Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #loss (Page 2 of 4)

The Little Wagon That Stayed

September 3, 2023 /

The news of the Kelowna fires hit home when my girlfriend shared the video of what remained of her house. Nothing. Everything she had worked for went up in flames and melted into a pile of ashes. Even the boat was destroyed.  The only thing that survived was the stone chimney. And poignantly a metal wagon she used to carry wood and such around the lot. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason as to why the fire took certain things and left others untouched.

Of course, my friend is devastated. We talked about the lack of time to save anything. How her mother’s paintings were inside and her other sentimental pieces that are no longer here. She talked about how they were safe until they were not and rushed away watching the fires leap across the road to their area.  She talked about her hope that some miracle would stop the fire from taking all that she loved. We cried and she started to assure me that my grief was greater; no one was hurt or killed in her situation, and I stopped her there. Grief is grief. Loss is loss. Something did die; her beloved possessions and her home that contained decades of memories and happy times with family and friends. This is loss.  Great loss.

With all the losses I have in my life, I have come to realize that each person holds their losses relative to the relationship they had with that person, place, animal, or thing. The depths of love and the pain of grief are the common denominator amongst those who mourn. What or whom you are grieving is a personal detail. I could feel the angst and the anger within my friend as the reality of what had just happened was hitting her. “I will never go back”, she said.

That statement reminded me of my first moments after Zane was killed. “It will never be ok”, I said. I understood what my friend meant by her statement. There is no going back. What she had built over the years in that home, the contents both physical and emotional died with the raging fire. To go back is not possible. It will never be the same and that is not ok. I hugged her.  It was not the time to say that she may change her mind and that maybe there will come a day that she has less anger and more strength and might want to rebuild. But not today.

I focused on the irony of the little wagon that survived.  It shouldn’t have. And yet it did.  Why? A wagon, its purpose is to be filled with things needed or wanted to move from one point to another. It can be used as a tool to take a child or pet for a ride. Its wheels ready to roll in whatever direction you want to go. Small and compact, open aired, a favorite piece of most childhoods. Perhaps it survived as a symbolic gesture for my friend. The Universe gently whispering that there is space for love and hope to help her move away from this terrible disaster to a place where new beginnings await. I think the little wagon might represent tomorrow.

When grief is so fresh, we can miss signs that assure us we will survive. Naturally we are not ok. We can’t see or think or feel past the gut-wrenching despair inexplainable grief brings. That is where my friend is standing right now. I ache for her, knowing that spot all too well. So, for the moment, I will be her eyes to see hope and symbolic concepts that quietly suggest she has not been abandoned by some evil twist of nature but rather held by a universal compassion that understands she is not ok.  Healing can wait until she is ready to pack up her little wagon and move onward.  

My Brother, Wandering but Not Lost

August 27, 2023 /

The relationship I had with my brother was complicated.  I met Wayne when we were adults. He was my father’s son who we connected with through the result of my sister’s search to find him.  He was living in BC with his wife and two sons. My sister sent him a letter asking if he knew we existed and if he was interested in meeting us.  He jumped at the chance, moving his family to Calgary to get to know us, and his father. I went from being the oldest of two to the middle of three.

My brother was a typical big brother. He watched out for my best interests, he was protective, he gave lots of ‘brotherly’ advice.  We drank too much together, hung out together, shared dreams and goals and were there for each other. Somehow, I felt he would always be there for me.  A thing I took for granted.

So, when he fell to depression and struggled to live with chronic pain, I became the sibling who cared for him. Our roles switched to me watching out for him, connecting him to medical and financial resources, worrying about where he would live, how he would manage.  It was stressful to see him change from my big brother to a man who spent more time hiding inside than being outside in the big wild forests he once managed. I became quick tempered with him and focused on his short comings and threw many pity parties as to why I had to take care of him.  The truth is I didn’t have to.  But I did.

When I received the call that my brother had died in his sleep, I set out to do what I have been doing for him for decades. I took care of him. I set up the family, planned the funeral and made the appointment for his ashes to be made into memorial jewelry at his loved one’s request. Only when I was driving the long trip back home from his place, did I start to understand what just happened.

