Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | September 25, 2024

The Body Remembers

I’ve read many books over the years about how our bodies and cell tissues store our experiences. What I didn’t expect was to witness it play out these past few days.

This is the time last year when Doug began treatment for the new diagnosis of MDS Leukemia. It brought on a whole new intensity of appointments, consultations, treatments, scheduling, anxiety and fear. We both worked hard at keeping a positive outlook and doing everything we could to find a glimmer of normal in our now completely upended lives. These weeks leading up to his passing November 12th were all consuming and physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. Every aspect of our lives were impacted in challenging ways.

Over the past few weeks I’ve reflected on how I wanted to approach this time. At first, I reached out for comfort and encouragement from others. Then, after a wonderful vacation with friends and family I decided to focus on healing and not talk about the pain and suffering we endured. It seemed like a good plan and I was managing. Until I wasn’t. Suddenly, without any particular trigger or reason huge tears would roll down my cheeks. After two days of gulping down my grief I realized that even if I was moving along and making life livable again, my body remembered.

My body remembered the long hours on the road and sleepless nights caring for his needs. My body remembered lifting wheelchairs and walkers into the car and carrying boxes of liquid nutrition and supplies. My body remembered being on alert for choking, fainting and emergency trips to the hospital. My body remembered the disordered eating while travelling and racing from one urgent situation to the next. And my body remembered holding Doug’s hand through painful injections and moments of awareness that we couldn’t even talk about.

So as much as I thought I could reframe these hard days and weeks, my body remembers what we lived through not that long ago. And so it is that as my family visits I let myself sob and recount the worst days of my life so that my body is acknowledged for all it went through. It is a gift to my healing that I don’t cover up the reality or shrug off the memories that sometimes ignite a flood of tears. I will do what I can to treat my body, mind and spirit kindly as I give grief the space it needs to be honoured.

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

What If?

What if the meaning and purpose and reason for living is waiting for the right moment to be revealed? What if all the wondering why I am still here is unnecessary? Can I embrace what I’ve said many times to others that the magic, the miracle is coming? Be patient. Stay awake.

And Caroline Myss would say ‘give up your need to know’. But I am hungry for knowing. I want to know with all my heart why I am still waking up and going through my days and doing things I need to do and procrastinating on things I can shrug off because there is no one holding me accountable. I serve a purpose to others by hosting family and acknowledging struggles and having visits and keeping the free library tidy, etc. etc.

But what about serving a purpose for my soul, my longing to feel a deep sense of ‘this is why I am on this planet at this time in my life.’ I hate that I don’t know and can’t feel a reason to keep going. But I also know, and I hate this too, that I may be doing more to serve myself and others than I know because I’m so distracted by grieving Doug and struggling to keep the raw, painful emotions from taking over every conversation or visit with kind and caring friends. And I’m not looking for a grandiose way to make a difference. Doug would tell me, and still does in a spiritual way, to slow down. Slow Down! I am a teacher of ‘take a pause, breathe, listen, be still’. And I have never in my life had to work so hard at slowing down and pausing.

It is exhausting to try and keep ahead of the sadness and because I rarely censor myself, I let the emotions run wild so that the tears don’t build up and rust out my insides. Maybe my greatest fear is that this way of expressing myself will never end and the beautiful souls who offer me comfort in my most desperate moments will someday say ‘enough already’.

Every now and then someone kindly points me towards gratitude as if I had never thought of it. It is always on my mind and in fact the enormous gratitude I feel for where I live, the ease of life, and the stunning amount of love and support that I get can evoke even more despair as I try desperately to let these blessings be enough.

Awake long before sunrise today I wandered the empty rooms of my home listening for Doug’s breathing or shuffling slippers or even the sound of the sports channel on his tv. I cleaned out a closet and wiped a few baseboards and finally got back into bed to watch the blazing sun climb up over the tree tops. I’ll get showered and dressed and head to the city to meet my son and daughter-in-law for lunch. I’ll do a little shopping before I return to more tidying and meditating and whatever else shows up.

And all the while I will keep my heart open as best I can to listen for the whispers from the universe. If spirit has something to say to me today I ask that you speak loud and clear so I cannot miss it. My dear friend Jennifer H. shared a prayer with me long ago: “God, lead me where you need me and speak to me in ways I can’t possibly misunderstand.” That feels like a good place to start this morning.

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

Being My Own Champion

On a regular Thursday night last month I was sitting on our porch swing with my laptop in front of an incredibly calm lake. And calm is how I was feeling inside along with a healthy dose of pride. It was a day that signaled another big step in my healing and what I noticed more than the decisions I made and actions I took is how I was reflecting.

I laid off my handyman who had been faithfully coming every Tuesday to help me get little and big jobs done. I decided I wanted to open my summer days to being more spontaneous and relaxed as I welcomed family and friends who have booked up my calendar. It was a hard decision and he was gracious in assuring me that he would come back anytime. I wanted to make sure we were still on good terms. Then I had a resourceful store owner repair a little power washer so I could do small clean up jobs myself. He is an excellent problem solver and I was thrilled that he would take the time to help me just as he had done for Doug in the past. I brought it home, figured out how to use the adjustable wrench to get the hose attached and then did a little spraying. It worked perfectly and I felt so good to be able to make this happen.

