Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | May 6, 2024

It Takes a Village

Sometimes others see things we can’t. Especially when we are unhinged in some way like I have been for months. Yesterday was 25 weeks since my beloved Doug passed away and I am still here. I say this with awe from both gratitude and surrender. A close friend who is 2.5 years ahead of me on this journey came to spend a few days, time to witness, hold space, reflect and, when it felt right, redirect. My gratitude was enormous and as I thanked her over and over again she remarked, “Daryl, you have so many friends I can’t keep track of them and there are so many people supporting you through this.” Of course, she is right. It’s not that I didn’t know that but in the depths of loneliness and despair it was sometimes hard to remember.

It takes a village to raise a child is an old proverb that people have adapted for other reasons. When I kayaked out to greet the sun this morning the words popped into my head. “It takes a village.” I knew that for me, it takes a village to keep me going, keep me safe, keep me comforted, fed, supported. It takes a village to know that when the dust settles in weeks, months, years, people will still be there, pausing to hug, acknowledge, laugh and cry with.

And even though I have a physical village in the little town of Tobermory where there is a smiling, welcoming face at every turn, I also have a village that far extends the boundaries of the Bruce Peninsula. My village has listeners as far away as the U.K., Australia, and in the U.S. there is kindness from Baltimore, Ohio, Tennessee, South Carolina, Alaska, Washington, New Mexico. Then in Canada they are as close as Orangeville, Ottawa, Lunenburg, the Greater Toronto area, Brigden, Kingston, Owen Sound, Baden, Cambridge, Milton, Orillia and on and on and on. My friend pointed out that I had more support than most people because not everyone has a village and she is right. This is my village.

My village has been crucial to my stability and emotional wellbeing and I have no idea where I would be without them. In the midst of acute grief, which I still am, it can be hard to see what my friend saw which is the depth of caring that I have received. Every word and action has been so appreciated but stepping back to take in the collective energy of my village has humbled me. Each act of kindness leaves me in tears because I wonder how I will ever adequately thank so many good deeds. I know Doug felt this way too as he was surrounded by so much love and meaningful support throughout is long illness and critical final weeks.

And I also know that I am part of a village for others. I have delivered food and flowers. I have sat with grieving families. I have raised money for a child’s surgery. I have donated after a fire. And I have listened quietly without judgement or advice when someone needed to get the pain out of their body and mind. I have been part of many villages and still am.

And, I think my village is something very special. My village is populated with a good variety of skills, experience and intuitive listeners so that there is always someone I can call. My village also has those with no idea what to say or do who fumble alongside me trying to figure out how to navigate this rough road. I’ve been nudged to accept the generosity of spirit that flows toward me. As a dedicated villager that can sometimes be hard but having my friend’s wise counsel tells me that being part of a village means giving and receiving as needed. I can do that for the sake of those I care about including myself.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 22, 2024

The Problem With Grieving Out Loud

The problem with grieving out loud is that I’ll never get it right. No matter how I grieve, nor how many times someone says ‘everyone grieves differently’ and ‘it’s okay to show your grief’, the truth is that it is really hard to grieve out loud.

When I stay home and whimper softly as I roam around our home inside and out with reminders at every single footstep, the only judgement or opinion I have to face is from within myself. And that can be harsh enough without inviting the stares and furrowed brows and deep sighs or even tears from others. That I am doing grief my own way and stunned at how physically and emotionally difficult it is at 23 weeks makes me wonder why I would every publicly share what I’m going through.

I’ve asked of others ‘who in their right mind would post so many intimate details of their lives’ which opens them to the viewpoints and rejections of others which can never, ever come from the same place as they are. And yet, here I am, doing the very same thing with my grief journey. Albeit, I have so few people reading this that it may not count as a big promotion of my experience. But I am still doing what I have thought was unnatural. And as for the being in the ‘right mind’, there is no doubt that I am not. The very fact that it would cross my mind to be so vulnerable and transparent at a time when I can barely handle someone not returning a text says I am risking even more disappointment than I am already dealing with.

