Tag: #zaneforever26 (Page 3 of 12)

Moments of Thanksgiving

October 12, 2025 / Mama Fish

Thanksgiving, the annual event where family and friends gather to celebrate all that is good. It is a time to reflect on the experiences of the past year, being grateful for what we have received. “How lucky are we.” It is also a lonely time for those feeling not so lucky. This year, I have struggled and found myself questioning the meaning of the holiday.

For those in my close circle, life has been overshadowed by job loss, poor health, vanished love, and more death. All things no one wants to celebrate. And we are not a whoa-is-me clan. We rally, kick off the mud, and carry on. It just leaves us tired. And that shows hard this year. So, pulling out all my positive mantras and ‘happy camper’ attitudes, I challenged my summarization that this was a crappy year.

I have enjoyed family from afar that have come to visit us, filling my mind with new memories of laughter shared.

I am blessed to have travelled to Ireland with my daughter, husband and my son’s spirit. What an incredible trip that will always fill my heart with the joy of the experience of such a beautiful place. A bonus was my sweet friend, and her family joined to guide us through their homeland. And we all came back safe. Big thanks to Payton for making it happen.

I relished in my annual traditions. Going to Canmore, the Stampede, Mameo and summer drinks on roof top patios. I even enjoyed our tiny deck more this year, ensuring that cocktails became a daily pleasure in the afternoon sun.

Even alongside the tough moments, there have been glimmers of gratitude. Visits with a close friend who has a brain tumor; he continues to share his sense of humor with us, always managing to make us feel loved. My ‘bonus kids’ inviting us to happy celebrations and calling on me for support in rough times. How lucky am I to be able to be there for them. And they for me. Blessings sometime come wrapped up in the strength of connection to face adversity.

Attitudes of how we view life are empowering. It is the only control we have; the decision how we choose to look at what we are dealt with. The good, the bad and the ugly. Challenging times can dominate the better times, and we tend to wallow in a pool of self-claimed pity. It leads us away from the high vibrancy level we need to be our best for those here and those on the other realm. While I believe in having a deserving minute to pout…staying there is not an option for good health.

Perhaps that is my Thanksgiving lesson. Knowing that each moment is its own, I must live each moment, regardless of its content, accepting that the next moment will be different. Although this year has brought big sadness and new concerns, if I choose to thrive in the moments of Thanksgiving that were also served this year, I will find the strength I need.

May each of you hold close to the people and things that bring you peace, that give you joy. And may you receive blessings that remind you, even in our dark days, there are bright moments. Hang tight to those.

Using Music As a Time Machine

October 5, 2025 / Mama Fish

Recently I had the opportunity to look after a friend’s home while she was away. We kidded it might be a vacation for me. Although work was still on the calendar, I did rearrange things such that I had a lot of time alone. What I discovered was a missing piece to my serenity.

Only my family knew where I was staying, and they honored me with the solitude I was asking for. When I first arrived, my mornings began reading a chapter of my book and then a meditation in the sunshine of her east backyard. The only sound was the passing of cars. I spent the day working from her bright kitchen, taking time for lunch and finishing early to run errands or meet a friend for happy hour. I’d come home to the smells of the crockpot dinner I had organized earlier.

All this made me feel brave enough to experiment. I poured a glass of wine and asked Google to play Boston. I wasn’t sure if the music would trigger me when I was feeling so Zen-like and thought if it did, it didn’t matter. I was alone. As if my Angels were thinking the same thing, the first song to come over the speaker was “More than a feeling”-my favorite. It took me back to the summer of 1977 in Montana and I found myself dancing, singing the lyrics out loud. The songs took me back to the girl I used to be.

I enlisted this musical therapy each afternoon after that. Asking Google to play Journey, Cat Stevens, Shawn Phillips, Roberta Flack. The music of my youth. Before I got busy, old, forgotten. They were affirmations that rejuvenated something deep within. They carried laughter and tears with each tune.