My brother is gone. His physical body only ashes, his legacy unwritten. His loved one’s left comprehending the how and the what now. Complicated relationships bring complicated grief. We are left to feel something when sometimes there is nothing to feel. Or we feel something more than we thought we would. Grief can include guilt, remorse, and regrets.  Complicated grief gives an ugly depth to these feelings.

What I didn’t think of was the why he and I were in these strange roles. What were the lessons we were to learn through this experience? When we are going through something that is hard or unpleasant, why do we race to find a way out rather than sitting quietly to understand the purpose of the hardship. I guess because easy is more comfortable.

If we could face our complicated relationships with more kindness and less complaints, perhaps they would not be as complicated.  What are the lessons to be learned through such experiences? The truth is my brother loved each of us to the best of his capacity. He was there for us, as much as he could be. He created a life such that the last years he did find some joy.  What I didn’t see then was that I was the lucky one to be able to care for him, to return the love I know he felt for me.

With that understanding the tears arrived and I thought of all the things I could have, should have done. His death, another reminder for me that we are all here together for just a very short time. The roles we play in each other’s life should not be criticized but rather celebrated as part of our souls’ learnings.  

It appears, our family soul plan included a brother who came into our lives later with gratitude and hope.  He left the same way. His last texts to me were of how much he would like to have done for me, for my pain.  How he wished he could have saved me from it. An honorable desire that expressed how he truly did want me to be happy. How can I ask for more than what he could give? And what he gave was love. His version, his way, but still love and that can’t be ignored.

Wayne, thank you for loving me. Send messages, my sweet brother, of how we can remember and honor the life you shared with us. And may you enjoy riding horses in the fields of heaven.

To Zane, on the Fifth Anniversary

August 6, 2023 /

Dear Zane,

We are sitting together,

on an urban patio

under the hot summer sun

Cold drink in our hand.

We are laughing,

Sharing stories of our separate adventures,

comparing notes of the latest antics

of our family members

Your sunglasses catch my reflection,

I see me smiling,

the joy of being with you

And that I am grateful for.

This summer marks 5 years

The summer you went to your favorite place,

Never to return

The summer that sent us to hell

It froze us in our grief,

Imprisoned us to the past

It has questioned our purpose,

challenged us to survive

Which is what we have done

And that I am grateful for.

I imagine what you might be doing

if fate had been different-

A writer, a model, a photographer

Even strangers tell me

You are unforgettable.

And that I am grateful for.

5 years has taught me that time will not diminish

the impact you brought, the lessons you taught.

Our family remains steadfast,

Remembering you, celebrating you,

Keeping your essence alive

And that I am grateful for.

“Mourning has Broken” by Erin Davis

July 23, 2023 /

A friend gave me a book to read to which she felt might inspire joy in me.  The story, “Mourning Has Broken” was written by Erin Davis, a mother who lost her 24-year-old daughter. Erin was a popular radio broadcaster and was in Jamaica when she received the news. Her sharing of what happened and the events that followed in her journey were so different than mine that it made for a surreal reading.

Erin’s connection to the world through her radio channel was a gift to express her pain and share with her dedicated listeners what was happening.  She had her own social media through this that I wished we all had. Her story included reflections of times as a family, with her daughter, the challenges of finding out what happened that caused her death, the sharing of how she self-medicated, and her relationship with her husband.  Her story was her own, and I appreciated her openness.  She also included a few tangents related to others that I had to reread trying to understand how this was a part of her story. 

I did relate to her reaction to an acquaintance comparing his loss of a dog six months prior to her pain of losing her only daughter. She innocently asked him if he would get another dog and he sharply replied, “Are you going to have another child?” Ouch. Proof that no one escapes dumb comments from those trying to compare grief.  Her sense of humor I enjoyed. She writes, “I bet they get another dog.”

At the end of the book, she is inspired to have a spiritual interview with her daughter related to if Erin is finding joy.  Erin admits pure joy may forever be elusive.  But she does find joy in her grandson and her work and her marriage. Simple things, that some of us don’t have; she encourages us to find our own joy.

I am appreciative to be at a point in my own journey to be able to read about such a different experience and value it for that. It inspired me to think about joy and what can I do to increase that emotion in my daily life. Erin lives in a world so different than mine and yet, we are connected through the understanding of life without your child. We are women who share the commonalities of honoring our loved one, looking for signs from them and searching for joy in this life.

