Daryl Wood's Blog

Today is Bruce’s birthday. At least it would have been. Bruce would have been 83 today and by everyone’s account would still be working in the electronics department of Costco. He would have had the same playful interactions with younger, admiring staff, the same knowledgeable exchanges with buyers and the same cheerful “Hello, hello, hello” as he entered the door to his home. But Bruce died six weeks after my beloved Doug. He was Doug’s older brother and Doug adored him. He was with Doug the day he died because it was worth the four hour drive early in the morning to be with his brother who he felt protective of all of their lives. And then Bruce was gone and they are off together somewhere laughing and telling stories. That’s what happens in life. People live and people die. Why is that so hard to accept?

I am reading Joan Didion’s book The Year of Magical Thinking. It is the story of her life after her husband dies suddenly. I have read dozens and dozens of books this past 16 months and now I am landing here with, again, someone who has walked this path before me. I am finding myself in the pages and nodding silently as Joan constructs my own grief and mourning. And I am thinking how comforting it is to see myself somewhere safe with someone who ‘knows’.

And I am wondering how it is for other people when they read something that reflects the point they are at in their lives. Do they see their fierceness, their courage, their humour, their determination, their excuses, their hopes and dreams? Do they leave the pages with inspiration, ideas, messages, and maybe the will to follow through where they might have stalled? How can we learn and grow from those who have trudged solidly along a narrow or rugged trail that we imagined ourselves taking? Maybe others do. Maybe I always have because I have been reading my whole life. My mother once told me in a rather non-consequential way that when I started kindergarten at 4 3/4 I announced to my father who had read to me daily that I didn’t need him to do that anymore because I could now read myself!

And I have been reading ever since. I have purchased thousands of books, borrowed hundreds from libraries, given away more than I can remember, recommended so many over the years and still, I find a new book I had never heard of that keeps me from falling asleep and pulls me awake in the morning. I love the feel of a book in my hands because all I am doing is reading. I don’t have a headset on while I am driving, riding the subway, walking or doing housework. I am just reading.

As always, with a book that I love, I am feeling a bit anxious that soon it will be over. I will complete the book today because I can’t put it down. It might be before my errands or after but it will surely be today. I am hungry for the gifts of everyday experience and wisdom that I am reading. These are my stories. Non-fiction written with transparency in the shape of memories that come and go. These are my stories.