And with each play, I remembered the messages that became the foundation of my beliefs, of what I wanted for earth, for life, for love. For myself. I couldn’t wait for the workday to end such that I would be alone, sitting and listening to the lessons taught to me in the early days. Before regrets, before tragedy.

“…The girl child of loveliness…woman, angry now… woman, of the land, …” I am back to my youth. I am wearing long flowing dresses of cotton, and gold bangles adorn my arm. I am fearless. I am confident. I am saving the underdog. I have purpose. The music of my youth flooded over me with happy memories of all that was possible. I am transferred to another time. And then the songs end, and I sit in the quiet and ask myself, “Where, oh God, where is she now?”

Music is powerful because it speaks to the soul. The lyrics are lessons, reminders, encouragement of who we are. Or were. Or want to be. When we are young, they are idealistic. Listening to the lyrics now, much older, the phrases cut deeper, shout out louder. That was the interesting discovery I made listening to music from my youth.

Songs can fill our heart with hope, joy or at the very least, reflection. Music was so important to me. It was my lifeline in times when I was struggling and felt that no one was listening. Zane loved music. It was his lifeline also. Maybe for the same reasons. Maybe for different reasons. I can add that to my list of topics to talk to him about when we are together again.

What I do know is that his love for music, he shared with me. I get how and why it is the best free therapy available. I am glad he consumed it. His love for music was why it has always been my biggest trigger. In my grief, I was forgetting that it is also therapy. Therapy that I didn’t know I needed until I was singing along with the memories of my own youth.

The Art of Compromise

September 28, 2025 / Mama Fish

In the beginning of my grief, I rallied. There were too many people that were drowning, and my motherly instincts were to put my own grief on the back burner to support those I loved. This was comfortable for me, putting my needs aside for others is a life-time practice. Thus, that is how I handled my grief. It can wait. I will deal with it when I am alone. The trouble was, I was never alone.

As time pushed all of us ahead, my grief morphed into the health challenges that occupy so much of my time now, ironically having me face my own grief better than I have been doing and putting up new boundaries that are requiring all of us to get used to.

As grievers, we know that grief is a path we walk together but it is also a solo journey. Each person must handle their grief in the way that best comforts them. This can cause struggles when one person expects the other to respond in the same way, but to which doesn’t work for both.

As I become more aware and thus more vocal about what I need, I am finding that it is not what some of my loved ones want and push back happens. I have had recent conversations with family and friends of what they are expecting of me that conflict with my new awareness. I find myself at a crossroads; do I continue on my healing path, or do I step off to ensure that they are ok. The answer is not an easy one.

So, compromise comes to the table. A conversation around what the individual needs are. An agreement that there might not be an understanding of these needs, but an acceptance of trust that the needs are valid. Compromise must be fair and comfortable for all parties.

I am learning that compromise takes work. It requires putting ego aside and letting love lead the conversation. It requires individual time to process “can this work with my needs” before agreeing and then creating unjudgmental space to try it. With each new happening, compromise needs to be reviewed and adjusted. Above all, it requires respect; the affirmation that we are each hurting in different ways, for different things. If this can be shared, then peace is achieved. And grief is supported.

The word compromise is beautiful. A Latin origin that means “a mutual promise”. When said that way it sounds less commanded or mechanical. It might bring an attitudinal change; instead of saying, “I have to compromise…” to say, “I have a mutual promise.” And that may be all we need to heal.

A Mother’s Last Message

September 21, 2025 / Mama Fish

Over the summer, I had the honor of supporting a young woman whose mother was dying. It was a misdiagnosis a year ago. When things got worse, and her mom ended up in hospital, they were told she only had a few weeks before cancer would take her away. A blanket of disbelief wrapped them up and I was called and asked for help.

I knew this young woman as a friend of Zane’s who frequented our home over the high school years. She is brilliant, beautiful and carries a strength I have witnessed grow within her for decades. She has pursued life fearlessly. She faced her mother’s fate the same way. She left her home in BC to come back and take the role of caregiver, advisor and advocate to her mother’s needs. She balanced her feelings to support the emotions of her grieving family. And in the end, she ensured that her mother’s final wishes to leave this earth from her home, surrounded by family and friends was granted.