There was a time when I was well prepared for any kind of feedback. I wrote a book years ago that detailed things about my life that were revealing and I didn’t flinch at how it was received. I knew who I was and was willing to accept my beautiful, complicated, confident, weird and sometimes unreasonable self as being human and winning and losing as we all do. It was a testament to the decades of my personal growth work and I wrote to inspire others to take on their challenges.

Things are different now. I write because that’s what I do and without the enduring witness of my life, my sweet, accepting and loving Doug, I write to be witnessed even if that witnessing is silence. I don’t need to know who is reading this or how it is being read. I know that writing gives me peace so I keep doing it. I write here and in my journal and in my little joy/gratitude book every night. I need to see the words in front of me to know that they are my words and that this is my grief and it is real and raw and not some dramatic story I’ve created. It is my truth right now. Will it always be? That’s yet to be determined.

So after a trip to the city (Owen Sound 1 1/5 hours away) where I pushed myself to go into all the stores Doug and I frequented in search of things I needed, I have come home to mournfully melt into the landscape of our hopes and dreams. Sadness has engulfed me again after the calmness of yesterday. Today I’ll walk because I committed to doing so for the fundraiser and I’ll eat because I always do and I’ll get a few things done that keep me moving. And I’ll write, here and there and wherever I need to, quietly and out loud.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 20, 2024

Still Choosing My Hard

Three years ago I wrote a blog called Choose Your Hard. Recently my ‘soul’ daughter Joy reminded me of this message as it came to her, as it does for all of us when needed, again. I thought back to what ‘hard’ I was choosing three years ago and re-reading that blog this morning puts a different slant on what I’m choosing today. Tomorrow will be 23 weeks since my Doug passed away. For weeks and weeks I had to choose to follow him and be free of this excruciating emotional pain or choose to live and see what happened next.

Today’s hard choices look like:

  • Staying quiet to give myself solitude to process my experience feels hard because the loneliness can be suffocating. Being around other people who want to ‘chat’ about lives that seem so alien to me right now feels hard.
  • Not asking for help to move heavy things and do jobs my beloved Doug would have handled feels hard because we were so independent. Asking for help feels hard because it means letting people do it ‘their’ way and telling me what I ‘should’ do.
  • Eating a healthy, balanced diet feels hard because it takes more focus to plan and prepare meals. Eating whatever is within reach or easiest feels hard because my body craves good nutrition.
  • Saying no to special events like my friend’s daughter’s wedding feels hard because we were so looking forward to being with them on their day. Saying yes feels even more hard because May 7th will be my first wedding anniversary to Doug (we had a looooong engagement) and being at the wedding with couples celebrating will be a stark reminder of my loss.
  • Saying no to well meaning people who say things that upset me feels hard because I know they don’t know what they are doing that is so hurtful. Saying yes to these well meaning people feels hard because I know I will end up sobbing for hours because I’m so darn sensitive right now.
  • Getting up every day to my new reality feels hard because it isn’t temporary. Staying in bed to cry feels hard because I know how much Doug wanted to live and I still have that opportunity.

So, I am choosing my hard every day and sometimes every hour and minute. Sometimes it’s an obvious yes or no. Sometimes I choose and have regrets. Sometimes I hold off choosing for as long as I can.

We all make hard choices. Being conscious about it can make us more aware of what work we still need to do and more importantly, how strong we are in the face of hard choices.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 17, 2024

Are We There Yet?

If you are a parent, you have probably heard that a few times. Last June when Doug and I drove to Nova Scotia he asked me that a few times. We knew what our destinations were on each day and some days it seemed to take forever to get there. Have you ever heard those sayings:

  • enjoy the ride
  • focus on the present moment
  • take your time and appreciate the scenery
  • don’t rush the experience
  • and my favourite … it’s the journey, not the destination

Of course it’s all true. We had full days and one of the ‘blessings’ if it could ever be called that was that Doug needed to stop and nourish himself through a feeding tube. It meant that we found unique places for privacy and ultimately a break from driving. It gave us a chance to breathe in the surroundings. Not always beautiful scenic places but the pause helped us keep going.

