Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #memorial

When Sadness is Doubled

October 1, 2023 /

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.

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. 

Memorial Tribute to Dan

March 5, 2023 /

Dear Dan,

Today marks one year since we held your hand and said our goodbyes. It seems like yesterday we were laughing about life’s absurdities and giving thanks we were in it together. It also seems like it was a lifetime ago. Your death was different than Zane’s.  I was able to say goodbye to you.  I was able to tell you how much I loved you. I was able to make promises about life after you leave.

Your leaving has brought changes, big changes.   These past twelve months, I have watched your family struggle without you. I have done my best to be there for them, a vow I made to you.  The impact you had on us is clear. The love and attention we received from you is missing.

I remain steadfast that your name comes first. I have watched your bed side predictions come to life and have struggled to cope with the new realities. I hope you know that I try. You knew better. Perhaps your predictions were not that at all.  Perhaps they were perceptions; that you knew, standing on the doorstep of death, what was coming.  Your soft-spoken words were not a request of me but an assurance for me that you knew.  It would be ok. I am going to hold on to that. I like the notion that, from wherever you are, that you are smiling with an “I told you so”. You are with us, able to see our pain but cheering us on from the heavens to create a life that brings us each happiness.

We continue to celebrate you, mindful of putting into place things that will honor you. We have received ‘gifts’ from you; obvious ones like the closer relationship I now have with your sister. Not so obvious ones too, like your visits through the electrical power of my light turning on in the middle of the night. I thank you for all of these.

Perhaps year two we can be a little louder, a little bolder. Like you were.  I promise to continue to bring you with us. I promise to say your name. I promise that you will always be family. Death will not change that. And I wanted to thank you for the reminder that life will go on and that you are ok that it does. And therefore, we should be.

Look at you, Dan, continuing to teach from afar. Thank you. “I.O.U. big time”.  

Tattooing Grief

January 30, 2022 /

My daughter has over a dozen tattoos.  Each one I would complain, “how can you do that to your body, you know it stays there forever”.  To which she would retort, “my body is my life canvas, I am painting it”.  Working with youth, my theory was (and still is) that tattoos are a way of expressing emotional pain.

Each year, since Zane was killed, I find myself at the table of my beautiful tattoo artist. The first year, Zane’s words, telling me he loved me were imprinted into my forearm.  The second year was a feather on my ankle (a touch up of a teenage tattoo that I have regretted and wanted covered) and the third was an outline of the kids and I when they were younger. I have this year’s tattoo picked out.

A fellow grief warrior shared with me that she has a plan for not one, but two tattoos in honor of her son. She never had one before and didn’t really like them.  She was perplexed that she wanted any, let alone two. I shared my story and she asked why do we feel an urge to do this?

I believe it goes back to my original theory.  We live in emotional pain and a tattoo is a way of expressing to the world, “I carry loss”. The desire for a tattoo is common amongst those in mourning. I have come to believe that the choice of getting a tattoo is not the point, but rather the choice of what would you like inked for eternity on your body is.  

What message do you want it to say?  What do you want it to represent? Of course, it is about our loved one so it should contain something that they liked or were like or reminds you of a certain characteristic of them. I believe where it is placed is important, especially if you plan for more.  (And I have found never say never to that idea!) Certain body parts are more sensitive like your ankle or rib cage where the skin is thinner so a smaller tattoo in those places might be preferred. Angel wings, butterflies or other mystical, message-carrying guides are also common to incorporate in a memorial tattoo.

Color is important. Bright colors bring a different energy than a soft watercolor or the subtle tones of grey.  What was your child’s favorite color? What colors bring you a feeling of peace? Imagination and Pinterest are your friends as the ideas are infinite.

For me, there is no plan to stop this tradition, which I do each year before or on the day he was killed. I have told my family that it is something I feel I NEED to do and one year I might wake up and say enough.  Until then, this ritual brings a weird calm; an annual testament letting the world know, “I am in pain”.  And to Zane, it states, “I will never forget you.  You are always with me”.

