Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | November 29, 2024

I’m Normal

There are lots of opinions about grieving and what it could, would or should look like. The loudest and most common message is that everyone grieves differently. I get that. Still, I have found myself one year and 17 days in wondering if the deep despair that envelopes me now and then is okay. I wonder because I feel some resistance from some of the people who have been trudging along this bumpy road with me. And I feel it from other people who randomly check in after many months and are somewhat surprised that I still have what Alan Wolfelt calls ‘grief bursts. And then of course I have wondered myself because in my state of uncertainty and memory lapses I can only remember a very few people in my life who seemed to be still struggling many months after a loss. Now I know that I didn’t see what was probably right in front of me.

Yesterday I went for a walk in what turned out to be a light snow storm. It was lovely and fresh. While I blinked away a few tears thinking how Doug would have laughed at what seemed like a misadventure I also blinked away the feeling that somehow I was not normal. It suddenly (which is an odd term for something that brews for a long time and finally surfaces) became quite obvious that I am normal.

It’s normal that I would be happy after my long meeting with my financial advisor this morning to clarify how I will proceed to keep myself secure in the years ahead. It’s normal that I would release a deep sob as Doug’s much loved John Deere tractor was loaded onto a flatbed and be driven away to it’s new home. It’s normal that I would laugh out loud with a neighbour over a silly anecdote that we shared. It’s normal that I would cry when friends left for the winter knowing I wouldn’t see these special people for at least four months. It’s normal that I smiled at words in my crossword book and cried loading up the wood bin. I am living life and that’s what life looks like when you are grieving. Or not.

We all have ups and downs every day but we often just give them a passing glance or handle them with a measured response. When you are grieving/mourning a deep love lost the downs can look like tears and whimpers of despair or even painful keening. Thankfully, they don’t last. I thought they would and still wonder when they consume me if this will be the time I fall too far into the darkness to ever recover. But I do recover because this is normal. It’s normal to laugh and joke and make personalized Christmas cards and bake cookies and walk in snowstorms. It’s also normal to sob into a pillow or call a friend to empty the raw emotions that need a place to land when it feels too much to carry alone.

So today I celebrate a new mindset hoping it will help me through the inevitable pitfalls that lie ahead. Grief is normal. Mourning is normal. I am normal.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | November 27, 2024

Spoons and Forks and Knives

The cutlery drawer is not usually a trigger point for me but this morning as I emptied the dishwasher and began putting spoons and forks and knives away I was overcome with sadness that these were our utensils. These were the items we used every day for meals. These represented the hundreds of dinners we shared with friends and family over two decades. These were the things that became symbols of early grief when you couldn’t eat anymore. These are what I use now to feed myself in the disordered way I’ve been eating since the summer of 2018 when surgery robbed you of normal swallowing.

The challenge of mourning is that we don’t know what is going to ‘set us off’. I would not have thought that an innocuous cutlery drawer would start a cycle of tears that I’ve been trying to resist all morning. Writing about it helps. It lets the grief drip out of my body and mind for a brief period. It lets others know how hard it is for mourners to function well in a world that has mine fields hidden in something as simple as a kitchen drawer.

And it reminds me of the love we shared over your favourite spaghetti dinners, turkey feasts at holidays, neighbourhood gatherings, Farkle parties, fish frys on the shoreline and so many meals that you famously declared were ‘the best ever.’ When I sit at our table, as I rarely do, I can feel the joy of you digging in to yummy dishes and the pain of you sipping coffee while I ate. Someday I will be able to focus only on the happy celebrations we had with the cutlery I am carefully stowing away. Today, my heart is reminded of the uphill battle that I and others who have experienced the loss of a much loved partner face over the simplest of daily acts.

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

Weaponizing My Learning

The big risk of writing about my grief experience is the self-criticism I inevitably endure because of what I think of myself and what I think other people are thinking of me. It makes no sense because the people who are supporting me deny they are judging my words and actions and behaviours. Yet, I am convinced that they turn their backs, roll their eyes and sigh deeply. I am increasingly accusing myself of playing a victim and not ‘getting over it’, not letting go of the grief. I taught this work and taught self-acceptance and resilience for so many years that the moment I slip into the darkness I am certain I have failed miserably at recovery and will never heal, only to sacrifice good relationships who I believe will tire of my sorrow. That’s the judgement I make when I fall headlong into another ‘griefburst’. And it happened today.

Listening to me on the phone with two friends (at separate times) and an appointment with my doctor and a quick exchange at the grocery store and short visit to drop things off at a friend’s, you would have thought I was on a roll. And I was. I had a clear message yesterday from spirit or Doug or within my own internal wisdom that I was moving along and seeing possibilities. It felt empowering. But as the last phone call ended I felt a bit uncomfortable so I took steps to physically shift my energy. I walked up the road to pick some red willow for a friend who forgot to take it home with her when she left her cottage. Since I’ll be staying with them for a couple of nights it was a good idea for me to bring some to her.