At her request, I attended the funeral. I had not met her mother in all the years that her daughter was part of our lives. I felt a bit like an imposter, coming to a funeral of a woman I did not know. But I knew her daughter and I had met her other two children, and I wanted to hold them in their darkest hour. The celebration of life reflected who her mother was in an afternoon of laughter and tears, leaving me with the understanding of how joyful her mother was and an awareness of where the strength was born.

As I listened to the tributes, I thought to myself, they speak of the love of a mother. The commonalities of motherhood; of how she created a home that had an open-door policy and within their home a sense of festivity at any time of the year. Especially Christmas for her family. I heard of how she had balanced work, to be home for her children, a task that was not easy. I heard how she found solitude in the forests and how nature soothed her. I’m watching the video of her life as wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend and I thought to myself, she is extraordinary. She has taken the role of wife and mother and by her dedication, I am sitting in a room of people who already miss her.

Each celebration of life carries a message. Yes, it involves how wonderful the deceased was and the impact they had with their own perspective of how life should be lived. This celebration reminded me of how blessed I am to be in the role of mother, of its importance to so many. However, what truly hit home was her last message to her family. Her belief, that was recorded and played for all of us to hear. She said, “I want to be a part of all the special events. Even if it can’t be in the physical, it’ll be in the non-physical. I love you all…” And that message, her family will cling to for the rest of their lives. What a gift to believe that love overcomes death. It does not separate us. And what a bigger gift to pass that belief onto your children.

Discovering the Matrix of My Soul

September 14, 2025 / Mama Fish

I arrived in Ireland feeling so sick from the overnight plane ride that I could hardly wait to get to the hotel room and crash. My family found me there hours later and described me as comatose. Not a great start to a trip of a lifetime, but then again, we know I am not a good traveler.

Albeit a rough first day, the trip was everything and more than I thought it could be. The country is gorgeous, the people are friendly, the rumors of how much drinking happens are all true. We stayed in a hotel in downtown Dublin so walking to shops, bars and restaurants was easy. It was delightful. My favorite part of it was the awareness that our clan all live there in some other life.

It was uncanny how many people we saw that made us take a double look to know they were not our family and friends from Canada. We are shopping in Penny’s, and I see Sandra heading into the make-up section. Before my brain could remind me that Sandra (aka sweetie) passed two years ago, I shouted out, “Sweetie, over here!” This person was a carbon copy. She wasn’t the only one there. We saw family and friends that are no longer here on earth, and some that are still here. It became a game of who we would see next. We agreed that Ireland is our clan’s serene matrix.

A highlight for me had to be the Jameson Distillery tour. We went on our last day. We took ‘the dude’. We went because Zane would love this tour. I wanted to find a whiskey I can enjoy better than the original one we must drink in his honor. The distillery is surrounded by apartments overlooking the courtyard. I smiled. This is where Zane would be living. The energy of this place had me in tears from the first step inside the door. The tour itself was divine.

When learning of the process and history of Jameson & Son, we were told that each bottle label has the phrase “Sine Metu”. It means without fear. Zane’s friend had taught him “wo bu pa” to which Zane shared with his friends. He loved the phrase, which is about “I am not afraid.” The similarity of the Irish phrase had our jaws drop.

At the end of the tour, we shopped for souvenirs and a bottle to bring home. I was drawn to a brand of Jameson’s called Method & Madness. It was another term Zane used a lot. A young woman who worked there came up beside me and I asked about this brand. She told me that it was the whiskey that changed her mind about all whiskeys. She first tried it seven years ago. Her favorite is Hazelnut. It has been seven years since I have held Zane. Hazelnut was Zane’s coffee favorite, as is mine. I was sold. And then she said her name was Rachel (the name of a girl that Zane had loved deeply). I threw my arms around her. She had no idea why I was hugging her. Why I was crying. She just hugged me back and said, “I promise you will enjoy this”.