Right away I got on the phone and told the friend who has been guiding me through the power washing process. He was duly impressed and gave me more pointers. I then called one of my closest friends who picks me up when I stumble and she listened curiously. I texted another friend who knew I was trying to resolve this and I texted our daughter to give her some ‘good news’ for a change. And then in an effort to keep the momentum going I rode my bike to friends’ place and shared with them. Everyone acknowledged my success and confirmed that Doug would have been equally proud of me.

Riding back home I cried big tears. The truth was that I was desperate to hear Doug’s voice and words of praise and no matter how many people I told, it would never be enough. Only he would have known how much this meant to me to be able to handle something he would have taken for granted. Only he would have known what it took for me to ask for help (again) with something I felt so uncertain about.

The hard reality is that he isn’t here to give me a hug and celebrate my success with me. Somehow I would have to do it for myself. All the messages I shared in retreats about being our own champion, our own best friend, our own cheerleader, came rushing back to me. Did I mean it then? Of course. And I still do. I’m just fumbling my way from the abstract beliefs to concrete real life.

Maybe that’s what we all do. Maybe our core values and beliefs pop up at unexpected turns and we are confronted with a choice to think and act accordingly or slip into some pattern that challenges what we say is meaningful to us. Maybe this is what living consciously is all about – showing up with integrity.

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

Holding Hands Through Life and Grief

And life goes on. Not the way I want it to and still, in some odd rhythm it feels as normal as normal can be in between the shock of Doug’s loss. I am swimming with kids in the lake and laughing at their giggles and silliness on blow up toys. I am kayaking to greet the sunrise with my brother and sister-in-law giving them a glimpse of the beauty that hangs in the sky when the full moon is still jostling for space as the sun bursts forth. I am riding my new ebike distances I never imagined I would go on two wheels and loving the feel of the ride. I am hiking through the woods and going to the Sweet Shop … again! I am taking a video of tiny ducks diving in a frenzy along the shoreline under the watchful eye of a mother with too many offspring to reasonably keep track of. I am refilling the free library with books for all ages. I am cuddling babies, eating more s’mores than I want to, doing laundry, paddling with youngsters, hiking the trails, and enjoying summer on the lake.

And missing Doug. Missing our two boats in the lake and the channel markers he put out every year. I’m missing our slow trips down the bay in the evening and boating in the ‘big’ water on calm days. I am missing sitting on the dock with him playing in the Cornhole tournament. And I am really missing having him help me make decisions and figure things out. Things like getting a coffee stain out of a new beige rug or which branches to trim away from the deck. I am missing having someone to worry with, to debate with, to negotiate with and to listen to for wise counsel.

I had a long heartfelt visit with a returning cottager yesterday who lost his wife 3.5 years ago. The parallels in our grieving (not the way we grieve but what we grieve for) were a validation that this is what grief looks like. We shared how much we missed sitting around at the end of the day talking about stuff, and sometimes nothing in particular and sometimes not even talking. Just having our person with us.

And he also told me that the last time he saw Doug and I was after we visited him before he went home last fall. He said he saw us holding hands as we walked away and thought how sweet and amazing we were as a couple and he wished he had taken a photograph because it was such a perfect representation of who we were together. I wish he had too. Because I miss Doug’s hands SO much. The way he held mine, the way he rubbed my feet and the way he draped his arm and hand around my shoulder.

It’s always a shock when I suddenly fall into the grief chasm. I rarely see it coming because I am walking with grief all the time. It’s the dark pit that nearly suffocates me that is so distressing. Just when I think I am finding a balance it bullies me into a corner. And that’s what grief looks like.

So the next time you face someone grieving (which is probably way more often than you know) please remember that this could be the moment when their calm, focused, presence has been hijacked and what they say or do creeps out from under a heavy weight.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | July 26, 2024

Doug’s Birthday

With so many friends and family loving and supporting me I thought I would be prepared for Doug’s birthday this Sunday, July 28. How many times did he and I give his birthday when entering hospital and labs over the years. July 28, 1943 is stamped permanently in my brain. It is sometimes bittersweet.

And now, as the date approaches I have vivid memories of his 80th birthday celebrations last year. It started off with a few neighbours and grew into some family and friends nearby. Doug wanted a little gathering so we didn’t make any big announcements. He liked quoting Jack Benny and saying he was 39 so it became the 41st celebration of his 39th birthday. And then 70 people showed up. He was very humbled and grateful and at his best that day. Even though he couldn’t eat any of the delicious food his daughter and son-in-law prepared or drink to any of the toasts, he reveled in the stories and laughs and appreciation for our guests. I have all the pictures from that day to show what a wonderful tribute it was to Doug and his infectious smile is everywhere.

One year later, I am struggling to make meaning of my life without him. So I decided to send the following message to the people in my contact list:

“Hello everyone, Sunday will be Doug’s birthday and I am remembering how grateful and humbled he was last year to celebrate his 80th with friends and family. In his usual humorous way, he said it was actually the 41st anniversary of his 39th birthday! In memory of all he gave to us I’m inviting everyone who loved him to do a random act of kindness on Sunday. There are so many simple ways that we can bring joy or ease the suffering of someone else or just make people smile. I am betting that we can make a difference collectively in honour of someone who made such a difference in our lives. Thank you and may you be blessed with peace and love in your heart. Daryl.”

