A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #tribute

Soul Coaching from Audrey

She came into my life as the woman who married my husband’s father. She was grandma to my children. She was not always easy to be with because she was opinionated and blunt.  Some would say no filter. I’m not sure why she was like that. She seemed oblivious to how some of her comments came across as criticism, but you had to appreciate her “I told you so” attitude. She knew what she liked, and she made sure she got it. These attributes made her seem difficult at times for everyone except my father-in-law.  He loved her unconditionally. And when he passed, he asked if we would care for her.  And we promised we would.

I woke to the news that she had died. It was not shocking; her age and poor health gave reason for why. It has left me pondering, would my father-in-law say we took care of her?  I can find comfort that I did reach out with letters and phone calls.  But was that enough? I can make excuses as to why I did not do more. And that made me think, do we create regrets by choosing to not connect. The family and friends that we have who are not as seemingly loveable as others we choose to spend less time with. If there was a misunderstanding or a mishap, it justifies even more why we don’t hang out with them.  But does this choice become the foundation to stunt our own growth? Perhaps, in some ways it might.

We have so little time here on this earth. Where do grievances benefit us? If I believe that we all sat at a table planning this life and who would play what role, before we landed here as humans, do I not owe those I encounter some respect for agreeing to share this life with me prior to even meeting? At the very least, when they are hurting, am I not to put my differences aside to hold them? Maybe these are the souls that can enlighten us. If so, then if my choice of action is to ignore, mistreat or walk away, how will enlightenment be mine? I think in our life come these souls whose role is to give opportunities to practice compassion.

Audrey was one of those souls. Her antagonistic wit had us all on our toes. She taught us the importance of clarifying one’s motives. She taught us to go after what you love. She demonstrated that perfection is not part of being human. She taught us that anyone can apologize. She cared deeply for those she loved. She opened her home to us and relished having us travel with her. She did it her way and although that made her come across as sometimes salty, she was real.  I liked that about her.

 Our family, especially my sister-in-law, took the promise we made seriously.  We continued to include her in our lives after the death of my father-in-law.  We welcomed her with the understanding that no one is perfect, and we are not to judge the capacity or depth of love expressed from another. We accepted her for her, and we shared time as family. An extra ten years, we would not have had, if we had chosen to walk away. And in those years, there were some great moments that included laughter, cold drinks on a sunny patio and heart-felt conversations. I enjoyed her. I loved her.  

As for Audrey, I know she appreciated us. I know that she loved us. I know that wherever she is now, she knows we tried.  And that must be good enough for me.  We kept our promise.   

Audrey, thank you for enlightening me. From you, I have learned that life is too short for regrets. I am grateful for the times we shared and trust that bliss greeted you on the other side. Say hi to everyone there for me.

For Laura

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

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”.  

A Toast to Kim

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.

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