This morning I stumbled onto this document I created many years ago and had updated in September 2020. I needed to read it today and I’m sharing it, unedited, with you now. Perhaps something here will resonate with you. Blessings to all who patiently ‘walk each other home’ (Ram Dass).
https://drive.google.com/file/d/19dUtuhXmV4o2XTBAVKj-DVOymDHTKG1L/view?usp=drive_link
Almost two years. How is that possible? How could Doug have been physically out of my life for two whole years? I am still listening for his footsteps and looking for him around corners. I am still waiting for his funny greetings morning, noon and night. I am still staring at his picture and straining to remember what he looked like in front of me. I am still hoping for his wise guidance and calming presence. I am still aching to curl up with him and talk and talk for hours about our lives, our dreams, our adventures, our love for each other. I am still longing for what we had for so many years unencumbered by illness. And I am still here.
I have been wondering what I will do on November 12th to mark two years since my beloved Doug took his last breath holding my hand and looking out on the lake in the home he loved. I kept thinking up ideas to help with my sadness and disbelief that I am still here after two long years that sometimes feels so short. And then I let my thoughts go to see if I could be gently guided to what and where I would be most ‘held’ and supported. I wasn’t even sure I would need that on the day because typically the days and sometimes weeks leading up are much harder. It’s the feeling of wanting to do it right, to honour the memory of my sweetie, to give myself as much comfort as possible. I have had two ‘messages’ from Doug telling me to have fun which is a strange concept but so in line with what he would want for me. In the end, I have a plan that feels good to be with special friends.
Once that was settled I thought about this blog. What can I say that I haven’t said over and over again: living without him is often too painful to imagine and my life is still going on. I remember saying about the first year that I desperately wanted to be with Doug and thought out ways of making that happen. Honestly, there are still times when I have those wishes but I’m still here. And that’s what is remarkable to me. I am still here.
If not for the genuine love from my community, friends and family, I would be long gone. Until now they have got me through the worst days of my life and even now as I am building my own new foundation they still stand in readiness to give me what I need. So it feels like gratitude … that poor little tired overworked word … is the best place to land. When I wake up in the morning, which can sometimes be very early in the morning, I send my first thoughts to being grateful for my comfy bed, good pillow, cool breeze on my face from the outside, a quiet neighbourhood and anything else that might be present. It’s an easy leap then to be grateful for the life I have now. Would I trade it for more time with my big, strong, healthy, funny, charming, capable, loving Doug? In a heartbeat.
So I won’t be writing a blog on the day. I will stay in the moment and see what feelings arise for me and whatever they are, I’ll welcome them, be with them, celebrate them and be grateful I had 25 years with the love of my life who loved me so unconditionally. Wherever I am and whatever I’m doing on November 12th I will place my hand on my heart and be enormously thankful that I had the experience of being loved by Doug and loving him back.
So far I’ve repackaged the pieces of lasagna, moved the spare freezer stuff into my kitchen fridge freezer, unloaded the dishwasher and put everything away, sorted all the cutlery, put most of the linen from the laundry basket away, went outside to smell the fresh air and read through some headlines. And it’s only 5:35 a.m.
It was a night sweat that woke me up but the racing thoughts kept me from falling back to sleep. At one moment, I realized I am all alone in the house. I can stay in bed and try to fall back to sleep, listen to a guided meditation, journal, ruminate or get up and do something. Lots of options and what was hardest to acknowledge was that Doug is not here for me to tiptoe around or worse yet, listen for in the other room. If you have lost a beloved spouse/partner this might make sense.
It was a weekend of perfect weather for family guests, bike riding, kids throwing rocks in the water, watching old family slides, eating, eating, eating and laughter and tears (only from me). It was what I had hoped Thanksgiving would be like this year. And it all worked. Except when it didn’t. And those moments were so hard to reconcile. How do I stack up the deep, raw grief with the happiness of seeing little boys loving the outdoors and siblings sharing stories. I learned quickly that this grief is mine only and that keeping it private serves the circumstances. No one wants to hear about or talk about or witness my pain. Neither do I and yet releasing it (mostly in private) is the only way to heal my body because my body remembers a time when I felt so loved and wanted and appreciated no matter what I said or did. I kept replaying a comment “You still have his clothes?” said with so much judgement. It made me wish I had never given away a single thing that he had ever worn or touched. I said nothing because it was Thanksgiving weekend and I didn’t want drama. At least not for them. It would be my own secret pain to face in the field of emptiness that Doug left behind. Mostly I don’t want to be shamed anymore for feeling sad or being self-absorbed.
