Daryl Wood's Blog

In my desperate search for comfort I read books and blogs, watch videos and podcasts, talk to people, listen to people and search headlines for something that will ease the ongoing suffering. I find tremendous solace in Quiet Wisdom, The Modern Buddhist and most recently The Grieving Brain by Mary Frances O’Connor. And friends remind me to turn grief into gratitude, to notice where I am putting my focus, to be thankful I had experienced such deep love, acknowledge how far I have come and to appreciate my comfortable, uncomplicated circumstances. And it all helps. And it all reveals a part of me that is so hard to reconcile. I am still grieving deeply after one and half years. One and half years. It’s hard to even say that out loud or write about it. I am still looking for Doug to anchor me to this world that feels so alien. How could Doug have been gone that long? How have I survived without my person?

I have started several blogs only to stop myself because it felt wrong to burden others with my pain and it they sounded disjointed. What if it comes across as pathetic or too difficult to hear? What if it further isolates me? Already I watch people slip quietly out of my life (well, sometimes with some noise) as they realize that I am ‘not getting better’, ‘not moving on’, ‘stuck in the past’, ‘not grateful enough’. I hear it in subtle comments, see it in their tired eyes and feel it in their turning away, turning off, distancing.

And for all those who have grown weary of my woe, I am the one who most resents and abhors the state I am in. It is so much work. So much work to breathe through the periods of anguish that suck the life out of everything that matters to me. So much work to make decisions around even the smallest of things that I would have the confidence to do in the past. So much work to let go of the relationships that were so special to Doug and I. So much work to show my appreciation to the kind and loving souls who still take my teary calls, offer a hug, hold space without needing to fix me. So much work to eat healthy, care for my body, nourish my heart and mind with meditation and stillness. So much work to just be.

Perhaps comparing my grief to others has made me want to hide. In a world where we celebrate courage, strength, tenacity and resilience, I am holding up a mirror that gives a failing grade. If I say it takes a lot of effort to do simple things my inner critic rolls their eyes. After all, I am frequently reminded that everyone, literally everyone, has stuff going on in their lives. My struggles are far less severe and therefore, the inference is that they should not be made out to be so horrific.

And there it is. I have so, so much to be grateful for. The lists I make fill many lined pages of thankfulness for the people and places that give me ease and sometimes great joy. The question is always how to survive when I fall over the cliff and can’t see the light. And I fall over the cliff more often than I admit to others and certainly more often than I want. How do I keep simply noticing with self-love the tyranny of grief that robs me of fully engaging with this extraordinary life I have been given? How do I honour Doug’s life and all he generously gave to me and others?

Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to see myself as worthy of this precious life. Until then, I will keep waiting for the answers, the magic, elusive elixir that is the cure for grief and mourning. There have been plenty of little epiphanies that have kept me going and each has elevated me out of despair. I tell myself, it’s just a matter of time before another ‘ah-ha’ propels me along this journey.