The first branch was easy. Then I stood on the deserted road and realized I was picking these so they could decorate their home to enjoy the Christmas season with their family and friends. It was the sudden pang of sadness that I was alone and there was no one to decorate my home for. Doug was gone. I would go away for at least a few days so why bother. No one would see if I put up any of our beautiful, special or meaningful decorations. And if I did it for myself (which a well meaning friend suggested) I would have more reminders of what I had lost. The picture of my current reality hit my heart so fast and furious I could only sob loudly as I tugged at a few more branches to get the needed number. As if losing Doug wasn’t enough, I was now victimizing myself with shame for not trying harder, being stronger, less needy.

It’s hard to understand why I would use what I know about victimization to cause myself more suffering. And then to write about it almost legitimizes the experience. I have to do what I’m compelled to do and that is to write, to tell the story from here for the many people who have not been here before. For the sake of those who have and who find themselves staring at really hard memories maybe someone will pause and feel more empathy and compassion. If you know someone grieving … and there are more of us than you can imagine … and especially if they live alone, reach out. Let them know you are thinking of them. And do it as often as you can without being intrusive. The random messages I get from family and friends are a lifeline on days like today when I make up a story (and it’s not true ) that I am alone in my suffering.

After decades of teaching, I am the student grasping at ways to get back on my feet. I do pretty well and people tell me often that they see a big difference. I do too. Most days. Not so much today.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | November 18, 2024

The Insistent Invitation

Every now and then a book suspiciously pokes out from my library shelves and calls to me for attention. I believe in Divine Synchronicity so I usually pause and consider what might be trying to speak to me. Yesterday it was James Hollis’ book “Finding Meaning in The Second Half of Life”. The subtitle “How to Finally, Really Grow Up” was humorous when I bought the book but revealed a much deeper truth. I am having to grow up in this new world with no one to witness my daily life or give me support and feedback on the choices I am making. I can’t blame anyone else for poor decisions or credit anyone with my successes.

When I pulled the book down to take a look I noticed several post it stickers marking pages and paragraphs I especially appreciated. The first one caught my breath. I know I have shared this before and have read it many times to motivate myself to listen to my inner wisdom. As I begin this “New Year” of life without my beloved Doug I am not surprised that spirit nudged me towards this reading. I am offering here to anyone who might be wondering how to know what to do next in their life. Namaste.

“In the end we will only be transformed when we can recognize and accept the fact that there is a will within each of us, quite outside the range of conscious control, a will which knows what is right for us, which is repeatedly reporting to us via our bodies, emotions, and dreams, and is incessantly encouraging our healing and wholeness. We are all called to keep this appointment with the inner life, and many of us never do. Fortunately, this insistent invitation comes to us again and again.”

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | November 14, 2024

“Grief” by the late Honourable Murray Sinclair

You’ll find that grief comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | November 12, 2024

Today

Long time ago and applies more than ever this morning. One year today.

https://youtu.be/z4HVPE-TC7E

Let there be peace and love on earth and let it begin with me. With you. With all of us.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | October 29, 2024

Choose Life

I’ve been sharing this passage by Molly Dee Rundle for two decades and finding it among my papers today was a gentle reminder. I’m grateful.

“Sometimes we are prisoners in prisons of our own design. We’ve carefully built our walls; we’ve made our prison safe and comfortable, and then we have chosen to lock ourselves inside. And we do not call it a prison at all, we call it our home or work or responsibility. We are very careful to post guards so that nothing threatens the security of our prison. Some of us live and die there and suppose that we have been happy and that living was good.

But sometimes, something or someone happens to us and the walls are shattered, and we lie helpless and exposed … in view are new horizons, new ideas, new experiences. When this happens many of us quickly gather the stones and rebuild our prison and retreat inside, but some few look around and crawl out of the rubble and gaze into the distance and wonder what “stuff” the world is made of. They venture out to taste and smell and feel. These people never build prisons again. They are willing to risk the hurt and possible failure of living and loving and dying with no guarantee of safety. They live with only the promise that there is fullness in living. They take the risk and choose life.”

Molly Dee Rundle

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

One Thing Always Leads to Another

While visiting a friend for a few days I came up with a plan to reorganize my office so I could have my yoga mat on the floor full time with space for meditation and reflection. Since I’m not ‘officing’ much anymore it was a good idea only slightly (it seemed in my thoughts) complicated by the large table that held craft supplies and paperwork I hadn’t filed. No big deal. Until it was.

