Daryl Wood's Blog

The problem with grieving out loud is that I’ll never get it right. No matter how I grieve, nor how many times someone says ‘everyone grieves differently’ and ‘it’s okay to show your grief’, the truth is that it is really hard to grieve out loud.

When I stay home and whimper softly as I roam around our home inside and out with reminders at every single footstep, the only judgement or opinion I have to face is from within myself. And that can be harsh enough without inviting the stares and furrowed brows and deep sighs or even tears from others. That I am doing grief my own way and stunned at how physically and emotionally difficult it is at 23 weeks makes me wonder why I would every publicly share what I’m going through.

I’ve asked of others ‘who in their right mind would post so many intimate details of their lives’ which opens them to the viewpoints and rejections of others which can never, ever come from the same place as they are. And yet, here I am, doing the very same thing with my grief journey. Albeit, I have so few people reading this that it may not count as a big promotion of my experience. But I am still doing what I have thought was unnatural. And as for the being in the ‘right mind’, there is no doubt that I am not. The very fact that it would cross my mind to be so vulnerable and transparent at a time when I can barely handle someone not returning a text says I am risking even more disappointment than I am already dealing with.

There was a time when I was well prepared for any kind of feedback. I wrote a book years ago that detailed things about my life that were revealing and I didn’t flinch at how it was received. I knew who I was and was willing to accept my beautiful, complicated, confident, weird and sometimes unreasonable self as being human and winning and losing as we all do. It was a testament to the decades of my personal growth work and I wrote to inspire others to take on their challenges.

Things are different now. I write because that’s what I do and without the enduring witness of my life, my sweet, accepting and loving Doug, I write to be witnessed even if that witnessing is silence. I don’t need to know who is reading this or how it is being read. I know that writing gives me peace so I keep doing it. I write here and in my journal and in my little joy/gratitude book every night. I need to see the words in front of me to know that they are my words and that this is my grief and it is real and raw and not some dramatic story I’ve created. It is my truth right now. Will it always be? That’s yet to be determined.

So after a trip to the city (Owen Sound 1 1/5 hours away) where I pushed myself to go into all the stores Doug and I frequented in search of things I needed, I have come home to mournfully melt into the landscape of our hopes and dreams. Sadness has engulfed me again after the calmness of yesterday. Today I’ll walk because I committed to doing so for the fundraiser and I’ll eat because I always do and I’ll get a few things done that keep me moving. And I’ll write, here and there and wherever I need to, quietly and out loud.