Tag Archives: Loss

Make Peace with Love

11 Saturday Oct 2025

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Here it comes. Another boring, sentimental, grossly emotional blog about love.

Love is complicated and it is a power in and of itself. We can’t control love. We can’t make love do what we ask of it. It just is.

Love brings the greatest of joy and the deepest of pain. It punishes just as intensely as it rewards.

There are many different types of love. There is the love of a parent, constant, steady, and unconditional. There is the love of a partner, compromising, negotiating, laughing, crying, fighting and making up. There is the love we carry for those we have lost, messy, angry, wrenching, seeking and feeling lost. Unrequited love that continues to beat us down whilst simultaneously sprinkling hope of what could be over every breath taken. The love of a child, pure, selfish, goofy, tender, sweet and vulnerable. There is the love you have for an elderly parent, fearful of what is to come, proud to be their child, tired by the weight of a lifetime, wise beyond your years, solid as a rock. The love of a friend who showed-up just when you needed them and gave their best to you when you needed someone to believe in you. There is the love of a sibling, not always present, but always there, behind you, you know that they will always get your back when you need it.

I have had the honour of experiencing all of these loves, and more.

I feel privileged to be loved by many different people in as many different ways.

I just wish that it was easier to be, well, a human. My heart aches and burns, it twists and gnaws at me every single day for people I miss. I miss friends and family who live miles away. I miss friendships that have faded into the background of memories. I think about lovers, desired lovers, and I wonder what life could have been like if things had been different.

I get angry when I think about people who have intruded on my life, steering it in their own direction, acting selfishly and not from a place of love.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel all those cliche feelings of ‘not wanting anything to change’ because it ‘would mean I wouldn’t have my children.’ And this is true. Now. But, if things had been different, I wouldn’t know my children and I wouldn’t know what I would be missing; I would have different things. Maybe different children for whom I would have all the typical, cliche, feelings.

My Mom and I used to play all kinds of “choose your own adventure” type of games – If you could go back and redo a year of your life, what year would it be? If you could only save one of your siblings, which would it be? If you could only be with one person for the rest of your life, who would it be? And so on.

But, can’t I have it all? I want it all. I want to live in New Zealand and Canada at the same time. I want to be here where my stepdad lives and in Toronto. I want to be with my partner and my children, but I also want other experiences and relationships. I want to be with my family, but I also want to be alone. I want to go back and relive some experiences in my past (maybe do it better the second time around), but I also wouldn’t want to lose what I have now.

I want everything to change and nothing to change all at once.

Does anyone else live with this conflict pelting you in the face every day? How do you deal with it?

I blame love.

There is too much I love in life, too many people I love. Too many lived experiences I love and more experiences I would love to have. Too many countries I would love to live in. Love that exists alone, hiding in shadows afraid to be seen. Love. I love you. I love you. You break my heart, but I love you. You are a wicked, sinister, evil, devil. Your necessity just makes you more grotesque.

One day I will make peace with love.

Until then, I will continue to fight, to cry, to long, to reminisce, to wonder what could have been, to serve, to play; I will have fun, fight, search, smile, frown, learn, seek, comfort, and hope. Hope that one day I will feel more complete, that I won’t feel like I’m always competing with love.

One day I will make peace with love.

It’s Okay to be Okay

13 Thursday Mar 2025

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As time marches on, I am becoming better at being okay. My Mom is gone. I cannot bring her back, and there is little I can do to control any sadness, grief, feelings of emptiness, or the sting of loss. I have recently realized that I have been hiding from a lot of these feelings and experiences, shoving my head in the ground like an ostrich, pretending that the threats don’t exist.

But recently, I have forced myself to yank my head out of the ground and let everything be what it is. The most incredible thing has happened as a result, I have found that there are times that I am okay. More than that, I have come to learn that it’s okay to be okay.

I really struggled at the start when people would say to me, ‘what would your Mom want for you?’ All I could think, or feel was that she would want us to be together; she would want to be alive. Then, I would get angry.

