loss Archives — Thrifty Mommas Tips

Farewell Hope The Guinea Pig – Losing a Pet

Paula — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 23:54:14 +0000

I know I am not supposed to have favourites but this little critter was my fave of all the guinea pigs. Hope was just a tiny little thing when we brought her home from the pet store. She was Payton’s guinea pig. She sadly passed away on Easter weekend. It was a really sudden event. Farewell Hope Losing someone or something you love is never easy. Losing a pet can be super sad for kids. My daughter was heartbroken. For those of you who remember we have had a slew of guinea pigs here at our house. The kids each wanted one way back when and so we got two female guinea pigs. Except that summer after Hope was about 5 months old we discovered her buddy Buttercup was actually a boy. We returned from my brother’s house over one summer holidays weekend and she had doubled her size and the next day LITERALLY – we had five guinea pigs. Darn, but they were adorable!! I think I shared a picture of George here once on a Wednesday too. It actually took us some time to figure out the darn gender compositions after that. I actually had no clue that guinea pigs were so prolific at reproducing. We ended up selling a few of them one Christmas because nobody can keep five, six, or seven guinea pigs. Hope Hope had the sweetest disposition of all the guinea pigs. She was calm and sometimes liked to snuggle into your lap. Plus she was the one least likely to pee on guests. It cannot be overlooked that this is an admirable guinea pig trait. We loved her because she was super duper sweet. Skittles and Nugget Now we have Skittles and Nugget. Nugget is kind of sweet but Skittles is a total spazz and nobody will replace Hope. Farewell, Hope! You were a good guinea pig and so sweet.

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Grief Finds You in the Card Aisle

Paula — Mon, 31 Mar 2014 01:28:00 +0000

It hit me hard in the card aisle. Grief. Such a sneaky emotion. Tricking you and then hiding behind obstacles in the open. Like a thief hiding behind doors and in alleys waiting to pounce out and holler. Friday was my Mom’s birthday. The first birthday we haven’t spent together and also the first birthday since she passed away. It rained a lot here and it was, without doubt, the hardest day I have had since she left us. Way harder than Christmas. Grief Finds You in the Card Aisle One week ago I was standing in the grocery store when it hit me. I stopped to buy a card for my niece’s birthday and then I realized the date. Stupefied and frozen, I stood there. Paralysis at Food Basics. Grief starts somewhere near your stomach and curls up around your heart squeezing so hard that your muscles are lead. It comes at you like a ball hurled angrily through the air. That schoolyard game of dodgeball when you are distracted and a classmate catches you square in the side of the jaw. Sucker punched. She doesn’t get birthday cards this year, I thought. She doesn’t get to buy them for my brother’s kids, or for my girls. How unfair for everyone. For her, for them, for me, for my kids. I bit my cheek so hard I tasted blood and swore inside my head like a sailor. It’s a trick I do so I don’t cry in public. A crying lady in the card aisle of Food Basics is creepy and sad. The Cards Oh my God, she loved cards, I thought. We were a Hallmark and Carlton Cards family. I kept a box with all the cards she gave me over the years. Every single time I see them or read them I realize how deep and constant her love for me, her daughter. Unconditional love feels like that. Missing You OH But I miss a lot about her. I miss buying her a present, although I never knew what to get. In the last few years we realized tickets for skating always worked. The last year we bought her a birthday present it was tickets to a beautiful skating event at Budweiser Gardens. She told me: “hold onto the tickets so I don’t lose them.” The month before the show she asked a dozen times if it was time yet. “Don’t forget,” she warned. “Don’t let me forget.” I miss taking her to those events. I miss her phone calls and the way she called both of her kids: Love. That was ours. Hugs, how I miss her hugs, her pride, her eyes, her smile. In the last two years she visited often. I miss how it felt to hold her arthritic hand loosely as I guided her into a theatre to watch her granddaughter sing. When I close my eyes I can still remember how it felt in mine. Shopping, Chocolate and other Triggers Sears – how I miss taking her there. Sears was her favourite store. I miss driving her to get her hair set, and permed and I miss the hairdresser, a kind woman who called her Norma and went at the right speed explaining everything patiently. I miss the routine of it all and the appreciation after. The window shopping. Chocolate cake makes me miss her. It reminds me of all those times baking her a cake and the number of times she requested chocolate. And all of it comes rushing at me in the card aisle. Finally, I miss her telling me how they celebrated all the March birthdays in her retirement home. Before we moved I found a bag of her scarves. Ainsley and I opened it and out wafted that scent, the perfume and baby power so familiar. Her. Perfectly preserved. The bag moved with us. It hangs in my closet and we visit sometimes to check if her scent is still there. I feel her sometimes still nearby guiding us, supporting us and even just saying hello. The day we moved into our new home there was a magical heart on the rooftop of the neighbour’s house, written in the snow, and my daughter yelled to me: “Look, Mom, it’s grandma.” Every rainbow we spy my kids say the same thing. Sometimes I take comfort in telling my kids: Your grandma would be so proud of you grading to black belt/ performing/getting an award at school. My youngest daughter occasionally says – sometimes when I think what I should do at school I ask myself what would Grandma do and it helps. She has had an amazing year at school. That’s no accident. The First Days After the Funeral Days get longer and life is faster each year, sometimes each week. Those first weeks after her death were filled with so much activity. Empty the retirement home room. Plan funeral. Pick her clothes. Sign papers. Attend funeral. Thank everyone. Pay bills. Thank everyone. Lawyers. Forms. Visit the cemetery and choose the saddest gift ever. Decide what to do with the furniture stacked inside my garage. Sell a few things, donate others. Sort, pack away, stop and sniff the clothing. Cry. Explain all of this to my girls. Discuss why sad things happen. Try to make the words take the right shape for an eight-year-old. Hug my girls every time they cried and assure them it was okay. Move forward. Breathe. Time Moves Quickly Even Through Grief Time marches fast and you think it’s been the longest time since I have felt any of that. Is it slipping, fading? You permit your heart to ask – is she okay? Is she somewhere being sad missing us. Is she worried? Hurt? You are a child again wishing for a dream of that toy you covet more than anything. The thing that makes your heart light and brave and bright. You will it to appear in your dreams so you hold it close, hug it. And Then it Finds You in the Card Aisle Then you hope so hard for a sign in the card aisle of the grocery store and close your eyes. Make a wish. You whisper Happy Birthday Mom! Hope she hears it, then you pay for the groceries and leave.