For The Love of a Dog

July 2, 2023 /

We bonded with our neighbor over joint walks to the street to let our dogs out. Rita, a long-haired dachshund, donned a Burberry collar. We called her Regal Rita as she strutted around the complex like a miniature four-legged queen. She was cautious of Tango, perhaps thinking she would have to fend him off.   But Tango, being 15 at the time they met, a year older than Rita, had no romantic interests.  They became old friends giving each other a sniff, a wag of the tail and sharing their doggie treats.

Our neighbor and I had a common understanding of the deep love we have for our dogs and how our happiness centered around the wellbeing of these precious companions. We shared the challenges of owning a senior dog; success is measured in how often they poop. How sometimes it is easier to carry them to the curb rather than anticipate an accident in the hallway. How many times they were up during the night. He joked of how when Rita passes, there would be a Shiva in her honor.

It was a month ago I opened the apartment door and bumped into my neighbor.  It was the look on his face that I knew immediately. “Oh, no, not…”, I said, reaching out to him.  “Yes, we took her to the vet yesterday”, he replied. I teared up.  He teared up. We hugged. And just like that little regal Rita was gone.

Tango knew instinctively.  He sniffed the door that day, as he always did for the past two years, a sort of hello to his friend. He sniffed the door once more and has never gone there since. When he saw our neighbor, he leaned into his leg as if to give him a hug.

We are taught loss is loss.  Our neighbor loved, cared for, and worried for his beloved Rita.  She was a constant in his life for 16 years. She travelled with him to work, on holidays and moved to Calgary as part of their family.  She was his fur baby who held his heart and filled his life with unconditional joy.  There will never be another Rita.

That’s how it is with life and loss.  It cannot be measured.  The impact one has on us is our own relationship.  Unique, no other person will be able to feel how that relationship sits inside you.  How big or small their impact was on you.  This is why loss is loss.  One cannot compare the love felt to another love felt. Whether that intense love was received through a person or pet, loss isn’t about comparisons to whose pain is greater. It is about the love we shared with them, to which we mourn.

The love of a pet is profound, it is inexplainable.  With the loss of a pet, deep grief is inescapable. I watch my neighbor mourn her with the same reactions and components one does with any other major loss.  He said, a week after her passing, “I’m not getting over her”.  To which I replied, “and you never will.  She took with her a portion of your heart”.

Rita, your big brown eyes, and your dainty bunny hops down the path gave me joy each walk with you.  You were quite the lady.  Thank you for sharing with all of us the love of a dog.  

A Tree Sent to Heaven

May 21, 2023 /

Every Albertan remembers the grade one tradition where your child is given a sapling to take home and plant. Both my children received one.  Both planted their little tree in a chosen place in our yard. My daughter cared for her tree for a limited amount of time, moving on to her next project and the tree perished.

Zane was different. He would come home each day and nurture his tree. He covered it with a large coffee tin so the heavy snows would not break it. He talked to it, sprayed it, and fertilized it and it grew into a majestic white spruce that we hung feeders and tiny houses on to welcome the birds and squirrels.  After Zane passed, we hung Christmas ornaments and tied ribbons with wishes on it in his honor. The tree was more than a tree; it was a connection to the love my son had and shared.

At a recent community block party, our old neighbor told us of how the new owners were caring for our house in a way that we would feel good about. He went on to say how they had opened the yard by removing a few of the trees and it looked great. “Which ones?”, I asked. As he began to describe the locations of the trees they had removed, I kept pleading in my head, “not Zane’s, not Zane’s” …but it was Zane’s. I glanced at my husband as the tears came and whispered to him, “I just can’t…” and I turned and left, leaving him to tell our neighbor why his wife was a sudden mess.

Our neighbor apologized and hugged me.  How was he to know.  It was ok.  But it wasn’t. I went home that evening and cried myself to sleep. There is nothing I could have done, there was no moving this massive evergreen. The house was not ours any longer. I understand. But I don’t like it. How ironic this tree was roughly Zane’s age before its life was chopped down. It was another thing lost that was my sons. It was another reminder that things have changed forever. It was another catalyst to bringing my grief to the forefront.   