And some of them tried so hard to accommodate my odd requests and quirky decisions. The ‘girls’ jumped in with all hands on deck to make things run smoothly. They did so much more than most guests would have had to do if Doug and I were hosting together again. But we were not. Doug was not here. He was not here to help with the hand dishes and laugh with me over funny things and celebrate the success of a big dinner. Doug was not here to gather up the odds and ends and put the outdoor furniture away. Doug was not here to walk with me and listen and talk and just hold hands. Doug was and is not here.
I know the power of changing our thoughts. I’ve been learning and teaching this for almost 30 years. I have all the tools I need to stop the tears from streaming down my face as I write this morning. But as I learned from Caroline Myss decades ago “Knowing the way is not going the way”. If I don’t find a way to live my beliefs I’ll suffocate under the weight of loss. My friends and grief supporters will know because they will see and hear it. The staff at the grocery store will know because my face will tell the story before I say a word. But not everyone will know because it’s too hard for some of them to look at me and hold that space in the silence needed to ‘keen’ with despair.
And today I’ll work with my neighbour on a yard chore. I’ll visit a friend who is suddenly in need of help and give my attention to her as I have done so often with others before grief took control of my heart. I will make a decision about the turkey carcass, finish making beds and cleaning, make some phone calls and do all the ‘normal’ necessary things that life is asking of me. And I’ll probably cry more as I mark another day without the person I want most to be with.
In 29 days it will be the second anniversary. Grief is marching alongside me and in me and ahead and behind me. When people say that I am not alone they are right. I am partnered with grief now and for the sake of those who are willing to wait for me with empathy and compassion in their love for me, I’ll keep going. Not in the frantic pace of trying to outrun grief but in a ‘slow down’ canter that allows for all feelings to be seen and heard.
The only person who shared what they were grateful for at the Thanksgiving dinner table was a bright eyed nine year old who said “Life”.
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, New perspectives, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, gratitude, Grief, intention, life, living with grief, loss, loss of spouse, love, Personal Growth, Thanksgiving, truth, widow
For the first time, I am sharing remarks from a friend who articulates this journey so well. Thank you Felice for inspiring us all with your words.
“Dear Daryl,
I read your blog earlier today..
It’s been a day of downtime for me, so it was helpful to reminded about journaling. I switched out of the game playing mode and I journalled and reached out to a friend who is also a widow.
It can be challenging to know when to press forward and when to lean into feelings.
I so appreciate your depth, reflectiveness and self-awareness.
All I know is that each of us experiences grief in our way and in our time. Sometimes the words seem elusive, but I suspect that they come at the right time, when I’m ready for them.
My biggest issues today were centered around acknowledging that I need only to decide to accept my choices or change them. The choices themselves are not inherently wrong. It’s challenging enough to make choices, first small, then progressively larger, with self-criticism quietly pulling strings in the background.
I have only to let go of the expectation that I will somehow get it right or that I will really mess up. Taking inventory of how much I’ve been able to do in life this far is a helpful perspective when the inner critic sneaks in.
I realized that I don’t really feel ‘tethered’ to a clear purpose, a relationship, a career, the list goes on. As I wrote to my friend earlier today, no one replaces that for us. It’s a reality that may be challenging to grapple with in widowhood. However, I also realize the people who have passed would want for me to allow myself happiness. That can be enough purpose. To be in a good place and exploring and growing.
So today, the call for me is to be accepting, if not really comfortable with making major life choices completely of my own volition, and making a big choice at that. Fortunately, doing so one step at a time, with assistance and not being beholden or forced to absolutely decide right this moment eases the stress.
It helps me to give the trepidations words. So, thank you for sharing about journaling. See what goodness you bring!
Rereading your blog entry, this is kind of like the safety net that you mentioned. We all are rebuilding and remaking ourselves in our new reality. Sometimes, stepping forward requires accepting exactly where we are at. I think you are doing that. Grief brings that to us sometimes. I don’t think that is lost or wasted time. It is a form of self care that’s not widely acknowledged: Tending to our inner selves. Permission to feel. Then the feelings do change, and we can step in some more. Like a dance.”
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, New perspectives, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, choice, choices, consciousness, expectations, Grief, healing, Inspiration, intention, life, meaningful life, mental-health, Personal Growth, wisdom, writing
As a Life Coach, Shadow Practitioner, Retreat Facilitator and TED* Practitioner I’ve had plenty of opportunities of spend time with people trying to understand themselves and the people in their lives. Through the years, I was able to do my own learning as I taught and listened and supported others. Facing challenging situations I remarked that under stress, everyone’s bad behaviour just gets worse. It’s sometimes incredibly surprising to see how we revert from our smart, capable, rational thinking when we are in front of something scary. This morning, I am noticing that with myself and it’s uncomfortable and frustrating.