I hid from things, and watched as my world fell apart; my house became a constant disaster zone, my children were becoming more feral each day, nobody was eating proper meals. It was as if I had totally given up on myself, my family, and my life.

Then, I realized one day while talking to Mom (yes, I talk to her…I’m not crazy. It just helps) that she would be so sad to see what I was allowing my life to become, and this upset me. I had to do something – for her sake.

It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay if this takes a long time or happens quickly. It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to hide your head in the sand. It’s okay to get angry at yourself for hiding.

And, most importantly, it’s okay to be okay.

As I have sat here this evening, enjoying my newly cleaned house, feeling refreshed by the amount of water I have consumed today, jazz going in the background, and ambient lighting reflecting the peace of my mind, I am okay.

And that’s okay.

Grieving – Let’s Make a Mess

02 Sunday Mar 2025

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When I began with my grief after my mom died I was of the mind that I wanted to really get into it so that I could get out of it. I tried to rush it along, thinking if I gave it all of my focus for a couple of days that it would go away. A few hours into this journey I began to realize that there is no way to hurry grief. You can try to hide from it, but it will find you. You can try to speed it up, but it is going to ignore your efforts and take its time, doing its thing.

Grief is a messy process and it is best if you can allow it room to make its mess without trying to clean it up.

I have been reading multiple books on grief and they have been extremely helpful.

Here are some of my favourites:

https://a.co/d/9c0QLz4 https://a.co/d/hstyQNA https://a.co/d/acJc0wQ

I just started a new one this evening, it’s more of a workbook for grief, and I have already been touched by its approach to grieving. The book is called, “How to Carry What Can’t Be Fixed,” by Megan Devine.

https://a.co/d/9s3zfjI

Grieving and writing have a lot in common; importantly, both grieving and writing need space and the freedom to make a mess. I like how Devine worded it when she stated that “Translating your inner emotional experience into words and pictures is a messy practice” (4)

“It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine 4)

I feel like it is fitting to share a letter I wrote to my mom on the morning she was cremated, keeping in mind those words of Megan Devine, “It’s hard to speak the truth if you have to make it perfect” (Devine). I am trying to do what feels right inside of me to allow the expression and outworking of my grief, providing it whatever space it needs to make a mess.

So, here goes:

January 29, 2025 (Wed) 5:16am

Mom,

You are being cremated this morning. I now how much you disliked and were afraid of fire; I will be with you. I am so sorry that this is happening. You should be alive. I should be waiting for another couple of hours to text you to let you know how the boys are doing (they are both sick, by the way!).

I realized this morning that I not only lost my mother, but I’ve also lost a best friend. It’s no secret that you weren’t perfect (but who is?), but I really loved you and to me you were still the only mom I would ever want. You loved us all so much; I am so sorry for any ways you feel that we failed you; especially at the end.

I feel the loss of the person who loved my children in a way that nobody else on this planet can/does/did.

I mourn the loss of that profound, special, powerful, relationship. I mourn the loss of the person I would always text little updates on life, anything and everything from the infamous “poop reports” to “SOS! We are falling apart and need our mom/Nana/Mother-in-Law,” knowing that there would always be a reply that would make everything better.

I love how you loved, honoured, respected, protected, and cared for Jono; you taught me how to have more compassion for him and to be more caring, loving, demonstrative and supportive towards him. You honoured me by how much you loved him.

Your husband can be very tough to read at times, but you knew him well. I miss knowing that you two had each other, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

And now, anger. My anger. I miss you and I am so angry that you are no longer here. I am not mad at you; I am mad at the universe for letting this happen to you. You should be here. You should be here with your bright light of love, joy, peace, and comfort.

I miss you.

Love,

Your Daughter xo

The feelings surrounding my loss are wild and varied, spanning anywhere from missing her sending me pictures of her Minecraft creations, to ugly sobbing about the fact that the “ping” indicating an incoming text is, once again, not from her.