When things like this happen, we need to find hope that it will be ok.  Even when we know it isn’t.  We can look at loss from the dark or the light side.  I tend to look at it from the dark first.  I give myself time to sit with the pain, permission to feel mad and sad and hopeless.  And then when my tears have subsided, I look at it from the light side.  And if there isn’t one, I try to create one.

With Zane’s tree, I have decided to believe that somewhere on the other realm, Zane has a space that he adores and that he rejuvenates in, and that spot now has his beautiful beloved tree. Beside him. With all the wishes we had tied on it and all the admiration we have for him clinging to each needle so that he can see, touch, and feel how very much he is loved and missed.

A Coliseum of Grief

May 7, 2023 /

My husband took me to see Matt Fraser live in Edmonton.  It was a one-night stay that started at the picturesque Fairmont McDonald, where we sat in the afternoon sun with friends, drinking and sharing appetizers. A lovely few hours enjoying each other’s company and celebrating my birthday. I shared with them my excitement to see my favourite psychic.

The casino where Matt’s show was at was filled with hockey fans, casino players and people like me, hopeful to have a visit from a loved one from the other side. We enjoyed a drink before the show and met two women, who kindly shared their table.  They were also excited to see Matt and told us the story of their aunt who had departed. They asked who we wanted to see.  I said my son. As they left, one woman said to me, “I hope you see your son”. And it hit me.  We were all there for the very same reason.

The show was sold out, as were the previous two nights. The concept that thousands had paid money to sit together and potentially share their loss with hundreds of strangers was magical.  Each person attending was wishing for a visit, reassurance that their loved one was ok, that they were still here. Every single person had the same request. Every single person was in pain. Every single person came with hope. And the need to have Zane visit through Matt diminished. The comraderies of my fellow grief warriors were comfort enough. The understanding that the Universe was in control that night filled me with a peace that enabled me to “sit back and enjoy the show.” And that is what I did.

Matt did not disappoint. His readings were accurate, and the messages eased the receiver’s anguish. We laughed and cried together. There was a communal ‘oh no’ when Matt approached a woman whose boyfriend had been murdered and her baby died just after. The heart ache of loss was collectively felt. The readings were individual but the main theme that the deceased are here, watching over us, was a reassuring message for everyone.

It was a slow exit because of the vast amount of people. As we shuffled forward, a couple asked us how we enjoyed the show. He said he was not a believer and that his wife had dragged him to it. I asked who it was that they had lost. It was their daughter. 8 months ago. She was 29. The mother started to weep. I stopped and hugged her. “I am so sorry for your loss”.  He asked who we lost. We told him. And a hush fell upon us as we continued to walk, holding each other up.

This event did have a personal message for each attendee. Perhaps not from their loved one directly, but from the aura of the hundreds of souls surrounding us.  A sense of belonging, a whisper to look at the strength of each person there who lives with their eternal grief but who refuses to diminish the value their loved one had and still has in their life. The desire for connection. The innate ability to carry on. We were a part of that.  Zane was there with the other souls. The invisible electricity of so many together in the same room from both sides of the veil was an experience I had dreamed of. We were a part of a coliseum of shared grief. And of love.

Sweet Travels My Dear Romeo & Juliet

April 2, 2023 /

I must get past the pain to tell this story. I must get past the everyday business that stole from the last moments.  I must get past the selfishness of dealing with the plans and expectations of others.  I must get past all this to get to the center of the reality. Of the importance of what just happened.   The story of Romeo & Juliet in 2023.

Theirs was the true taboo story.  First cousins that fell in love and knew they could never be, so continued with their lives as relatives…marrying others, leading their own lives and yet somehow, each knowing, that the universe knew better.  They were to be together. And how could that be? So, after two failed marriages for one and one failed marriage for the other, they reunited, were married in San Francisco and the rest is history.  They lived happily ever after for 42 years.  Until age and poor health brought them to the decision to leave this realm together.

Juliet loved her man.  She agreed to leave because he suggested it and her health was not good either. More importantly, he was her first love and her only true love. She had a strong will and a desire to create adventures for the two of them. She provided him with a life of beauty and friends and trips captured in photos that filled many boxes for us. She was always to be with him. Death would not change this.

