Daryl Wood's Blog

This morning I woke up early with a sliver of moon shining so brightly. By 5:30, the sky was opening up to a sunrise and the lake was so calm I began talking myself in and out of kayaking to greet the morning. Finally, I relented, knowing I would be glad that I did because calm mornings are a gift. There is no one else on my part of the bay so the solitude made it even more compelling.

I bundled up because it’s only -2 degrees and I paddled past the reefs to the wide water of Lake Huron. In the back of my mind I was wondering why I did this. When Doug was here, it was an easy decision. I loved kayaking to meet the sunrise. He would see me returning and plod out to the shoreline in his pajamas and rubber boots to help me land.

This morning I took some big breaths and floated in the lake when something unmistakable appeared. An otter. Way out in the deep water where I wasn’t used to seeing them. I adjusted my eyes and watched him swimming along diving in and out. Then he casually moved closer and held my gaze for a while. This happened several times. I couldn’t resist snapping a few photos and then a video. And then I just sat and watched him. I took time to be still in this moment and really be with the experience. Suddenly there was nothing to do – no more pictures to take, no paddling closer, no looking around to see what else was going on. Just being present with the otter.

Gradually he began to move further away and distance himself. I started to cry and said out loud “Please don’t leave me. Please stay.” In that moment it felt like Doug was leaving me again. My heart hurt and I sobbed. Otters were very special to Doug and I and when they appear now it always feels like Doug is signalling me that he is nearby. It makes me cry even now as I write these words. Otters have shown up at the most incredibly meaningful times these past two and a half years and sometimes I’m lucky enough to have someone else (like Doug’s daughter) witness them with me. It is so comforting.

So when this big boy left me alone I was overcome with the thoughts that nothing lasts forever. I looked at the calm lake, the beautiful moon, the sun rising and I knew that while they were there in that form in that moment, the moment wouldn’t last forever. The water would not be the same forever. Nor would the sun, the moon, and even the otter.

I started rolling over in my mind all the things that won’t last forever and quietly a new thought came. Love can last forever. Love is still here and still strong and beautiful even after two and half years of loss. Yesterday I had a nice visit with an older man whose wife died 23 years ago. He was sharing memories of Doug and then he quietly said that things can come up and you have those sad feelings all over again. He looked very pensive and we stood together for a few minutes, each remembering in our own way.

And so things around me may change, and the love may change but maybe it really is there forever. Maybe love is the enduring feeling that a sunset or rough lake or even an eclipse can’t take away. Maybe love is the only thing that really does last forever.