The book, “Coping with Grief,” encourages the reader to ‘tell their story: Who died, who they were to you, what changed with their death, etc. In the discussion about how this process is a messy one, my answer to the following question seems appropriate: “What thoughts or feelings are worrying you?”

Here’s what I wrote:

What if I never get over it? What if I feel crazy, and lonely, and broken, and not myself forever?

Who will support and protect me now?

What if I can’t grieve properly and I’m ruined/messed up for the rest of my life?

My life is going to have a huge chunk of emptiness in it now. What if I can’t get over it or move on from the loss?

What if I don’t want to?

“Into the darkness they go,
the wise and the lovely.”
 – Edna St. Vincent Millay –

It’s a mess. I’m a mess. Mourning is a mess. But, into this mess I must go; this is my home now, at least for awhile. I’m sure that the mess will get less, well, messy with time. But, for now it is where I am and must continue to exist. I will allow the grief to have its space, to change my world, and to change me, just as you have.

Into the darkness I go.

My Mom Died – I’m Seeking Life Now

24 Monday Feb 2025

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My mom died recently.

I have been waiting to write about it; waiting for the pain to not be so strong and the ability to breathe not be so weak.

It all happened so fast. I still can’t believe that she’s gone.

I keep thinking that she’s going to show-up and say, “surprise! I’m here! It was all just a joke! You’ve been pranked!”

But this is not going to happen. I will never hear her voice in real time ever again. I will never experience the feeling of one of her hugs again or watch her giggle while playing with my children.

 There will be no more “just because” gifts.

I’ve lost the person I could text at any time about anything and always get a response, and almost always get support and encouragement.

Who is going to encourage me now?

She was my biggest cheerleader; I knew that I could handle life, that I could manage, that I was special because of her. What am I now without her?

Life goes on. It’s true. I still do life things; it’s not just everyone else who continues living while she is dead. It’s me too, and this makes me feel guilty. I make dinner, eat toast, buy toilet paper, watch tv…but I do it all while thinking about her, missing her, and hoping that she will come around any corner at any moment and give me a hug and kiss and tell me how much she loves me.

My Mom called me her “Joy.” But I never got to tell her that she was my joy and that the only reason I was ever able to be a joy to her was because of all the joy that she had given to me. I am me because I am her daughter.

So now, my joy is gone, and I don’t know what to do about that.

I miss her.

I want to tear the world apart out of anguish and anger for the fact that this world took her from me.

I don’t want platitudes or to hear “it will get better with time.” These things do not help with the pain that I am feeling right now.

I want you to be angry with me. Be angry that a great mother, wife, friend, Auntie, Nana, and friend has been taken from this world. She died so quickly I didn’t get a chance to say everything I wanted, for us to do the things we talked about doing together.

There will never be another birthday card, or Christmas gift; I will never have to help her change a password again or help her return a mistaken purchase from Amazon.

We were going to watch “Wicked: Part 1” together…

She was hoping that a house on our street would come up for sale so that we could live close – we’ll never live together again.

She wanted me to wait to show Brian my convocation video when she was feeling better and could watch it with us.

We were going to watch “Grumpy Old Men” in late January and do a turkey dinner for Easter, since we did a fish dinner for Christmas.

We won’t be doing any of this now. I will do it all alone. Without my sidekick. Without my friend. Without my best friend. Without my mom.

There will always be a piece of me that is broken, a piece that is missing now.

Always.

I am learning to live with this new version of myself. This version that I have never, ever, known before. There has never been a version of me that has not had my mom – until now.

What is this life?

I thought it was a struggle before to figure out this life; seeking life now has taken on a monumentally deeper and intense meaning than any other thing I’ve experienced.

Seeking life now; when life doesn’t turn out as you had hoped it would.