An Upside to Funerals

August 22, 2021 /

When a child dies, you have no idea where your grief will take you. And yet, you are expected to plan and host a ‘celebration’ for your child right away.  This is our culture. We followed protocol as most families do.  I have one fellow mom who could not and has not in the past two years held any sort of ceremony for friends and family to gather and remember her son.

Her child’s friends have complained about this; about not being able to have some closure. For mothers there is no closure and if this mother chose to not have a memorial, for whatever reason, let her grieve her way.  Then I attended a funeral for a mom whose son passed in March and because of circumstances, we gathered just this week. And his friends came.  And I saw a different side.

Somehow, this ability to gather as a larger group and remember their friend was very important. The ability to cry openly, and share stories and hugs was therapeutic. The opportunity to give their condolences to his mother and to share her grief of a loss that affected all of us was necessary. We went from the church to the graveyard where more tears and more memories followed with us.

This mom had gone an extra step.  She had taken his best friends to the cemetery prior to the funeral to share and receive feedback of the plot she had chosen. One of the stories from a young man who had been a part of this day, told us of how they had asked for a sign that their departed friend was with them.  And in the skies, the clouds spelled his name! All who there that day nodded, they had seen it too.  And they all smiled.  Smiled. Yes, this is good mourning.

The strength this mother demonstrated was inspiring.  She was a strong woman before his death.  Her strength has only grown from the love of her son and the innate understanding that he needed to be honored and his friends needed to have some sort of forum to grieve.

She asked me if a funeral is just a technicality.  I said yes and no. For us mothers, it is just another terrible day, an event to gather our strength and show up. Every day is a funeral after you have lost a child. However, for the friends of our child, it is a necessary step to begin healing. I knew this but had not witnessed its importance until I attended her sons’ funeral.

I do believe we all choose what we can do and how we do it to honor our children.  Judgment is not found here.  What is here is a comment that our society has this neat package around death. We are taught that funerals are the main event which enables us to move on. If we could create a culture where living with and bearing witness to pain outside of a funeral is reality, perhaps then we wouldn’t need them as much.  

Maybe funerals are avoided because the pain is too great but that is the funny thing about pain. It doesn’t go away so we need to tame it and somehow the upside to funerals is that it creates a place that can start that.

Choosing the Final Resting Spot

April 11, 2021 /

When my father was dying, we discussed where his final resting place might be.  We agreed it would be with me.  He wanted nothing fancy.  “Put me in a cardboard box and as long as you want me, I will know that I am traveling with you and Jon”. That was 25 years ago and he is still travelling with us.

Choosing your child’s final resting spot is a whole other level.  It is something we should not have to think about, but for the community I live in, it is an ugly reality. This past weekend, our friends invited us to be a part of placing their son in his ‘final resting spot’. It was an experience I was not ready for.

Every detail they agonized over.  Choices of what to place in the tomb with his urn were made. His father wore his son’s clothes and took his baseball cap off to place with the other beloved items.   My husband spoke, welcoming their friends and together we shared our love for their son and their grief.

It was much like a memorial until it was time to seal the tomb. I had no idea it would affect me in the way that it did.  Watching the men lining the top with a heavy bond and then placing the lid to seal the urn and his personal belongings into a place for eternity was heart wrenching. I thought of our sons’ urn at home. I thought of my father’s urn. I can hold or speak to their urn at any time; I can move them from room to room. They are mobile. The thought of having their urns anywhere but with me, seems incomprehensible. And although I truly respect their decision, a final resting spot is not something I had thought about until that afternoon; witnessing the urn placed in a beautiful memorial marble tomb that we will not be able to hold or touch again.  It was final, too final for me.

Each of us has our reasons for what we do. Our choices are made to assist us with what we need to mourn. Each of us is different, yet with a lot of similarities. We want to honor our child, protect our child, and do right by our child, even after death.

Our friends ensured each detail was about their son.  His final resting place is near a pond where he might want to have fished. He is positioned to be ‘looking’ west, towards home. And it has a beautiful bench to sit on. As difficult as it was for them to place their son in a final resting spot, they feel it will bring some peace to know that he is forever safe in a place where all his friends and family can visit. Which we will do.

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