One of my ‘bad behaviours’ is my lack of commitment to self-care. I’m not a complete failure at this but when I woke up very early this morning in a severe night sweat, with my irritated eye and morning grief I unconsciously followed a pattern of avoidance and distraction instead of doing what my body, mind and spirit needed. This went on for a couple of hours before I finally sat down with my journal to hear my innermost feelings. Three lines in, I started the list of what I ‘should’ and ‘could’ have done to ease my discomfort. That’s when I suddenly stopped and heard myself saying ‘under stress, everyone’s bad behaviour just gets worse’. I sighed, ‘including mine’.
What I know for sure is that having a structured ritual of practice keeps me on pace almost regardless of circumstances. I say ‘almost’ because I am human and not immune to the big uprisings in life that can interrupt any best laid plans. As I write, I hear my Doug saying ‘without the slightest equivocation or any mental reservation.’ He used this once in a while in a very playful manner to make a point that he was absolutely firm on something. If I am to apply this now I can see that self-care has always ranked very low on my priority list. I am a lifelong caretaker, rescuer, saver in service of others (especially my beloved Doug) and as hard as I’ve worked at shifting that to being a respectful, empathetic friend and coach, I haven’t directed the same loving compassion to myself.
This is such a well worn topic and I know that while I have no way of knowing who reads this blog unless they contact me, I am certain there are at least a few readers who can relate to keeping self-care at a distance. Until one day when trouble comes knocking and usually in the form of a physical illness. So I am off to the local clinic today and likely the emergency room for a full eye flush. There will be a conversation of what holistic measures I can take to keep myself calm and address my night sweats. I’ll talk to trusted friends and get advice and support.
And in the end, it’s up to me which for the last 22 months has been the hardest part of life. It was always up to me but I had the safety net of a devoted partner to help me get back up if I lapsed. Two years ago Doug and I found out that he had MDS, a form of leukemia on top of his head and neck cancer. This was the beginning of a very painful two months for him and super stress for me. My body remembers. My body needs loving compassion to process and reframe this ‘anniversary’. So today I am willing to slow down and let go. In the face of stress when my bad behaviour flares up, I will hug Doug’s jacket and give myself permission to feel my feelings until they subside. It’s a good start.
“If you have made mistakes, even serious mistakes, you may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing we call “failure” is not the falling down, but the staying down.” Mary Pickford
And so today, I choose to get up again. In spite of or maybe because of the real or perceived ‘failures’ of the past, I am not staying down. Today is a fresh start. For me. For you. For every one of us who is willing to choose to get back up.
Sending love and appreciation to everyone who is starting over … again … today.
I so didn’t want my life to be so much about grief. I worked hard yesterday at grounding myself and being intentional about what I was doing. I focused on positive and hopeful thoughts and actions. I accomplished things and meditated and journalled and did Heart Math exercises. I reviewed my book club reading (The Wild Edge of Sorrow) so it would be fresh for my Friday call. I followed up on the commitments I made for spiritual practice and study with a mentor/friend.
When the grief waves began, I rode my ebike. And I rode again. And then again. And again. It took me away from the reminders of my Doug that are in every corner of my home. It took me away from the happy families enjoying the lake around me. It took me away from the tasks of maintaining a property I love so much and struggle to keep up. It took me away from having to make decisions and finding ways to fill the emptiness.
But it couldn’t take me away from the aching loneliness. I woke up at 3 a.m. crying and not being able to stop. It was how we sometimes intertwined our fingers before we fell asleep. I couldn’t stop my fingers from pulling at each other to find the feel of his big hands. I couldn’t understand how he could still be gone these 21 months later. I strained to hear his slippers coming down the hall or the sound of his breathing beside me.
And it was hearing about friends’ excitement for their anniversary cruise. It was not knowing who to ask for help with things he would have done so easily. It was missing dinner again because eating was so hard around Doug when he couldn’t eat. It was talking to one of his best buddies and him asking for some small item of Doug’s to keep close as a memento of their friendship. It was being fearful of the stretches of time coming up when no one will be visiting and I will ache for companionship. It was trying to keep my mind from spinning through the difficult conversations with people I love over the last two weeks.
And it was knowing that this is what my life will look like. These moments are temporary and there are lovely times of connecting and laughter and resilience. Two grocery store staff giving me sincere, unsolicited hugs. A friend offering to build a planter box I need. The thoughtful invitation from a friend and an encouraging email from another. I am grateful over and over again every day for my home and community and support people. Balancing between these joyful interactions and the devastating dips is so very hard. And it’s getting harder and harder to know who can handle these crushing moments when it seems like the whole world is suffering.
I didn’t want my life to be so much about grief. But we don’t get to choose. This is what I got. And all the training I’ve done as a Retreat Facilitator, Life Coach and 3VQ/TED* Practitioner could be so helpful in pulling me through this darkness. Some say I should ‘walk my talk’. Sometimes I do and it brings comfort and healing to myself and others. And I, like all the other widows crying in the night, know it’s pretty academic until it is your own heart that is breaking and you wake up crying at 3 a.m.