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Five Things NOT to Say When a Friend is Grieving

Paula — Tue, 10 Sep 2013 10:00:00 +0000

GRIEVING Four months ago my mother passed away unexpectedly fast. Hearts broken, we moved through our days barely breathing at times, bursting into tears at the cemetery as we chose our mother’s plot, falling asleep spent. The words “Beloved Mother” on a spray of roses and every childhood memory unravelled at my feet. Sobbing, we set foot inside a flower shop to buy the last flowers we might ever gift her with and hope the florist weighs how much we loved her, translates it into colours. In the last few weeks, tears have come and gone, sometimes with clear triggers visible like signposts, and other times dropping from the clear blue sky, raining down my cheeks, as the rest of the world seemed to smile. Over the summer life slowed a bit and sadness has been a bit less crushing. This week we face one more milestone. The Guelph Arboretum is home to dozens of memorial trees and this weekend there will be one more there for our mother. Over the past four months I have been surprised at the places I have found empathy and kindness. Some clients have reached out in such a kind genuine manner that I am forever grateful. One client shared my sadness. Her incredible empathy stemmed from a similar experience recently with her father and has made her a treasured, trusted resource. We knew each other for a couple of years but we grew closer as I was grieving. As a client, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to nurture that relationship because of her humanity and her heart. That connection made such a huge difference in my grieving process. Some of my twitter followers have shown me their hearts and our digital connection has transcended Facebook and Twitter. Tamara of Wondermoms has been incredible. I DMed her from the cemetery where I was sitting in my minivan bawling and she made me feel less horribly alone. Kristen Paskus was an aquaintance and a blogger on one of my campaigns until then. Her daily, even hourly Facebook messages to me kept me sane. Margarita, Annie, Wanda, Brenda and Lee-Ann are the best friends a person could have, hugging my kids, taking them for sleepovers and asking when and where do you need me? But there have also been some dimwitted and thoughtless remarks throughout the past four months. I try to maintain a positive space here, but I need to vent today just a little bit. There are a few things you should never ever utter to someone who is grieving. This is a sample of some insensitive statements I have heard recently. Consider this a public service. Don’t ever say them to anyone you wish to stay friends with. Five Things Not to Say When a Friend is Grieving. 1. Well, at least you had life insurance. (Pretty callous. Frankly, there isn’t a soul on earth who has truly loved someone and then lost them who ever thought well yes thank goodness we had life insurance. Do I really have to state this? There is no talk of money allowed during the supportive conversations you should be having.) Much Better: Were arrangements made? How can I support you with that? 2. I am really upset you didn’t call me for the funeral. (It was on my Facebook status, in the newspaper, and on line for a week. We even took out ads in out of town newspapers. There were sad heartbreaking posts here on my blog and on twitter. In between scraping their heart off the floor, it’s understandable that perhaps a person making funeral arrangements, overwhelmed by death might not have had time to call every single person he or she knew to personally invite them to the funeral. Much Better: I am so very sorry I missed the funeral. I didn’t know. She/He was so lovely. I will always remember when X,Y or Z happened. Share a memory of something she did that you loved or recalled. 3. That’s the way to go. (I am so sorry for your loss is a much better thing to say. There is No good or kind way to pass away.) Much Better: There is never a good time. 4. Maybe in time you will see this was a blessing. (Nobody gets to say that. Period. Maybe in time I will see it for something other than a gaping loss, but right now it just hurts and it’s not kind to say perhaps there was a reason anyone died.) Much Better – How are you holding up? What can I do to help? Can I get you something while you are grieving? Take your kids for the night? Bring you a meal? 5. I don’t understand how this could have happened. (Neither do I, but I can’t be the person to console you when I am myself grieving.) Much Better: I miss her phone calls every morning or her unexpected drive by visits etc. Or say simply she/ he loved you very much. She was so proud of you. Help and kindness goes a long way to building relationship at a crucial time. We all make mistakes socially but when a friend is grieving you need to get it right. Listen first. Then be a friend. Ask yourself what can I do to make it better.

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