The response has been so much joy that people will get to once again, honour someone they loved, admired and cared about. Some people were able to join me for a memorial cruise on a tour boat in Tobermory in June. For them, and everyone else, and for anyone who knows the power of kindness, this is one more way, that Doug’s inspirational spirit lives on.

Yesterday I donated $81 worth of groceries (frugal shopping filled TWO large totes) to a Food Bank where we had volunteered years ago. I’ll be ramping up on Sunday to be the best representation of Doug’s beautiful heart wherever I go and hoping this eases the pain of his loss. May you spot kindness along your path today and always.

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

32 Weeks

32 Weeks. Hours of reading, therapy, listening, counselling, coaching, supporting, guiding, acknowledging, empathizing, healing treatments, kindness, celebrations of life, hugging, story telling, focused learning, searching, growing, trying and crying. Lots of trying and crying. Still. I feel the shame welling up as I follow an impulse to judge myself at this juncture. I am reminded by news and sometimes well meaning people that I am better off than most in my grieving circumstances. I know. I am awake. I see the world around me. And it doesn’t take away the cruel aching for my beloved Doug.

All the study I have done these past 30 years has shaped who I am today and still, still it hasn’t fully equipped me for the heart stopping crashes that are inevitable with grief. Today the lake is calm for the first time in days and after torrential rains it is sunny and warm. Sitting on the dock I couldn’t shake the sadness of knowing this would have been one of ‘our days’. Load the boat for a trip around Lake Huron and Georgian Bay. The preparation and anticipation and then the moment when we leave our bay and he opens up the motor into the big water. I can feel it and hear it as clearly as the last time almost a year ago. We grin at each other like little kids on a wild adventure.

I cautiously tell people I’m getting along okay. It’s obvious to my friends and neighbours as they comment on how much better I am, more engaged, less tears, getting so much done, doing hard things, more grounded, etc. And I am. Until that moment when I suddenly realize that keeping his shoes at the door, his hat and jeans on the hook, his wallet and watch on standby doesn’t change the outcome. He is not coming home. Ever. How can this be real?

So I will hang the sheets on the line, head south to my dental appointment, drop off homemade cookies to the mechanic who solved a minor problem at no charge and eventually come back home to try and make something meaningful of a day that feels empty of meaning.

I am blessed for sure with good people and generous love. I hope someday this will be enough to overcome the heavy longing in my heart.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | May 21, 2024

Being Brave

Yesterday, after a long emotional visit my kind friend texted me that I am the bravest woman she knows. She went on to acknowledge my honesty and presence to my emotions and pure authenticity. I so appreciated the genuineness of her message and how it validated some of what I’m feeling because being brave has become essential so many times before and since my beloved Doug died. This morning I am wondering who that woman is that she sees so much bravery in.

Waking up in the middle of the night with my usual intense night sweat I waited to fall back asleep. Instead I went over and over in my mind the decisions I’ve made for the rest of the week. This minutiae of life that we all face on a daily basis that can be amplified when we don’t take the steps to turn off our busy thinking minds. After a few hours of ruminating and dozing I lay wide awake as dawn emerged. And then it hit me – Doug is not here and he is never ever going to be here again. Any signs of bravery evaporated as my courage and willingness to live were lost in the despair of what life looks like now.

The most well meaning people – and that’s just about everybody I know – encourage me to be grateful for the wonderful years Doug and I had, the memories we made, the friends we accumulated who are at my side the moment I ask for help. And they remind me that I’m better off than most people grieving or suffering. With the best possible intentions they highlight the progress I’ve made these past 27 1/2 weeks. And I have made significant progress. I’ve done things I never imagined having to do. I’ve done things I’ve been wanting to do. I’ve listened and learned and challenged beliefs and found comfort in places and people I didn’t expect. I’ve lost people and things that really mattered and I’m still here.

The paradox is of course that I am holding two realities at the same time. There is the beauty, peacefulness and nurturing of my physical surroundings and the power of awareness that I am well loved. And then there is also the harshness that in the midst of all of this I am aching for the touch, the sound, the smell and the feeling of having Doug at the side.

Maybe the bravery is in my willingness to look at both and know that whether I like it or not (and obviously this morning I don’t like it) this is the truth of my life now. The bravery is sometimes overshadowed by the confusing lack of confidence I feel at simple things like what to take to a friend’s for lunch. But it is still there when I hear Doug whispering “just do it”. That’s what he did over and over and over again. Long before cancer robbed him of life’s pleasures he was someone who didn’t give up. He did the next thing that had to be done and I was always afraid he would scold me for my hesitancy. He didn’t. He taught through example what real bravery was.

These past few weeks I haven’t felt a strong enough urge to write and I said I would only write when I felt compelled to do so. Today I felt compelled to say out loud, through my words, the heartbreak that sometimes comes with being brave. And I am brave.

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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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