Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #loss (Page 5 of 5)

When Graduation is Taken Away

June 6, 2021 /

Last year, and again this year, high school graduation is different.  Mothers rant about how their child is ‘ripped off’ of a graduation that was to be a gathering of classmates and friends to celebrate.  This grates on the nerves of some fellow grief warriors; the retort is at least their child is here to graduate. Death robbed us of this. 

Zane took University in stride.  He wanted to ensure he had a life balance so planned his courses accordingly stretching a 4 year degree into 7. He purposely chose to have all his favorite electives completed in the last year to finish with a slow and enjoyable end.  He was to graduate in June of 2019. He was killed in August of 2018.

It was the first action I took in honor of my son. He was just a few electives short of getting his degree.  A letter came from the President of the University that included his condolences and recognizing that our son was on the Dean’s list for his efforts.  He mentioned a posthumous degree and included the name of the staff member that could give me more information.  I called her right away. 

It was no easy feat; in fact it took months of trips to Court and the University to make this happen.  I was relentless and would not give up which included a meltdown in the Court bathroom (after application rejection number two) and the support of Nicole, the University staff member who pulled me back on to the ledge several times with extended deadlines and reassuring phone calls.  She was one of my Angels.

In the end, I gave the honor of crossing the stage to my husband.  It was a Father’s Day gift. Our family sat front row, watching Jon step onto the stage and shake hands, and accept Zane’s degree. We took pictures there of us and of Ryan, his friend and study-buddy; they were supposed to graduate together.  And in a sense they did. Then we came home to share a quiet, reflective drink in my boys’ honor.

So, I get the frustration of any graduate who is entitled but can’t be in a collective group and shout to the heavens “we did it”.  Graduation is a rite of passage that was earned from years of stress, late nights and hard work. How we envision it should be and how sometimes it actually is can be sad.  It can be downright heart-wrenching.  This is the only time that this graduation will happen and the graduates are robbed of it due to something out of their control. It is a loss.

This understanding brings a bit of compassion for the mothers who share on social media the angst of their child not being able to celebrate in a fashion they had expected. They are reacting to loss. And as one mother who has experienced the biggest loss of all, oh, how I get it.

Pictures of Loss

May 23, 2021 /

Grief comes back to haunt you when you move. As we come to the final round of preparing to leave the home we raised our children in, I am in awe of the endless amount of sentimental clutter that I have no room for. I have my grandmothers, my mothers and my own china. I have blankets and linen from aunts, grandparents and great grandparents. I have furniture that my grandfather made, my grandmother cared for, my father made and my mother loved. I realize I have been blessed to be the caregiver of their valued items for so many years. And then there are all of Zane’s things.

Each item holds not one but many cherished stories of its history and its purpose. Each item has been with me for over 30 years…some since I was a child. Giving up the material things we love brings grief with it. I am saddened that I no longer have the capacity to keep these things and somehow, because of this, I feel like I am failing those I love who have moved on and left me with their personal possessions.  This is about my son, about my parents, about all those I have lost whose material items stay with me.

This is a new grief I had not experienced before. This grief is a slap-in-the-face sort of feeling that there is a concrete end. In my new place, these things will never be. Only the memory of them will be. And that brings me back to the centre of my grief around losing not just the items, but the person attached to these items.

The imprinted energy will be gone. The physical touch will be gone. The visual sight…wait, can I keep the visual sight?  And then it hit me. I wrote about this (Grief Hits home); it was a suggestion to take pictures of each thing I must ‘leave behind’.  What if I have a collection of photos (at the end of the day) of all the cherished items that when I am missing them, I can look at the picture and see their glory? So, I have been doing that.  I have taken a picture of each item that I will not be taking with me.

Yes, I am strategically taking what I know I can’t leave behind without regret. And then there are some that I am leaving behind that I hope I won’t regret. (But I will have their picture). And then, there is still some, and probably too many, but these things I will bring with me. And in my new place, in some future time, I will have the ability to release them to their new life.  Just not now.

The items that I have said good-by to, I have found comfort when I find them a new loving home.  My Aunt’s beloved dresser is getting a face lift (thank you Karen) and will find a new home. The island sold to the single father who said he was going to use it to do his rice wraps on for his children brought comfort to me. The young woman who took Zane’s bathroom shelf said “it is the piece I have been looking for to fit in my home”. That made me smile.

Each of these items has a picture which honors them by creating a scrapbook of sorts of all of them that will include their moving away story.  And with that choice, I am finding some peace.  

A Day For Bereaved Mothers

May 3, 2021 /

I learned last year that the Sunday before Mother’s Day was titled Bereaved Mother’s Day.  This day is specifically for mothers who have lost a child.  I am not sure what the point of this is. It singles us out as who we now are but there is no fanfare or card or acknowledgement protocol. I did receive one text from a friend that she was thinking of me today. Did she know? Some of my fellow mothers have no idea this day exists.  Should there not have been a memo we received telling us about this day that focuses on moms who have lost a child?  Should there not be some sort of awareness campaign about this day?  About the significance of losing a child?

My “mother’s day” went about like any other day. I made brunch for Jon and a friend as they brainstormed a new business idea.  I did the laundry and cleaned the house.  We went and picked out flooring for the condo. The kids came over to do their laundry and tell us about their weekend. I’m about to make dinner. And not a word about today was mentioned. They don’t know.