Romeo was in love with her. He had children but she was his queen, and he spent his life trying to balance fatherhood and husband hood. He was a gentle man, a kind man, a giving man. He cared for his Juliet with a passion and dedication that some could not understand. He showered her with cards and roses and jewelry. When I met them, they instantly became family. They were a couple of sweeties who we enjoyed many special moments with over martinis and wine.

Their decision to leave this earth caused family and friends some emotional pain. It was the love for them that had us all agree it was the best decision for them.  And so began the many tasks of preparing for this day. The family, each dealing with anticipatory guilt, each holding a combination of past, present, and future needs, wants and fears, which raised voices and misunderstandings; including the questions of who loved who best and what is the definition of family and who deserves what. All things that had me spiralling spiritually as to how does this even matter with the action at hand.  Our friends are about to die.

That is the problem of knowing the due date of death.  We are aware, we don’t like it and we often try to control it or tweak the details to suit us. It gets murky as to what is best for your loved ones and what you might think is best. Opinions become facts and conversations are twisted. At a time where we should be closer and celebrating the lives of those we are about to lose, instead we become angry. What I discovered was that grief becomes even more complicated by unresolved past issues.

At the end of the day, not much could be fixed. We took Juliet to lunch for martinis. Romeo stayed home with the children. It seemed apparent that there were two families, not one saying goodbye. The ugly and sad side of any complicated love story. Where family caught up with their own expectations becomes blinded to the love that is of Romeo & Juliet.

We brought both to their bedroom to prepare for their departure. They had only, at the end of the day, a few moments alone because of the many friends and family rushing in to say their last goodbyes. I said to my husband, “what do you think were the last words they said to each other in that short of time?”  What do you say to the man you love to the depth of your soul? And Romeo, what do you say to the woman who has given you her entire life and her afterlife?  What possible words can be said to answer that question?  Are there any? 

Lying together, family at each side, Romeo and Juliet were injected with the medical drip to release them from this realm. I had placed a heart shaped stone of selenite to offer them a peaceful trip to eternity. They laid there, holding hands, falling into their transitional sleep.  I heard Romeo say, with a smile on his face, “I love you sweetie” and he passed. She spoke of family and how they were with her and passed with a contented sigh. A surreal ending. 

It was so quiet, so peaceful. There was no fight; it was total acceptance of the opportunity to move on. Romeo & Juliet, like their Shakespearean counterparts, had their trials and obstacles to overcome with those who opposed their love. They had their struggles to find balance amongst the defiance. They found strength in the knowledge that they are soulmates. They demonstrated love and loyalty and faithfulness to a degree experienced by few. They were not without their arguments, frustrations that come with a love that spanned across the decades, but in the end, they chose each other.  

I hope that Juliet left with the comfort that her Romeo loved her first and foremost.  And I hope that Romeo knew the love of his Juliet was immeasurable. He was always her only one.

It was about the two of them.  They made it about the two of them, barring all else, it was about the two of them. And thus, they chose to leave this life together. Holding hands.  Our very own modern-day Romeo & Juliet.

For Laura

March 19, 2023 /

There were near 600 of us, gathered to say goodbye to Laura. We were not supposed to be here. She was only 34 years old. She was planning her wedding to the love of her life. She had a blossoming career she was passionate about. She wanted to be a mother. It was supposed to be a routine ‘tune up’ and she died on the operating table. Sudden death. We are all thrown into shock. Her father, a close friend of ours, asked my husband, “when will it seem real?” to which my husband replied, “Never”.

Her story is that of so many of our children. A life enthusiast that brought the sun into each room she entered. She made friends with everyone she met, evident by the number of young people crowding the hall. It reminded me of Zane’s celebration. His friends, dressed to honor him, holding each other in disbelief, tears, and toasts to their buddy. At Laura’s many of them wore Nike running shoes…her favorite.  Even her father showed off a new pair, a whimsical contrast to the formal suit he wore.

I sat there listening quietly to the testimonies given and the promises to always remember her. I heard her fiancé question how he could go on without his soul mate.  I heard her younger brother share that he loved her because she always ensured he “was seen”. His words cut me deepest. I envisioned Payton in his place just a few years earlier, bravely thanking Zane’s friends for being there for her on that day and asking them to be there for her forever. A promise they have kept.