In order to make the changes I would need to put the craft stuff somewhere else. A cupboard upstairs would be perfect and near the kitchen table where crafting on the rare occasions I did it could comfortably be done. Except that the cupboard was full of photographs, frames and memorabilia. The sorting began and morphed into several other spaces until they finally landed me in my office closet where I spent good chunks of yesterday. Piling up miscellaneous and outdated photos and paperwork for commercial shredding I sat with the stack of file folders from the Women’s Wisdom Retreats I led for 17 years. Each folder held registration forms, menus, schedules, notes and feedback pages. Everything began to move into the bag for shredding to protect the privacy of my clients and eliminate outdated information. I took my time thinking about each group, each woman and what we had learned together. As I glanced at the feedback pages I decided I would keep these because it was comforting to know how many women left here with hope, inspiration, self-awareness and self-confidence. I knew I would enjoy reading them again. In between the pages were occasionally cards that had been sent at a later date and this is when I paused and gulped.

In a variety of handwriting so many women wrote about Doug. In the early retreats he was very present sharing dinner with us all, helping them build little boats and getting cars ready for the trip back home. Eventually he was only a shadow on the outskirts ready to help if needed (he did most of the kitchen clean up) and staying out of sight to give our guests the time and freedom they needed to pursue their inner awareness. The little notes I was now reading showed that he had a positive impact with his kindness and humour. I had forgotten how much I depended on him to pull off these events. He would often joke to me that I made about $5.00 an hour considering how much time and energy I invested before, during and after the retreats. His income from his shared responsibility was even less! It was definitely a labour of love for me and he fully supported what I offered because I felt so privileged to be trusted by women from literally around the world.

Ironically it was Doug who was the reason I stopped in the fall of 2017 when his medical needs were too sporadic to be certain there would be no interruption. As I read the cards and reflected on the retreat experience I told Doug how proud I was of us for doing good work together. We made it happen and the success (and sometimes failures) were a product of our dedication as a team.

I wouldn’t have guessed that finding a way to have my yoga mat set up would lead to this experience. I’m so glad it did. As hard as it was to let go of that past it was touching to know he made a difference. Not surprising but for sure it gave my heart a warm glow.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | October 24, 2024

How Did I Get Here?

How did I get here? How have I done this? As I journal these days and count down to the upcoming anniversary of my beloved Doug’s passing I shake my head at how I got here. 11 1/2 months in it seems surreal that I am still here. Still here when Doug is not. Still here, in the home he helped build on the beautiful waterfront he loved. Still here moving his things around in the garage, sorting clothes to finally donate and today, with sun warming me through the windows, making decisions about what photographs to keep and what can be let go.

I kept asking myself these past few days how I got here because there were so many days when I wanted out. I had plans to leave this suffering behind and reunite with the love of my life, my person, the person who adored me. How did I not give in and give up? It seems like such a long unimaginable length of time since I held his hand for the last time that it must really have only been days.

In the middle of the wondering came the awareness that was undeniably true. I am still here because I have been loved and supported beyond anything I could have ever imagined. From the first day I was surrounded by family and friends who kept watch and cared for me. Day after day people showed up to do things for me and to listen. And when the initial shock morphed into weeks of learning to live alone without the responsibility of Doug’s care and with no direction for myself, they still stood by me.

I’ve heard so many people talk about being paralyzed with grief that they didn’t accomplish anything for months and years. Others wept as they shared the depth of loneliness when they had no one to comfort them. Even though there were painful days when I was alone and felt an emptiness that was truly unbearable I still found someone I could call or text or email. It didn’t always come as quickly or as strongly as I would have liked but there was no denying that I was only an ‘ask’ away from help. And that’s why I got things done and that’s how I got here.

People tell me I’m doing so well and they are inspired by my courage and determination. They say this even though they know at any moment I could collapse under the sadness of missing my Doug. They have seen me cry through an entire grocery shopping outing, at the post office, at family dinners, riding my bike or walking along the road Doug and I loved. They say this whether or not they know that I am ‘doing so well’ because I have unlimited resources in the people who are ready to give me what I need.

11 1/2 months later these kind and generous souls celebrate with me when I am happy and funny and asking about their lives. They hold me when a memory brings tears to my eyes. They are chatty and carefree with me when we greet each other and they are quiet and solemn on what has become rare occasions when I have hit a bump.

That is unmistakably how I have made it this far. Doug would be so proud of us all for what we have done together to navigate this unwanted path. My gratitude is sincere and reaches the corners of my thoughtful community to people and places in far away lands. Oh, to be so loved that even the most suffocating of grief could be managed is a gift I will cherish the rest of my life. Thank you.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | October 3, 2024

Stop Complaining

The waves are roaring loudly. I’m steeped in gratitude. Feeling the feelings. Cleaning up computer files. And then I stumbled on this. Filed away to be revisited when needed. Today it works.

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