Ireland brought us together with friends who showed us their homeland. It gave us glimpses of loved ones who are no longer with us, but reassurance that they are not gone. It gave us a connection to our own roots, our heritage and why we live with the attitude that there is always time for “one more shot”! This trip gave me the comfort that for each of us, there is a liminal place where we will be rejoined with those we love and miss. For me, it is Ireland.

Gratitude goes to my daughter who insisted I take this trip with her as a gift from her brother and her. Apparently, it is something they had wished for, to which she says she can now strike off her own bucket list.

When Grief is Blinding

September 7, 2025 / Mama Fish

August was rough on all of us. Especially for my daughter, in ways she is aware of and in ways she has not yet come to understand. The story begins two days before her brother’s death day. A friend of Payton’s lost her brother, and then another friend lost his best friend. Payton found herself consoling each friend of the impacts of losing a brother to sudden death. She was strong, supportive and present for both and their respective families.

This was the catalyst of her angst. Grief arrived heavy. And angry. It was too much to bear, so close to the anniversary of her own loss. It birthed an intense desire to go over her own life and what she wants. More importantly, what she needs. And the answers to her introspection are different than anything any of us had imagined.

She admits she is afraid. She has come to an intersection of many unknowns and that is scary. What she isn’t seeing yet, is the drive behind her, the reason why she wishes to move every aspect of what is to what might be. It is because of the past seven years. The cyclical wreckage of holding it together and then falling apart. Her physical, emotional well being are nonexistent. Her soul is screaming, intuitively pushing her back onto a path she was derailed from when her brother was killed.

What she can’t clearly see is the love and the support of those around her to which will be her refuge when she awakens. When the pain of her decisions softens, the current blindness to how deep her grief is will become clear.

As grief warriors, we sometimes fall into the trap that others expect of us. The “I should be better by now” stage. My daughter felt that she should be healed enough to be counsel to her friends, that her grief, after this long, should be in check with the expectations of her present life. Time allows us to become blind to our grief. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, it shakes us hard, reminding us that we are changed and insisting to examine if the changes fit into our current day. It is a distinctive process of grief. It cannot be ignored.

That is where my daughter now finds herself. Intensified by the deaths of her friends’ brothers, her own grief has insisted that she see the areas that she needs to change. The necessity of shaping a more comfortable, loving space to live with all her losses.

Her reality is paused by her latest quest. Paying homage to a tattoo she has, “give me a lifetime of adventures”, she is enjoying a trip she planned to take seven years ago. Before her plans, all our plans were blown up. This trip is her need to revisit her life before grief took over. Her soul knows that the black sands under the northern lights will soothe her heart. As her mother, it is my hope that this trip will be the reset she needs to follow her true north, alongside the energy of those who guide her from above.

Bucket List Bound

August 31, 2025 / Mama Fish

When I was a young girl, I was fearless. I jumped off higher ledges than any boy. I drove the go-karts faster than anyone else. I fought for the underdog without any thought I too would be beaten up. I loved to explore everything. I had dreams of far away countries to visit. And then I grew up.

Adulthood, specifically motherhood, brought the realization that I was not invincible. I now had little people counting on me. I had to be safe. I had to be careful. If there were glimpses of maybe I could be more daring, they were shattered when Zane was killed. His death glued me to the belief that nothing can happen to me because my family really needs me now. It’s not ego that this comes from. It is pure fear.

So, this upcoming trip to meet my husband and daughter in Ireland has me scared. I hate to travel, but I am now travelling alone, over the ocean. Anxiety is at an all-time high. Nothing about airplane safety, the reassurance from my friends, or my brain telling me it’s going to be ok is comforting. I asked my Guides for signs. I need spiritual convincing that this trip will be a beautiful earthly experience.