Funerals are not about closure so much, but more the opening to facing grief.  They are a forum for those in pain to gather and share their love for the one that has gone and find comfort together. We reminisce in our shock and the questions begin. How could this have happened.  How will we go on.  And the most important one, where have they gone. 

I listened to these sweet young adults, pleading for a dream or a sign that she is somehow still here.  I wanted to hug each one of them and reassure them that it is true. She has not left. She will show up in beautiful, magical signs that your heart will know is her. It might be a dime found, the sailboat emoji shared between her and her close friend, it might be a Nike ad or a rainbow reminding you of her favorite song.  There will be signs. And they will speak to your soul directly.

I wanted to tell them that they now are responsible for the promises made that afternoon. They must keep saying her name. Celebrate her special days and bring into their own lives ways to honor her, celebrate her, continue her legacy.  She was brave. She was fun in a mischievous way that made everyone laugh.  Be that.  For her.

This funeral was hard for me because it reminded me so much of Zane’s. She reminded me so much of Zane. The beauty of her human experience.  The numerous lives she shaped, enriched. The agony that she had so many adventures still to enjoy. The senselessness of her death. But also came that afternoon, the quiet reminder that I have come to understand in my own journey; it is her body that we can no longer hold but that her spirit stays with us. My hope for our friend is that this understanding may come to be his one day. 

The Sharpness of Anticipatory Grief

March 12, 2023 /

Our friends have chosen the day they wish to depart.  Through the assistance of MAID, they will be leaving this realm at the end of the month. We behave like they are planning to move. Which in essence they are. We tease as a distraction to what is happening by referring to it as ‘when you check out’.  The reality of their truth is only now starting to hit home.

The pre-planning of death has numerous facets. Wills need to be in place, utilities need to be notified, investments need to be transferred, accounts need to be closed. The house needs to be purged and sold. The cat needs to find a new home. It is demanding. We have spent a lot of time with our friends doing our best to minimize these stresses so that they may enjoy their last days here.

As family and friends are notified that there will be no more events attended by them as of this spring, emotions vary and are raw. Understanding their decision fluctuates with each person. I have had my moments. I wanted this year to be one with no more losses and their intentional planning messed that up. A reminder that life is rarely about oneself. I don’t want them to go.  We have had over thirty years of laughter and shared experiences. These two are more like family than friends.  They are aunt and uncle to my children. They are our go to for a martini and wine. And yet, they will be gone soon, and I know this. It is planned.

It is not a sudden death that throws you into grief.  It is anticipated which drags you, kicking and screaming to grief. And their decision is not about having a terminal illness or having endless pain, conditions that justify the desire to let your loved ones go. It is a personal decision they have made that their health and quality of life is not where they want to be, and it will only get worse. Thus, their choice. I get it. I am supporting them. It just doesn’t make it any easier.

The double edge sword of anticipatory grief is time. It is complicated because it holds promise and opportunity.  One has time to plan the remainder of life on earth and the hereafter with focus. One has time to have more. More conversations, more memories, more hugs, more dinners. This is the comforting side, knowing that death will soon be here we become more intentional. The other side is less friendly.

Anticipatory grief makes us anxious; it is the taunting knowledge that time will soon be gone. This type of grief makes it difficult to focus on daily tasks that now seem mundane but are necessary. It brings the anger and sorrow of loss to hang over the last memories you are cramming in before they go. It brings with it a different type of guilt, a nervousness of is there enough planned, what else can be done, said, experienced before they depart. Grief is exhausting. Anticipatory grief can be double exhausting because, although I am grateful that I do have more time with my friends, I carry with me the agony of knowing, with each minute, that there is coming a point where there will be no more time. Two more of my tribe will no longer be.  I can’t do anything about it.

I try to balance this madness by keeping busy doing little tasks for them that comfort them. I call them more often, visit them more often, ask more questions and share ideas of how we will honor them. We sort through photographs of past times and laugh at the “remember when…”

Our recent visit, my friend hugged me and tearfully said, “this is so hard, but I know that it is the right thing to do”. His strength found in his belief gives me the strength to keep showing up and to continue making memories with them that I will carry with me long after their final sunset.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2024 Good Mourning Grief

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