Daryl Wood's Blog

And life goes on. Not the way I want it to and still, in some odd rhythm it feels as normal as normal can be in between the shock of Doug’s loss. I am swimming with kids in the lake and laughing at their giggles and silliness on blow up toys. I am kayaking to greet the sunrise with my brother and sister-in-law giving them a glimpse of the beauty that hangs in the sky when the full moon is still jostling for space as the sun bursts forth. I am riding my new ebike distances I never imagined I would go on two wheels and loving the feel of the ride. I am hiking through the woods and going to the Sweet Shop … again! I am taking a video of tiny ducks diving in a frenzy along the shoreline under the watchful eye of a mother with too many offspring to reasonably keep track of. I am refilling the free library with books for all ages. I am cuddling babies, eating more s’mores than I want to, doing laundry, paddling with youngsters, hiking the trails, and enjoying summer on the lake.

And missing Doug. Missing our two boats in the lake and the channel markers he put out every year. I’m missing our slow trips down the bay in the evening and boating in the ‘big’ water on calm days. I am missing sitting on the dock with him playing in the Cornhole tournament. And I am really missing having him help me make decisions and figure things out. Things like getting a coffee stain out of a new beige rug or which branches to trim away from the deck. I am missing having someone to worry with, to debate with, to negotiate with and to listen to for wise counsel.

I had a long heartfelt visit with a returning cottager yesterday who lost his wife 3.5 years ago. The parallels in our grieving (not the way we grieve but what we grieve for) were a validation that this is what grief looks like. We shared how much we missed sitting around at the end of the day talking about stuff, and sometimes nothing in particular and sometimes not even talking. Just having our person with us.

And he also told me that the last time he saw Doug and I was after we visited him before he went home last fall. He said he saw us holding hands as we walked away and thought how sweet and amazing we were as a couple and he wished he had taken a photograph because it was such a perfect representation of who we were together. I wish he had too. Because I miss Doug’s hands SO much. The way he held mine, the way he rubbed my feet and the way he draped his arm and hand around my shoulder.

It’s always a shock when I suddenly fall into the grief chasm. I rarely see it coming because I am walking with grief all the time. It’s the dark pit that nearly suffocates me that is so distressing. Just when I think I am finding a balance it bullies me into a corner. And that’s what grief looks like.

So the next time you face someone grieving (which is probably way more often than you know) please remember that this could be the moment when their calm, focused, presence has been hijacked and what they say or do creeps out from under a heavy weight.