I was cleaning out a box of old journals and one book drew me into opening it and reading some of the passages I wrote from decades ago. Included in it was a bucket list, and on this list was to own a VW beetle. I smiled, remembering the time after that list, when I was looking for a car and wanted a beetle, but it was impractical. It wouldn’t fit my multiple event supplies, or the kids golf clubs. It was Zane who said, “mama, you have always wanted this car. It’s on your bucket list. Get the damn car. Dad can drive our clubs.” I bought the car. It was the same car that I drove all over Alberta and Montana in. It was the same car my children learned to drive in. It was a bucket list item I loved, no regrets.

I continued reading the list. It was simple, motherly things like a home my children felt safe in. A quiet afternoon to enjoy nature. To write a book. And to visit Ireland. I stopped. Ireland? Where did this come from? I don’t remember writing down Ireland. I laughed out loud.

I think my spirit guides are playing with me. What better sign than to stumble across an old diary page that tells me I wanted to see Ireland. I’m off to Ireland. And I believe with the blessing of the Universe to have a safe and magical holiday. As only the leprechauns of this fair emerald country can bring.

Finding the Blue Sky by Joseph Emet

August 24, 2025 / Mama Fish

Grief brings with it a lot of negative thinking. Happiness is elusive. The book “Finding the Blue Sky” by Joseph Emet was a suggested read for me to help move my own grey clouds. An enlightening read containing twelve chapters. Each begins with a story, then a reflection and a practice. It is a book that I will be sharing with my grief circle as another tool to help ease our pain.

Mr. Emet speaks of the importance of regulating our moods to obtain balance. Only in finding balance, will we experience peace. How this comes to be we tend to complicate unnecessarily. We become caught up in ‘our own story’ to which can keep us closed to understanding the pain of others. He shares the story of a noisy neighbor who kept him up all night and when the neighbor shared with him of his multiple losses, Mr. Emet writes, “…all traces of “poor me” slowly drained out of my own story of the night before.” Being open to the fact that all of us are struggling doesn’t make us happy, it makes us compassionate. He reminds us that there are also stories within stories. You must be aware of the purpose of your story; of the effect your story has on you. Our stories can deplete our happiness. He suggests “Do not give up on your happiness. Give up the story you are telling yourself instead.”

How do those grieving change their story? How does our story of loss hold any happiness? Mr. Emet had his work cut out to prove this to me as I continued reading. And the following chapters reaffirmed what we already know. In his delightful and soothing compilations, he reminded me that I must not apologize for my grief. I must own it. I must tend to it through meditation, patience and self-care.

We must be mindful of our real needs and value them. “If we don’t value our needs, others may not value them either.” Mr. Emet suggests that needs can be satisfied through fun. Involving ourselves in activities that we enjoy, is a form of self-care. We can connect and appreciate the ‘right now’ better. This practice of including fun in our lives helps with our relationships with others and our own self growth.

“We see the world differently depending on our emotional state”. This is so true for those of us whose eternal emotional state is bittersweet. His suggestion is to train your brain to stay in the here and now, to thank your brain for each thought but to not get caught up in that thought. This practice can help wake our soul to what happens, “…not when the alarm rings, but when the meditation bell rings”.

An enlightening reminder is the tip from Mr. Emet, “Don’t get in your own way”. He writes, “If you want to go someplace, take your foot off the brake.” So often when grieving we get stuck. Fear, heartache, lack of energy are all realities that hinder exploring happiness. We tend to stay put because we don’t want to leave our loved ones behind. We must remember that they are right beside us. They can be our driving partner. And with that belief, finding the blue sky, might be possible.

A Toast to Zane

August 17, 2025 / Mama Fish

We made it another year. August is our toughest month. We relive the day Zane was killed. We celebrate his birthday. We battle through, holding each other and feeling our heartache, the bruises of this journey. It is what each grief warrior experiences with the death day and the birthday of their loved one. Our family is no different. This is how we have chosen to deal with it.

Seven years ago, when our world changed forever, we asked Zane’s friends how they wished to celebrate him. It was unanimous that the 7^th was to be quiet, individually pausing, no fanfare but the 13^th, the day of his arrival to earth, well, that day had to be cheered. And thus, each year, we are blessed to have many of his friends join us for a toast to Zane. This year was very difficult.