Are we there yet is an underlying question in so much of what we do. Have we finished that thing yet? Have we accomplished what we set out to do? Have we got enough education, training, learning, etc. to state that we are ‘there’, ‘there’ being the place we wanted to be personally or professionally. And when we get there we say things like

  • I did it
  • finally that’s over with
  • success
  • I made it
  • at last I can slow down

Nothing wrong with celebrating ‘there’. I remember crossing the Confederation Bridge into Prince Edward Island with great excitement because we were finally ‘there’. Equally, I raced into Doug’s arms to celebrate my return from the CoActive Leadership Program I completed after the final retreat in North Carolina. Both times reflected a great deal of effort and I was proud of having got ‘there’.

Sometimes we don’t know where ‘there’ is we just know it’s not here, not where we are now. I’ve heard people say that they’ll know they are ‘there’ when they get ‘there’. I love that. It’s a knowing in our hearts that what we long for is a feeling more than a place or milestone. ‘There’ doesn’t even need to be described or finalized because it can be a moving target. As in, oh, I thought when I got this degree or that new house or that relationship that I would be ‘there’ but along the way, things changed.

So this morning I wondered about Am I There Yet? I had a busy day yesterday with help from wonderful friends in the neighbourhood. I ended the day with dinner and a fun game at their place and thought ‘this could be my new normal’. This could be what my life looks like. This could be the ‘there’ that everyone hopes I get to so they don’t worry about me so much. But it’s not the ‘there’ I was working towards all these years in my professional career or on a personal level when my beloved Doug was by my side.

I don’t feel like I am ‘there’ yet. I sense there is somewhere else I need to go to feel more peace in my heart. And I have no idea what ‘there’ is for me or when I’ll get there but I’m still moving along every day which is the best that I can do. I don’t have any ambition to clarify ‘there’ and can very easily remember when my days were filled with ‘there’. It feels right to loosen the hold on ‘there’ and be ‘here’. Maybe we all need to do a little more of that in our lives so we enjoy the journey which by the way is short and unpredictable.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 15, 2024

Finding Joy. Releasing Bitterness.

On Saturday I handed over the keys to our much loved 20′ motor boat to a wonderful couple who loved Doug and will take his boat on a new journey. I know them well and know this outcome is better than I could have imagined. It is bittersweet and took the wind out of me for quite a while. Given the alternative, I’m happy.

Sunday I learned how to use an impact driver including changing bits and recharging. If you don’t know what that tool is, go online and check it out. It was so empowering I went back out before dark in my pajamas to do a little more work disassembling a small wooden frame. I felt triumphant.

And then this morning I pushed myself out the door to kayak with the sunrise. I’ve been waiting days and days for the lake to calm down. 3 degrees Celsius was not a deterrent because I’m halfway through my commitment to support the HNCA Move-a-thon fundraiser. Each time I ‘move’ I remember how hard Doug worked to keep going in the six years he fought his cancer. He would love that I’m part of easing this tough journey for others and really love that I was on the lake early in the morning. It was something that mattered to us.

And I’m doing it for myself. For the days when crying overtakes me and the days I celebrate friendships. I do it for the days I get back up and brush myself off and start seeing life around me again. Things have changed and I have changed and still there are lovely reminders of people and places and things that matter.

These past few days I’ve been sitting with ‘bitterness’ and watching how it impacts people around me. As Doug would say “I have an inkling” that I have heard some bitterness in my previous posts wanting things and especially people to be different than what they are. So I’ve been giving ‘bitter’ a hard look and I know for sure I don’t want that in my life. Being bitter robs me of whatever love and joy is in front of me right now. As much as I would like things to be different, I am leaning into acceptance and appreciation because I never want to end my life feeling bitter about things and people I have no control over it.

