Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #remembering

Celebrating the One and Only Kirk

May 26, 2024 /

It was as good as a funeral can get. Purposely planned to be held on his birthday. I like the irony of having the funeral on the person’s birthday. We did the same for Zane. It is Shakespearean poetry to celebrate the person who passed on the same day they came to earth. A sort of full circle, the cycle continues vibe.

The kids planned a party with all their father’s wishes included.  And then some. They made him proud. The room was filled with family and friends, reunited with a drink in hand and lively conversations. Stories of our friend Kirk were shared, and tearful speeches and a video that captured each stage of his life. “I know dad is here,” his son said, “I can feel him”. We could all feel him. His spirit was tangible.

As we danced on the patio, shouting out the lyrics of “Do you believe in love”, to the heavens, each of us were taken back and held in the love we have shared with Kirk. Friend, father, grandfather, brother, husband…this man lived a full life. The proof was in the faces of the many incredible people he connected us to in life and death.

Kirk’s example of a life well lived, including his own personal tribulations, is why the room was filled with more laughter than tears. He was about “never give up”. He was about embracing every experience as a learning tool to become a better, stronger person. He was about “…and then some”. These are attributes we can adopt for ourselves in honor of him.

Whatever you want to call them, funerals, celebrations, memorials, they are all meant to be about goodbye. They are supposed to be designed to offer closure. And yes, we hold space to remember and honor our loved ones. And yes, it is about acknowledging our pain that we can no longer hear their voice or feel their touch. But it does not have to be about goodbye.

 I believe that these gatherings are not about letting go but rather about holding on differently. How do we move forward with them in spirit. What promises are we making to continue to honor them past this day. What about them will we carry within us as we continue living here. How will we say their name. When we gather to say goodbye, let’s not call it an end but rather a new beginning of how we will continue their story. “And then some…”

Kirk’s last gift of this day, to the people he loved, came from a cloud of soft thunder that reminded all of us “Our loved ones are never truly gone.” They sit beside us. Love never dies.

A Toast to Kim

October 23, 2022 /

Kim and I sat together on his patio one sunny Ontario afternoon. He and my sister-in-law, Shalley, had just moved into their renovated bungalow overlooking Rice Lake. There was a flurry of people arriving; loud chatter and food being prepared for the masses.  It was a typical day for Shalley, her desire to celebrate each moment morphs a quiet family dinner into a community potluck every time! I enjoy this but it was a new concept for Kim, a quiet and gentle soul whose love for Shalley brought him many new adventures.

He looked over at the semi-organized chaos and said to me, “is it always like this?”  I patted his hand and said, “yes, always, but you’ll get used to it”.  His face was thoughtful. He took a sip of his beer.

Kim did get used to it.  In fact, he relished in it. The open-door policy to which a non-stop parade of family and friends would land to bask in their hospitality.  Kim, in his chair, engaging you in light conversation of an array of topics, a good and insightful listener, always with an “oh yea” affirmation accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Kim’s way of letting everyone else take center stage while he cheered and applauded you makes you feel special.  His quiet demeanour refreshes you.  Young and old love to be close to Kim-his soul inspires.

And like he lived; Kim passed one beautiful morning.  Quietly, peaceful, in his favorite chair with his dog by his side.  It was unexpected.  But then Kim was an unexpected bonus to our family.  We will miss his physical presence, the escorted country-side tours in his Model-T car, the afternoons hanging out in his man-cave.

Family and friends will gather to share stories and celebrate the person he was on earth. As the crowd grows bigger, the laughter and conversations will rise to the heavens where Kim will be watching.  Perhaps with a cold beer. I can hear him say, with a warm smile, “it’s always like this”.

Thank you, Kim, for motivating the rest of us to appreciate the beauty of a sunrise, the wonders the day might bring, and to understand the peaceful joy of a sunset over the still lake. I look forward to visits with you from your new realm.

The Tipping Point of Grief

November 28, 2021 /

With the donations that my work received, in honor of Zane, we agreed to create a community project that would benefit youth. We chose mindful photography because of Zane’s passion for taking pictures and how he believed that getting behind the camera reduces anxiety and improves mental health. There were many people along the way that made this happen starting with a close friend who creatively named our course #zaneography and single handily arranged all the pieces to make it happen.  Last week I attended the wrap up of the first class.  I was not prepared.

I sat on the sidelines watching the beautiful, skilled facilitator talk about the pictures that the youth had taken. Her words were kind and motivating, capturing the blossoming talent of each participant. She had printed their work on a black background and had them hanging on the wall. The participants showed pride and commented on how they enjoyed this experience and how they want to continue shooting pictures. Oh, how my son would enjoy hearing this.  And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

As the youth chatted over pizza, I stood up and went over to take a closer look at the pictures.  They all told a story, illustrating the lessons of using dark and light that they had learned. One photo, taken by a youth that I felt had a similar energy to Zane, took a silhouette picture of himself under a lamp pole. It captured the light and mood perfectly and it reminded me of pictures Zane had taken of himself under a streetlight at a construction site.  And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

I said my goodbyes and the facilitator hugged me. As I held her, I thanked her for her very large and important part in making this happen and I realized just how this desire to honor my son was something that I had not been sure would ever happen.  And perhaps that was the tipping point of my grief burst.

I left, barely getting to my car before the tears came. Sitting in my car, sobbing, the pain of my son not being here to take more photos, to enjoy another adventure of finding the perfect subject, the perfect light to capture a moment. Oh, how he loved photography.  How the camera soothed his soul and excited him to find new ways to look at life. I sat crying and shouting to God where was his justice until I was hoarse.

We are taught to honor our children.  We are told that good mourning is about finding ways to continue to do what they loved. We are told of the importance to share their passions with others; to remember them through the sharing of what they enjoyed in life. What they didn’t tell us, or what I seemed to have missed, is the pain that comes with this. The sharing, experiencing first-hand what they loved without their physical presence is the tipping point of grief bursts.

The ‘bitter-sweet’ they call it; happy to see it happen but sad that your child is not a part of it. That part.  It has a cutting edge to it that does not comfort you but rather slices you open to reveal the pain and injustice of your life. It is raw. It is painful. And yet, would I change it?  No. Because the other thing we grief warriors have learned is that the pain of grief only equals the love we have.  And for Zane, there is a whole lot of love.

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