to newly separated, he and I would gather at one of our three favorite bars to share our grief, swap stories and basically hold each other up. One can argue who this was more important for. In the early days, I think it was both of us. That has changed.

Recent events and I guess time have created a shift. The pain of connection to what reminds him of what he had and has lost, has become too much. The slim possibility of reconciliation happening only for a moment here and there has supported his decision that to remove everyone reminding him of the past is what his grief requires. Including me.

I believe and respect that each has their own path to travel with grief; that each of us needs to do what our grief commands to survive because ignoring it brings major complications. So, I must accept that there has been thought, and this decision is necessary. For him.

For me, I feel like I am being punished for something I did not do. I have enjoyed his company, his quirkiness and his big heart for over a decade. He was Zane’s buddy that slept over; the two of them eating pizza and playing video games like twelve-year old boys. After Zane was killed, he instantly became a member of our family and from the first day was the steadfast rock in the shock and grief that consumed us. There was never a moment when I didn’t send a text or pick up the phone to say I need you, that he didn’t come running. Unknowingly, he became the buffer to the pain of not being able to hold Zane.

This last year, I felt we had our own deepened relationship, albeit complicated by the past, it was unique to the drama of our family. We share private jokes, compare stories about Zane’s adventures and because of our history, I can vent to someone who understands. Our Mondays became a sacred and anticipated hour of laughter over chardonnay and martinis.

There was a part of me that knew as life carried us forward our relationship would change, but end? That was never a consideration. After all, he was and will always be one of Zane’s best friends. Yes, we would move on, finding new opportunities and I felt these might be the stories he would share that would cause me to feel nostalgic about what might have been. Not once did I think that murdering our Monday afternoons would be an option.

The decision to ‘create distance’ to soothe his grief has increased mine. It is one more change that I did not choose. It is one more loss that I now hold. And, if I am being honest, it is one more person that I love that has estranged me to support their own emotions. This is heavy. I am not sure where in my universal soul plan, I agreed to hold grief so many times, so many ways, and with such vigor. I only know that it is loud and continuous. Like a bad movie, playing over and over.

Alas, I have no control but to wait, wishing, for an invitation to resurrect Mondays. In the meantime, I have a heart filled with memories of the antics we shared. It is what it is.

The Sheep Detectives Review

May 24, 2026 / Mama Fish

I don’t enjoy a lot of movies because I tend to “live” the movie as if it was my own life. I become the characters, the plot is happening to me and those I know…I reflect, remember and ponder over the outcomes for weeks after I see it. Thus, my love for Hallmark. It is soft, little drama and always a happy ending. So, when the movie The Sheep Detectives came out and my daughter asked for her dad and I to join her, I conceded. I had heard great reviews of this movie, and I thought it was an animated comedy about sheep. How fun would that be. And with Hugh Jackman playing the leading role, I was sold. The movie was nothing I was promised.

If you haven’t seen this movie yet, spoiler alerts here. The sheep are not cartoonish, although they talk and parts are hilarious. The movie explores themes of death and grief through the unique perspective of sheep who confront painful experiences. Their ability to selectively forget sorrow, except for one old sheep who bears the weight of remembering every loss, is used as a metaphor for how individuals cope with death, some choosing to move on quickly, while others hold onto their experiences. Ultimately, the story reveals the profound impact of loss and the resilience required to face it, making the movie both touching and thought-provoking.

There is a winter lamb that the flock tosses aside and will not include, but who continually tries to belong, symbolizing hope amid hardship. Born during the coldest months, it represents resilience and new beginnings, showing that even in the bleakest times, life finds a way to persist. Its presence serves as a reminder to the flock that renewal and warmth can follow even the deepest freeze, offering comfort and optimism as they navigate grief and uncertainty.

Sebastian, the lone lamb, prefers to look down from a cliff at the flock, embodies the symbolism of isolation and introspection. His physical separation from the group highlights the experience of feeling apart from others, whether by choice or circumstance, and reflects the journey of those who process grief or adversity in solitude. Sebastian’s vantage point suggests a desire to observe, understand, and perhaps find meaning from a distance, representing the nuanced ways individuals seek perspective and healing outside the comfort of community.

There is so much symbolism in the movie relating to how we cope in the face of uncertainty and grief. I was crying at the injustice of their experiences. I was furious at the unfairness of what they could not control, and I was a little jealous that they could choose to forget what they could not endure. My emotions were a mesh of tears and laughter and aha moments of how my own grief could be seen in the actions, thoughts and desires of these little movie sheep.

In the end, the sheep found strength together to face their losses, witnessing signs they were not alone and creating ways to honor those they loved. For fictional sheep, their lessons were very real.

This is a movie for the whole family, and a great reminder for those grieving that loss is your own journey but that it can be more consolable in the flock of family and friends.

Receiving Messages from The Universe

May 17, 2026 / Mama Fish

Recently a group of us shared a conversation of the messages we receive from our loved ones, how we know it is them and how we want to increase and strengthen this relation.

We know that we connect better to the Universe if we cultivate mindfulness and pay close attention to our surroundings. We know we should practise meditation to uncover subtle energies and signs. Keeping a journal of experiences can also help recognize patterns and validate perceptions.

The more abstract idea is setting clear intentions, asking for signs or guidance, to receive messages from loved ones, and then trusting your intuition, whether the messages come through dreams, objects, or repeating numbers.

Although all these practices contribute to a higher vibration, I believe the biggest hurdle in receiving messages is distraction. When I am on a quiet walk in the park, I find all sorts of ways Zane is letting me know he is with me. When I am overextended or too busy, signs are missed. That is what happened to me recently.

We had gone out with friends for dinner. At the next table, a gentleman joined his friends. The tables were very close together, so my husband politely said hello, and we introduced each other. His name was Jay and I did not notice he had a camera until he asked to take a picture of our friend.

When he took the picture, I asked, “are you a photographer?” He said, “Yes, I don’t go anywhere without it. I really enjoy street photography”. I told him so did my son. Zane would spend hours asking random people on the street if he could take their picture. Jay said he that he was a rock climber with a passion for mountain shots. I told him of how Zane loved nature shots too. Then he asked what social account my son posted his pictures on.

I took a breath and shared my readers digest version of our fate. He said, “I’m so sorry. I lost my wife two years ago.” We talked about the awkwardness of having to share stories with strangers and how we appreciated the ease of those who ‘get it’. We continued chatting about how photography can be a positive security blanket. It was as if the spirits of his wife and my son connected our tables to share our grief through a conversation about snapping pictures. And suddenly I understood why.

He was sitting next to me, a message from Zane, in human form. A reminder of how photography can help heal. It can connect one to life, speaking through pictures of what the heart cannot describe. Jay was sharing the power of mindful photography, the lessons Zane had learned, the legacy he left. Through my work, the projects we are building to share what Zane and Jay know is all about the power of healing through the lens of a camera. We are close to creating a project that will benefit the masses, but the work has not been easy, and I often feel like I am failing. Listening to Jay, it was a conversation I needed after a hard day at work to remind me I am on the right path. “You got this mama.”

I had almost missed receiving this message being distracted in the company of my good friends. Jay got up to leave. I stood up to give him a hug. “I think my son knows your spirit”, I said, “I’ll be watching for your photos.” He smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Ditto.”

Holding Tight to the Pain of Loss

February 8, 2026 / Mama Fish

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.