The definition of bitter from the Oxford dictionary is ‘angry, hurt, or resentful because of one’s bad experiences or a sense of unjust treatment.’ I’m not saying that I or you won’t ever feel these feelings because that’s part of being human. What I intend for myself and for all those I love and care about is that we let the feelings pass instead of holding them up as our excuse for not being happy. Doug was not bitter. Disappointed, yes. But not bitter. He understood and showed me and many others how to get past those negative feelings to embrace whatever peace there was in life. I’m giving it my best shot.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 9, 2024

The Part of You That is Drawn To Hope

I wasn’t going to write today. So much has stomped around my head and heart and I wanted to take some good advice from a dear friend and be silent. Preparing to do more shredding I picked up my appointment book from 2013. Opening the back cover I saw a scribble of words in bold strokes that read:

“Spirit is the part of you that is drawn to hope … the part of you that has to believe in goodness, that has to believe in something more.”

I read it over a few times slowly and out loud to feel the message. It touched my heart. I wondered who had said these words and did a search online. Caroline Myss. Of course! I have admired her work for decades and quoted her often. No surprise that I would capture something she said in a place I would see it often, my appointment book. What really moved me were the words ‘drawn to hope’. Maybe that’s what has kept me going these longs weeks without my beloved Doug. Maybe my spirit has been drawn to hope the way that we all feel drawn towards the light, the ‘part of you that has to believe in goodness’. Maybe we are all unconsciously, through our spirit, believing in something more.

Hope is a noun that sits on top of the mountain beckoning us to stretch and reach for what we long for without excuses and conditions. Hope waits for us to be ready to turn towards it’s light and no matter the outcome, it wraps us up in possibility. And hope is a verb, easing us through the little steps we must take to accomplish the simplest of tasks when we are in despair and always with grace and wisdom.

And Spirit, our spirit, is the catalyst, that which draws us up to our full height so we can keep our eye on hope, on goodness, on something more. Because it is that goodness and something more that ensures we will be holy beings in this chaotic world where ‘things’ happen and loss and grief wander the garden alongside joy and elation. Spirit is our grounded centre and when we listen with the quietness of a butterfly’s wings, we hear the peace that was always there.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 7, 2024

You Could Be Forgiven

You could be forgiven if you saw me yesterday when I stopped in to see how my friend’s renovations were coming along. We chatted about his work and managing his dog and the wind on the lake and how his wife’s trip to the U.K. was going. You could be forgiven if you noticed I hadn’t cried during the visit and thought that maybe I had turned a corner.

You could be forgiven if you watched me talking with the people who picked up the old windows I was selling. I asked them questions about their property and the project they were undertaking and acknowledged them for their tenacity. You could be forgiven if you thought I was much more social and that maybe I had turned a corner.

You could be forgiven if you were one of the people I sent pictures to of the new bench in the Tobermory Harbour dedicated to my beloved Doug. I was so proud of what my friend Merv had built and couldn’t wait to share it with a few friends and family. You could be forgiven if you thought I was finally celebrating good things and not dwelling on the past because maybe I had turned a corner.

You could be forgiven if you were there to see me open a surprise hand made glass heart that a casual neighbour dropped off at my door. Her note was full of compassion and I thanked her by text for her generosity. You could be forgiven if you noticed I only sobbed for a few minutes instead of the usual hours long when something good happens and you might have thought that finally I had turned a corner.

And you could be forgiven if you read my cheery posts on the HNCA Move-A-Thon website where I share a daily update of my efforts to support this organization. I am committed to moving every day and I share how proud of am of myself and others committed to this cause. You could be forgiven if you read a new perspective in my positive words and thought that I’d write more uplifting messages which meant that maybe I had turned a corner.