Unraveling Religious Trauma and Spiritual Abuse

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

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I have spent the last 14 years trying to “come to grips” with my past. I have made some progress recently. But, the work is tough. Especially when you are doing it on your own. This article is everything: https://www.sandstonecare.com/blog/religious-trauma/

My religious trauma began at an early age, but was kicked into hyperdrive at the same time I began to experience spiritual abuse.

The trauma and abuse went on for years, by multiple people in various locations. But, all with the same messages: You are sinful. There’s something wrong with you. You need us and you need God to be made whole. You won’t receive God’s blessing if you don’t give us 10% of any money you get, but, really you should give 20%…10% is just the baseline. You give as much as you can, even if it means you have to sell your possessions to pay rent, and eat nothing but saltines all day…You will do these things, or else you won’t be welcomed into our inner-sanctum. You should always be a servant – now go clean that person’s apartment because I need you to help me protect myself from their threats. I’m your spiritual leader, and doubting me is sinful, God doesn’t like that, and you want to please God, right? You feel tired and sick? Too bad – go and do the thing I told you to do, or you’ll be letting not just me down, but God as well. You haven’t been trained for it? Do you doubt God? Are you too weak, too selfish, that you won’t stay up all night and pray? You don’t matter. We matter. What you sacrifice for us and the community matters. Not you. You are not allowed to watch tv for a year. No dating. No drinking. Wear only these clothes. Here are the “approved” people you can be around…

and on and on it goes.

No wonder I feel so lost most of the time. It’s good to know that there are people out there who understand, even more than I do, how what I’ve gone through affects me every day; and that there are ways to heal from it.

I don’t write this to be offensive to anyone, or to hurt anyone’s feelings. But, maybe you’re someone out there who has experienced similar things and are struggling now that you’re “out,” or you want to “get out” and don’t know how. Maybe this will help you.

I don’t want to start a fight.

If you want to reach out to me, you can private message me. I’m here.

https://www.sandstonecare.com/blog/religious-trauma/

2 Corinthians 3:3 – Hidden Messages

02 Monday Sep 2024

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Ghosts of who we are, who we were, and who we should have been haunt me every day.

Intimate moments shared with people who longed for me, and people for whom I longed, replay in my mind throughout the day.

What seems like several lifetimes of moments, memories, adventures, and experiences that refuse to rest. Speaking to me, warning me, encouraging me, and crying out to be released.

Relationships that could have been more – should have been more; requited and unrequited; passion and longing; connection and meaning; dark desire and innocent touch.

Crisp walks in the nighttime snow; breath upon breath and hearts beating wildly. Wanting to be safe and keep distant, longing to embrace and to be free to love one another.

Forehead kisses filled with lust. Hot breath, soft lips, and strong hands. Holding my head as if holding the world. Moments wherein dreams of another reality drift down like dew on our hearts.

Muscular forearms, promising protection and power. To be safe; loved; adored; coveted and claimed.

Another woman’s belongings. These are things that should not be in your life. Everything is out of place. Where is the lingerie and lace? The enthusiasm and excitement? I can see our things together – sharing space – a beautiful mess. It just feels right.

You have always been the one.

This is how it should have been.

We should have been together.

Years have been lost. Years of passion. Years of excitement. Years of bodies tangled and twisted in bliss – a level of completion that only we can accomplish. Together. As it was always meant to be.

My wish for you is that as you enter the next world, it is I who will be there with you – breathing warmly over you; kissing your lips tenderly; digging my fingers into your back; pulling you down. Closer. Deeper. Harder. Stronger. Louder. Forever. Ecstasy. Tenderness.

Forever together. Forever apart.

Let me in and lie with me awhile. We are together now. We can be free. Nothing need hold us back.
Nothing can stand in our way.
We are together. We are one.

We will enter eternity together – our energies forever fused, inseparable, entwined, twisted, coiled, and warped. For better or worse, you have changed my life just as I have changed yours.

I am glad I was able to contribute to some degree in your growth . . . although I must apologize for failing badly in other ways.