 This is no fault of theirs; there is no blame about this. In fact, if such a holiday is to be, perhaps we, the grieving mothers, should be claiming this day a bit louder.  Maybe this is a day to stop and recognize where I am and why I am. Maybe it is a day for us to share our pain or at least how we are feeling. Or maybe, it is just the way it is supposed to be.  Maybe today is about taking time to be alone and think of your child that has left this realm. Maybe it is a time to reach out to other grieving mothers with a hug. Maybe it is a time to cuddle up and cry.  And maybe this is good enough as the next Sunday is the official Mother’s Day to which accolades and flowers and phone calls will arrive celebrating motherhood.

I am just confused with this holiday. Do we need one special day that recognizes us as a grieving mother?  Is that not what we are every day?  I feel that Bereaved Mother’s Day has the same undertones as grief. It is a day that people don’t know what to do with. It is confusing; it is not really shared or promoted.  It is awkward and ambiguous and personal.  Just like grief.   

To my fellow grief warriors, those mother’s who, like me, get up each day and continue to live and care for others, in spite of the pain and anguish of such loss….big hugs to each of you. And a reminder, that we are in this together.

Grief Has Hit Home

March 28, 2021 /

We had always wanted to downsize after the kids grew up and moved out. This becomes complicated when your child passes and moving becomes leaving the physical space of a lifetime of memories together. Our new place will not have Zane sit there and share a drink with us.  It will not have his fingerprints on the door or his voice fill the room with new things to remember.  Leaving this home feels like my son is leaving all over again.

I thought maybe I could remedy this by bringing all of his things with me. The problem with downsizing is that you no longer have the space for everything.  Tough decisions will need to be made as to what stays and what goes.  It takes the joy of moving to a bittersweet level.  Ironically fitting with everything else; life is bittersweet, including our move.

The suggestions have been to take pictures, give some of his things to friends, sell his stuff and use the money to buy something he would have liked. These are helpful ideas.  I might even try all of them. However, none of them brings his room, all his belongings with me.  None of these suggestions help me accept that his imprinted energy of living in this home for seventeen years will remain here.  Away from me.

I know that his spirit is everywhere. I know that he will know where I am and I expect more visits.  None of the aspects of communicating with my son on his new realm will change after the move.  That is not what I am grieving. I am grieving that the last home my son lived in, grew up in, will be gone.

What will happen to the tree he planted in grade three?  Will the new owners cut it down?  What happens to his bike that I look out each morning to see by the fence…remembering how much he enjoyed that as a boy. The view through the front window where he would pull up in his beloved car…I still look out that window, waiting for him to arrive. The piano he learned to play, the couch he played video games on, and the video games….our current home is still staged for his return. The new home will have none of this.  It simply cannot. These changes are kryptonite to me.

Someone suggested this move might help with my healing.  I can’t imagine how, but I hope so. Right now, with each step to prepare for our house to sell and to move away causes my heart to scream. Grief has hit home in every definition.

When You Lose a Child You Have Not Met

March 7, 2021 /

The unbreakable bond of motherhood begins when we are told we are pregnant.  In my second trimester, I had some unusual spotting and was sent for an ultrasound.  This was my first pregnancy and I was a ‘high-risk’. I asked the technician if everything was ok.  She said nothing. She asked me to go to the change room and wait. I sat there, wearing the blue paper gown, hand on my tummy, waiting to hear the fate of my child. I had never experienced fear as deep or hope as high as in that moment.

 She tapped on the wall next to my curtain and called my name.  I poked my head out. She smiled and said; “Your baby is fine”.  I sat back on the bench.  Relief filled me and suddenly I was crying.  The assurance that my child was ok, that this little life growing inside me was still here.

I share this experience because the memory of that day came flooding back when I received the news that my nephew’s fiancé had a miscarriage. I didn’t even know they were pregnant. They had invited us over to which their plan was to share the happy news. Instead of an announcement of joy, we received a call that the unthinkable happened and they needed a little time alone. They are grieving.

I am at a loss. I learned of both the pregnancy and the death in the same call. I want to run over but they have shut the doors and unplugged in their deep agony. Their choice is such a different way of grieving than the one we made where dozens of friends and family came through our doors when Zane was killed.

Yes, everyone grieves different.  And yes, you will not know how you will grieve until you are there.  I naturally thought, as every parent would, that I would die right on the spot. Instead, we were welcoming Zane’s friends into our home with open arms.  My husband sat next to these friends, asking for stories and soaking in the memories they shared. And we could do this because we had 26 years of experiences with our son. My nephew had only months of knowing that he was to be a father and dreaming of what that would be like.

Now, they will begin to hear all the usual things one says about such a loss; you are young, you can have another child, it wasn’t meant to be, and you will get past this.  Because what else do you say to a couple whose lost a baby they hadn’t met?  The truth is whatever their future will contain, that life, that baby, is no longer an earthly little bundle of joy but rather a spirit of energy they cannot dress or hold. 

A loss is a loss. Regardless of the age of your child, this type of loss is catastrophic.  It sends you to live in a world where all the hopes and dreams and expectations are gone for that child and for your life as it would have been with that child.  I ache for them; for being so very young in their journey to have to experience this type of pain.  

So, I did what we do when we don’t know what else to do.  I made soup and muffins that I will drop off at their door. I will wait until they are ready to be hugged. And in the meantime, I will share their pain from a distance.

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