This morning I did turn a corner. I woke up to a lovely sunrise and walked through our house and our little cottage suite and looked around at the changes I’d made and I suddenly saw Doug everywhere I looked – lying on the couch during treatment, sitting on the swing on the porch with me seeing the sun come up, drinking his coffee on the end of the dock, browsing on his computer looking for a good deal on a boat, walking along the shoreline in his big green rubber boots to help me bring my kayak in, and even remembering his long slow showers. This morning everything made me cry. A lot.

You could be forgiven if you thought I turned a corner because I did too. I thought I had found a way through with long walks in the sunshine, videos of other widow’s surviving, a healthy meal, the perfect haircut, and appreciating the kind messages of love and support. I thought the heaviness and aching loss of Doug’s companionship were in the distance. I thought I’d figured out how to let go of the crushing grief that can consume me on a day like today where I will silently mark the 21st week without him.

Maybe you didn’t think I had turned a corner but I did. Maybe I could be forgiven for thinking I had.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 6, 2024

Eclipse Glasses and Grief

With the solar eclipse arriving on Monday I decided to try out the glasses my friend gave me. The world looked very different through the filters and it got me thinking of times when I have worn sunglasses with various tints. The dark shades of bronze or dreamy blues that make everything in my viewing look shaded, softer and less stark. Even though I was looking at familiar objects, they didn’t look the same when the filters were applied just as the eclipse glasses significantly changed what I was looking at. Thankfully I can take them off anytime I like.

Sharing my experience with a friend at breakfast we talked about the filters that people wear all the time. At a nearby table, a couple was busy with their baby and we agreed they now have a filter that they look through because of their child. It’s a lens in front of them that has changed forever the way they live with the responsibility and obvious love for this little person. This altered vision can be true of other filters such as a new job, a divorce, a relocation, an empty nest, an illness, a new romance, financial woes, and even the beliefs we carry about ourselves and others, etc. What we see and how we see our world is influenced by the filter we look through. This isn’t news for many people but it was highlighted for me today when I realized that the filter I am looking through at this time in my life is grief. Ugh. For so many weeks this grief filter has almost blinded me to anything other than the huge aching loss I feel. That’s what acute grief does to us.

When I take off the eclipse glasses I am happy to see my world in all it’s familiarity, just the way I remember it. It feels safe and predictable again. I’ve spent almost thirty years learning and teaching how to take off the filters that cause us suffering or are a detriment to our health, happiness and relationships. If only it was as easy as taking off those eclipse glasses to see the truth of our lives. If only I could take off the grief filter and rediscover myself.

I will never be the same after the loss of my beloved Doug but I’m starting, very, very slowly to wonder what parts of me will still be visible if I consciously take the filter off a wee bit at a time. I know I’ve been doing this instinctively for all of the 21 weeks since he slipped away from his physical pain. I’ve watched myself smile at happy memories, celebrate a child’s birth, feel relief at de-cluttering, shared laughs with my sister and baked cookies for friends. All the while, the grief filter was in the room but it wasn’t clouding my ability to focus on what was in front of me. I acknowledge that it will always be nearby but I can’t escape the reality that for however long or short a period, it wasn’t stopping me from setting it aside. That’s refreshing because it feels like a shift that maybe, just maybe, will give me a purpose and a will to keep going.

The eclipse glasses will protect my eyes if I am willing to look directly at the sun on Monday. What purpose does this grief filter offer as I look directly at my loss? How has it served me to have worn this grief filter for all these long, hard days and nights? Without question I am 100% certain I did not understand deep grief until the loss of Doug. Without question I am 100% certain I did not know how loved and appreciated and worthy of other’s caring I am until the loss of Doug. While I had superficial understandings of both of these, with the grief filter (which often feels like a heavy cloak) I now face these two realities in ways I could never have known without the experience. That’s true for all of us. Experience is still the best teacher.