The Storm

14 Friday Jun 2024

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Sometimes I go to sleep wondering if I will wake up the next morning and discover that it was all a bad dream.

But as the hot tears burn my cheeks and another stress migraine settles in, I know that no matter how much I try to wish it away, this is real.

I cannot comprehend why, or how, a child can hold so much pain and fear.

I try to suppress the day’s memories of being called horrible names, of being used as a human punching bag by the life I brought into this world.

I absorb his pain. I take his suffering. I can only hope that it provides him some relief. I would do anything to help ease the torment for him – even take the blows without flinching in an effort to prove to him that my love for him is unconditional; that there is absolutely nothing he could do, nothing he could be or become that would make me not love him.

As I hold him tightly, assuring him that I love him, that I’m not going anywhere, and that it doesn’t matter what he does to me, I will never give up on him, the punches become lighter, the swearing decreases, and I can feel the pain and anger being replaced by shame and sorrow.

He finally collapses in my arms, sobbing, apologizing. I can hear the agony in his voice; the fear of self, the hopelessness of feeling like you are a monster that is sick and will never get better.

I have been there.

I know what that feels like.

My heart shatters in a million pieces once again, but I have to be strong for him. He needs me.

This whole situation is so messy, so painful, and so completely undeserved.

While I may be strong for him when he is near, I crumble multiple times a day.

I fight back thoughts that maybe he is right, maybe it would be better if we didn’t exist anymore – maybe that is the only way out.

Then, through all this pain and suffering, while I am struggling just to breathe, to function – when it takes every ounce of effort to get up to face it all again and to keep getting up every time I’m knocked down – my integrity is questioned.

I have no words.

I barely have breath in me, but they manage to squeeze out plumes of vapours, forcing me to prove that I am unwell.

What they don’t understand is that I have to keep going every day; I am not free to live out my own pain because I have a child who needs me.

They do not see that every day is a struggle to live, that I have to give more than I have to get up each day.

They cannot comprehend this love, nor understand the toll it takes to lose myself every day in the hopes that we will find him; to sacrifice myself so that he might be saved.

He is my heart, and my heart is sick.

I would go to the ends of the earth to help him. I will never apologize for that.

Mourning

05 Monday Jun 2023

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I’m mourning the loss of life.

Mourning the end of my story.

Reliving the pain it brought and letting it go.

With an abuser – when he died it brought everything right back up like it had happened yesterday.

I had to go through it all again – processing every bit that had happened – while mourning the loss of life, I was now also mourning the loss of a part of my life – my story.

“River Street” – has died. I mourn for it, for the loss of a significant part of my life, while also processing all that it meant to me, good & bad.

I need to put those things in their rightful places, say my final goodbyes and move on.

Mourning.

Anger.

Angry for what he had done to me. Now he was gone and was free of it, but I still had to live with it.

“Act like” it never happened – but, it did, and it was wrong, and while you are “free” of it, I have had to suffer for years. Now you are becoming dead to me, I need you to die/to be dead to me, I am angry because you take a piece of my story with you- an ugly piece that is your fault and you should have no right to take with you and act like it’s all okay, and move on – you should suffer too.

But, you can’t now/you won’t.

That’s not fair.

Look at what you’ve done to me. How can you get away with this? This is why I resent your sick, smiling, successful faces. You make me want to puke.

But, I miss you.

I wish I still had the intimacy I had with you – the excitement – the heart racing, swooning feelings – the sense of importance – the sense of doing something, being someone, that matters – making a difference. The heat of the moment – the fire/heat of life/living.

Mourning.

Anger.

Loss.

Resentment.

Letting go.

The Best of Times/The Worst of Times

12 Wednesday Apr 2023

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I frequently have dreams that place me in various times and places of my “previous lives” with people I haven’t seen for years.

There was, what is now, a short period of my life that has had an enormous impact on me. By the amount of emotional and mental baggage it has left, you would think it spanned more than 15 years, when, in reality, it was around 5.