Other recent losses our family is experiencing are loud this month. But before these new hardships entered, I was already feeling the angst of August. I think mostly because of the number. There is something about seven that bothers me. It seems so long ago and yet we don’t feel that way. This year’s celebration was held at Zane’s first favorite pub and twenty of his friends came to play pool, catch up, enjoy the night and share stories of our unforgettable boy.

Each year I make a toast. This year I had to write it down. I was afraid of not remembering what I needed to say. Each year, I give out a little token, symbolic of something Zane would like or do. This year it was a key chain, a compass with a quote from Henry Thoreau that Zane loved. The line, “Live the life you have imagined” was one of Zane’s last journal entries. It is the line we had on his celebration card. It is what I reminded his friends to do in his memory with the following toast:

Today is Zane’s 34th birthday. A “seven” in numerology. No coincidence that it happens to fall on the 7th year since he was here physically. There is some magic, some supernatural cosmic underlying energy about this year.

7 is a heavenly number. A vibration of introspection and connection. Something Zane was all about. It is about paths becoming clearer. Direction becoming clearer. A push to move toward purpose.

In that number, action needed includes all things Zane loves. Exploring, discovering, lighting the world on fire.

Let’s use this year, the magical number 7 as a message of hope. A confirmation that our loved ones are forever connected to us. Death does not change that.

This birthday, let our gift to Zane be what he said 7 years ago, “Live the life you have imagined.”

And with that toast, we continued laughing and crying until my family poured me home to bed, taking the next day off to recover. Another year, our tribe continues to survive. Together.

Connection Through a Wind Phone

August 10, 2025 / Mama Fish

I came across the story of the Wind Phone a few years ago and called the woman who brought this novel idea from Japan to the U.S. It is a symbolic phone booth built and placed in a public spot, for those grieving, giving them the experience to call their loved ones. A healing concept I felt should be brought to Calgary. Time marched on and when I investigated how this might happen, I found out it was already here.

I waited to experience it, choosing the day before Zane’s ‘death day’. I found this simple undecorated wooden telephone box on stilts, with a black push button phone inside. This wind phone is found in the lovely and peaceful Union Cemetery. I walked up and picked up the receiver. I dialed Zane’s cell number. I imagined him picking up the other end, “hello?” and I began to speak into the phone.

“Hi Zane.”

“Hey mama…”

“So, here we are. I keep saying to everyone, can you believe it’s been seven years.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe this. I am at a loss pooh bear of how I have not yet awakened from this madness. I keep searching for you, waiting for you to come home.”

“Mama, I’m good.”

“I know.”

“Do you see the signs I send you?”

“Yes, I am grateful for them. Thank you.”

“I’m always close. You can’t forget that.”

“I know. I won’t forget. It just hurts…”

I continue, telling him about the latest events in our family. And after a few minutes, I said,

“Well, I’ll let you go, but I’ll call again soon.”

“Love you mama.”

“Love you more.”

And then something happened. It was time to hang up. And I couldn’t. I didn’t want to end my conversation. Suddenly, I felt like I had this real connection through this unplugged phone to the heavens and what would happen if I hung up? It was a bizarre feeling of not wanting to say goodbye. Again.

I just stood there, holding the phone to my ear. Finally, I whispered, “please stay in touch.” I gently placed the handset back into place. I sat on a set of cement stairs next to the booth, placed my head in my hands and cried. When I caught my breath, I stood up and began to walk through the cemetery, accompanied by butterflies and a blue dragon fly. It was a beautiful, quiet, grounding experience to walk in the gardens amidst the markers of so many souls.

I am grateful for those who took part in the placement of a wind phone for all of us. The opportunity to be able to call a loved one and to hold conversation with them is therapeutic. Spiritually fitting, the phone, in a setting that holds so many stories and has witnessed so many tears. The same place that now connects hearts across the realm to be able to utter, “I miss you.” And the wind carries the message home.