Daryl Wood's Blog

Yesterday, after a long emotional visit my kind friend texted me that I am the bravest woman she knows. She went on to acknowledge my honesty and presence to my emotions and pure authenticity. I so appreciated the genuineness of her message and how it validated some of what I’m feeling because being brave has become essential so many times before and since my beloved Doug died. This morning I am wondering who that woman is that she sees so much bravery in.

Waking up in the middle of the night with my usual intense night sweat I waited to fall back asleep. Instead I went over and over in my mind the decisions I’ve made for the rest of the week. This minutiae of life that we all face on a daily basis that can be amplified when we don’t take the steps to turn off our busy thinking minds. After a few hours of ruminating and dozing I lay wide awake as dawn emerged. And then it hit me – Doug is not here and he is never ever going to be here again. Any signs of bravery evaporated as my courage and willingness to live were lost in the despair of what life looks like now.

The most well meaning people – and that’s just about everybody I know – encourage me to be grateful for the wonderful years Doug and I had, the memories we made, the friends we accumulated who are at my side the moment I ask for help. And they remind me that I’m better off than most people grieving or suffering. With the best possible intentions they highlight the progress I’ve made these past 27 1/2 weeks. And I have made significant progress. I’ve done things I never imagined having to do. I’ve done things I’ve been wanting to do. I’ve listened and learned and challenged beliefs and found comfort in places and people I didn’t expect. I’ve lost people and things that really mattered and I’m still here.

The paradox is of course that I am holding two realities at the same time. There is the beauty, peacefulness and nurturing of my physical surroundings and the power of awareness that I am well loved. And then there is also the harshness that in the midst of all of this I am aching for the touch, the sound, the smell and the feeling of having Doug at the side.

Maybe the bravery is in my willingness to look at both and know that whether I like it or not (and obviously this morning I don’t like it) this is the truth of my life now. The bravery is sometimes overshadowed by the confusing lack of confidence I feel at simple things like what to take to a friend’s for lunch. But it is still there when I hear Doug whispering “just do it”. That’s what he did over and over and over again. Long before cancer robbed him of life’s pleasures he was someone who didn’t give up. He did the next thing that had to be done and I was always afraid he would scold me for my hesitancy. He didn’t. He taught through example what real bravery was.

These past few weeks I haven’t felt a strong enough urge to write and I said I would only write when I felt compelled to do so. Today I felt compelled to say out loud, through my words, the heartbreak that sometimes comes with being brave. And I am brave.