It’s important for me to state here and now that while we can all work at removing filters that don’t serve us anymore there will always be some that have such a profound impact we will carry them forever in the same way we keep the eclipse glasses handy on Monday just in case we get the chance to see this phenomenon. Grief is one of those filters and has the ability to shroud us over and over again unexpectedly. The challenge and opportunity is to find ways to harness the in between moments when the glasses come off after the eclipse and in our daily lives to see the beauty that is still there.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | April 1, 2024

Let there be peace on earth, And let it begin with me.

“Let there be peace on earth, And let it begin with me.” Jill Jackson-Miller and Sy Miller

Let it begin with me being at peace within myself. Peace in my mind – letting go of the stories and beliefs that distract me or instill fear and judgement. Peace in my body – slowing down my overactive nervous system to let my body recover from the stress it is carrying. Peace in my heart – allowing myself to move through the range of natural emotions so I can tap into the joy and love that still lives there.

And let it begin with me feeling love and acceptance of others with all their quirky ways and self-destructive behaviours and questionable words and actions. Let it begin with my feeling deep, sobering gratitude for the ‘in-the-moment’ unconditional love and support that may not last but is essential in saving me from myself. And let it begin with me seeing others as the beautiful beings they are in spite of their rejection or criticism or exclusion. Let it begin with me knowing we are all more alike than different and seeing the generosity, compassion, wisdom and gentleness in others creates connection.

Let it begin with me knowing full well from my core that what I do makes a difference. That we all have, whether or not we know and whether or not we choose to act on it, the power to create peace in the world around us by how we treat ourselves and others. Let it begin with me remembering that every single one of us was born whole and holy and what we see is learned behaviour that we may like or not like.

Let there be peace in every corner of my world and let me look for it with quiet curiousity.

Let it begin with me acknowledging that I walk this path once and only once and that even in acute grieving for my beloved Doug and I can still choose, at only 20 weeks in, to be kind. We can all choose authentic kindness where we might otherwise harbour resentment or blame. Let it begin with me. Let it begin with us.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | March 28, 2024

Move-A-Thon to Remember My Doug

Today as I shredded mounds of paperwork from my beloved Doug’s 6 1/2 years of treatment I walked through the memories of all that he endured. The countless applications for medication, devices, referrals, etc. And I didn’t even get to the daily logs of drugs, activity and appointments. It was a full time occupation and Doug did it with such grace and humility and courage. It was a tough road but hand in hand we did the best we could together, every step of the way.

Doug and I had attended very helpful webinars, he was given a Survivor Mental and other resources through the Head and Neck Alliance in the U.S. When Doug died I was heartbroken (and still am) so when the Alliance reached out to offer support I was so blessed to be connected with Sue Lim. Her kindness having walked this path before me, was incredibly helpful and to this day, she responds to my messages with the tenderness of someone who really understands. We shared the experience of watching our husbands suffer through the ravages of throat cancer and how it upended their lives. Sue has given me hope when I least thought I could go on.

So when Sue invited me to team up with her to raise money for the Alliance I immediately said yes. Of course then I knew I would have to ask people to sponsor me and I’m not sure I have the capacity to be a good fundraiser right now. And then today, handling all that paperwork, I thought how devastating this diagnosis would be for someone else. I decide to make a post and trust that whatever is meant to be, will be. I’m going to fulfill my commitment to dedicate every walk, kayak, cycle and yoga in April to my sweet Doug. Every action will be preceded with a gesture of love for him and a wish for the wellbeing of anyone else who faces this devastating illness. I’ve been on Lake Huron 4 times this year with my kayak and walked every day to prepare for this event.

So if you are moved to donate, thank you. Thank you from my heart and from the hearts of those who have held me up these past 19 weeks when I didn’t have the strength to do it on my own. Thank you from the thousands of people who will face this life altering diagnosis and those who love and care for them. Here is the link to read our story: https://headandneckcanceralliance.salsalabs.org/24MoveAThon/p/darylwoodrememberingdougpage/index.html

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