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, family, gratitude, Grief, Inspiration, intention, life, living with grief, loneliness, loss, love, Personal Growth, truth, widow, widows, wisdom
My retreat women often heard me say ‘things always work out, always’. With almost three decades of consciousness studies, personal growth, spiritual learning I knew that inevitably things would work out and that they would work out for the highest good of everyone. Even when it didn’t at first make sense why something happened, eventually I saw the deeper meaning and the greater lessons.
And then this morning as I struggled to quiet my mind I realized that my faith was shaken to the core when Doug died. I worked tirelessly for six years to support his health and the last 12 weeks were so extreme. The physical and emotional toll was only bearable because I had strong faith that I was doing the right thing, fighting fiercely for his life. And in the end, it wasn’t enough. Things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to or the way I thought they would or should.
Now, and very pointedly today, after nearly 21 months of living this nightmare of loss I am asking myself how this could have been for my highest good. Things did work out and yet the way they have worked out continues to be so painful. I am encouraged by kind friends to find the gift of this experience. In my calmer, quiet, reflective moments I do that. Those moments are gentle and in stark contrast to the aching moments of ‘why’.
I would never want Doug to suffer the way he did in the end or during his five years on a feeding tube saddled with daily burdens.
And when I step back, I know that impermanence is real and acceptance of change is a pathway to peace.
And for all those beautiful souls who want me to find my way back to my faith and to help me heal I can only say that I live in both worlds now. One where leaning into my faith that this world is loving and purposeful and everything does work out for the highest good of all and one where crushing loss can still cast doubt on everything I believe.
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, New perspectives, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, faith, Grief, living with grief, Personal Growth, truth, wisdom
‘To love a person is to learn the song that is in their heart and to sing it to them when they have forgotten.’
Arne Garborg
Posted in Conscious Thought, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, Personal Growth | Tags: awareness, consciousness, Grief, Inspiration, love, loving someone, meaningful life, Personal Growth, truth, wisdom
Much has been written about the way life changes for people who lose someone they love, someone they are deeply connected to such as my beloved Doug. I’ve read stories about how people suffered and survived and reshaped their lives but the lens I look through now is so different. When a friend’s husband died five years ago I gave her Sheryl Sandberg’s book Option B. I had read it with intrigue and loved the messages that she and Adam Grant shared using my typical sticky notes to mark meaningful passages. I especially like the concept that ‘things could always be worse’ and it played well into how I taught TED* (The Empowerment Dynamic) and coached people. And then my dear Doug died and I began the journey of wondering how could things have been worse.
And as hard as it was to wrap my head around, honestly they could have been much worse. For sure. What I gleaned from that book and the wonderful books by Dr. Alan Wolfelt of The Center for Loss and Life Transition was that things change. Change is inevitable. It’s so obvious to me that every aspect of my life has been upended and trying to find ‘normal’ isn’t possible when the foundation, the north star, the grounding place of my life is missing. Impermanence is so basic to Buddhism and a concept I work at embracing on a daily basis.
And then there is the collateral damage of relationships. I don’t know how to be with people anymore and lots of them don’t know how to be with me. I’m not behaving, acting, talking, thinking or showing up the same way I did before. There are glimmers of the old me and people jump on that right away as if to grasp something stable in an unstable situation. But when I am not the accepting, available, supportive woman they knew, it is so hard for them to keep up the relationship we had. I’m still a work in progress and who knows, maybe they will like me better when I show up in a new way.
I still have all the wisdom and experience I had before but now it has been reorganized into different parts of my heart and mind. Sometimes I can’t retrieve what I counted on to cope with life on a routine day. And, surprisingly, I am not willing to have as many conversations with the multitude of amazing people that populated my life. I stopped working when Doug became seriously ill and other than random exchanges I have ultimately retired from a career I loved. Along with that, is the loss of the people I shared so much growth and learning with. We had something so satisfying.
I started 2025 rebuilding with a shift into hope and possibility. I was on my way to discovering who I am and how I would use these precious days of my life. And then, after weeks of desperate phone calls and increasing illness, my older brother died on February 10. A new round of grief descended on me and I’m still not sure I have fully understood what happened. It was intense. Grief is intense.
And there is more collateral damage. More relationships that fell apart and others that are just now falling apart these 20 months on.
And to be clear, there are more relationships that emerged and strengthened and flourished. More relationships that brought joy, comfort, enthusiasm and opportunity. While the collateral damage is evident there is also collateral improvement. The goodness that can come from grief can be missed in the despair of loss. I’m not sure anything can replace what I had with my beloved Doug and yet I can’t overlook the extraordinary kindness and meaningful relationships that now fill my life every day.
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