Spanning the years between (roughly) 2001-2007, I lived an incredibly exhilarating and intense life that left me feeling burnt-out, beat-down, and deflated. Though, not right away. Some of this settled-in over the years as I reflected on the life that I have lived, the experiences I had, and how horribly underprepared and unqualified I was for so many moments I found myself living.

I’m going to attempt to unravel this time of my life that has kept me tied in knots for over 15 years now.

This is me just putting it out there and starting the process for myself.

Watch this space.

The Decision to Move

22 Thursday Jun 2017

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When my Mom phoned to let me know she had called an ambulance to bring my stepdad to the hospital, it was as if the world around me grew still, despite the fact that I was standing in the middle of a bustling Nathan Phillip’s Square in downtown Toronto at the very first Winter Festival being held there.

My husband, child and in-laws kept walking and I could see them pointing towards the ice skaters and, more excitedly, towards the Zamboni. But, my heart had sunk to my shoes and tears were streaming down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to spoil their moment, but I was feeling desperate. I just wanted to get away and be somewhere I could have a good cry. But, I didn’t want to scare my son.

I hung-up with my Mother and eventually rejoined my family. I explained what was going on to my husband while his parents entertained the kid. My gut instinct was to get in a plane and go be with my parents. However, this was very much complicated by the fact that our in-laws had flown all the way from New Zealand to be with us, we didn’t have any other vacation days (so I’d have to take a pay-loss), we were broke so I would have to borrow the money to go as it was, I and I have a 3-year old that I had to consider.

My husband calmed me and told me to just wait to hear some more news about what was going-on before I panicked too much.

It wasn’t until recently, when we moved-back to be with my parents, that I learned just how dire the situation was and just how terrified my parents had been. These are difficult things to convey over text or phone calls, I suppose.

When talking to my Mom in that week and a half, I was trying to discern from what she said and how she sounded whether, or not, they really needed me there.

After getting off the phone with her one evening I broke-down. When my husband came to see what was happening I sobbed “I hate feeling like I am waiting to get that nightmare call that we had better come now or it will be too late…”

My Stepdad had gone through 11 rounds of chemo for colon cancer, and this was the year after he had been flown to Ottawa for a triple bypass. Now, he was in hospital with sepsis and my Mother had said that they were struggling to keep his organs functioning.

I knew it was serious, but did not know how serious or how scared both of my parents were going-through this. I guess that’s a compliment to how well they handled it together. Still, I hate thinking that they had to go through it alone.

Once my Stepdad was out of the hospital, I said to my husband, through more sobbing one night: “I NEVER want to be in that position again. Having to ask my Mom to let me know when it got to the ‘you need to come now because he’s dying’ stage.”

I hated being in that position. I didn’t wan to wait until it was too late. I wanted to spend time with him while there was still time to spend. I wanted my son to be able to build memories of his grandparents of playing games, laughing over dinner, sharing ice cream treats and going for car rides and not just sitting in a hospital saying ‘goodbye’.

So, we made the decision to uproot our lives, and move home.

It was a decision that required a lot of sacrifice, and there are times I still can burst into tears when something I miss about our old home strikes or when my Son asks something like: “Can we go to the tick-tock park?” (A park we used to frequent behind city hall, where the large clock on old city hall, would chime on the hour).

But, the pain and the loss we experience over leaving the city that we all dearly loved pales in comparison to the pain and the loss we would feel if we had decided to stay and, instead, forfeited the time we now get to spend with family.

You just cannot put a price on that.

People say it all the time, but until you are staring it in the face it can be tough to comprehend;

life is short.

You have to look at what really matters to you and be prepared to move heaven and earth to make it happen.

It may be very difficult at times when we are missing our beloved city, but that is grief, not regret. I will never regret choosing time with my family over our life in the city.

We never know how much more time we have together. I’m determined to make the most of it.