Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | July 18, 2026

Gratitude

I wrote the following words on June 10, 2021. By this time, we were four years into Doug’s cancer journey. He was on a feeding tube for the majority of his nourishment. I wonder what prompted this. There is still so much to be grateful for more than 2 1/2 years after our painful goodbye. Maybe someone will be inspired by these words to find gratitude in their life where it is seeming chaotic or insufferable. Namaste

From My Journal:

I am grateful for the little miracles that I might otherwise not notice. These are the little things that in the rush of life can be overlooked. But when I am deep in the trenches of overwhelm a little miracle can open my heart and help me breathe. These are not the things written on billboards or posted online. These are things like someone holding a door for me, finding just enough money to buy a cup of tea, an open cashier when I’m in a hurry, and a note from an old friend who just wants to say they care.

I am grateful for people who say stupid things when they hear our news. They remind me that most of us don’t know what to say or do when faced with someone’s deep pain. I realize that it is my right to choose who I share with and how much I share. I circle my wagons and reach out to those who can be ‘with’ my despair.

I am grateful for the medical people who do their best to support us through our diagnosis and treatment. Sometimes they don’t seem to get what it’s like to be a patient, but I remember that while their best at any given time might not be what I need, they too are navigating unknown territory. They don’t know us, and we don’t know them. We have been brought together by bizarre, unwanted circumstances and they use what they have from their training in the best way they can.

I am grateful for the days when the skies are clear and the traffic is manageable. It is just one more blessing to not have to plow through snow or rain or sleet and sit for hours in deadlocked traffic. I am so happy for those days when the trips are smooth and feel coordinated by some divine power that knows I just need a break on the roads today.

I am grateful for the people who brought me soup and offered to treat me to lunch. Having to think about what to feed myself and how to sustain my energy has been so far down the priority list. Even if I decline, it brings comfort to know I’m thought of and I feel lucky to have kind people offering to nourish me.

I am grateful for the people who call again even when I haven’t returned their calls. In the sometimes suffocating void I find myself in, it is reassuring to know that there are people who will love me for who I am and not for what I do. It is a blessing to know that when I don’t have the strength or presence of mind to answer every call, I still have people who are standing with me.

I am grateful for all the life lessons I’ve learned so far that have helped me make decisions and handle tasks I never dreamed I’d have to do. Where would I be without all the wisdom I’ve gleaned from my life experiences and from witnessing how others have managed through tough times.

I am grateful for pharmacists who come out from behind those high counters to slowly repeat instructions and answer questions with so much patience. They see through my tears and frustration and patiently review the prescriptions with me so I feel confident. And they take my calls when I get home and realize I had just one more question.

I am grateful for my own healthy body that even with the odd malfunction carries me through yet another long day. My legs and arms and lungs and heart just keep me moving forward when I doubt I have the energy to face another hour or sometimes minute.

I am grateful for sunrise which means I get another shot at life and this journey is not over yet. With each new day there is hope and possibility. I am so thankful that I get to climb out of bed and show the world what I’m made of; show myself how resilient I am no matter what.

I am grateful for long wait times in hospitals because I know that the staff are giving the patients ahead of us their full attention. No one’s care is being compromised to keep to a strict schedule. The waiting gives us time to ‘people watch’ and appreciate how far we have come on this journey.

I am grateful for what is still left of our ‘old’ lives considering how much has been taken away. It can feel as if all that has been normal for us is in the distant past but if I take a few deep breaths to ground myself and look honestly at our lives now, I see there is still some precious pieces of who we were. I am so very grateful for all of that.

I am grateful for that unseen, unconscious will within me that keeps getting back up, no matter what. Each time I pull myself to my feet and do the next right thing, I know I am tapping into a resource that is as solid as the earth. I wonder at my own resilience and yet I know buried deep inside is a powerful energy that is committed to life and living. I’m glad I can count on that when I am not sure I can get through the day.

I am grateful for the comfort and safety of my home. Even though it has been distorted with medical equipment and files and sometimes strangers, it is still my home. It is still our home. We have made memories here and pieces of our lives are on display everywhere. I am glad I can touch these little symbols of a life of meaning and joy.

I am grateful for the all the times I did what felt right even if it didn’t make sense to anyone else. When I trust my instincts I reinforce my belief that my opinion is important and that I am doing what I feel is best for us. I need to know that I am not just a player but an active member of the healing team.

I am grateful for the people who treated my loved one like any other normal person having conversations that were not about health issues. It is so rewarding to listen to chatter about the state of affairs in the world, other people’s children, the traffic, the weather, a good sale on something and how to keep up with technology. It all makes us feel as though we are not living on an island so I’m glad people still see us as regular human beings.

I am grateful for those moments when a health care provider realizes that slowing down and listening is exactly what is needed in the moment.

I am grateful for the health plans and resources that help us pay for all the care and materials needed. Not everything is covered but it is still a blessing to know that at least a portion of what we have to have for survival is taken care of.

I am grateful for the freedom to have a good long cry when I reach my limit. There is a cleansing that happens when I sob from my heart without sanctioning my actions. I am so glad I get to do this whether it is in a closet, on a walk, lying in bed, at the kitchen counter. And I’m grateful for the space to cry alone and occasionally in the company of a kind heart.

I’m grateful for all the years we had together before we were blind-sided by this medical invasion. I will remember how carefree we lived and hold onto the joy of all we cherished. I am very thankful for golden memories of special times together.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | July 15, 2026

Bolting

Pema Chodron’s book, The Places That Scare You, has been in my library for over a decade and recently resurfaced as I reorganized my bookshelves. And there it was. The reminder of a line that has stuck with me even if only hovering in the background. “Never underestimate our inclination to bolt when we are hurt.” And I am good at bolting.

To stay with a feeling through to the end is an act of courage that we may overlook in our desire for a peaceful heart and mind. Why would we choose to sit in despair or anger or frustration? Who would want to court the harsh emotions of jealousy, fear or resentment? The positive thinkers of the world (and I can easily be one of them at times) encourage us to look away from those negative, squishy thoughts or feelings and choose something uplifting. It makes sense. Except when it doesn’t. And sometimes it doesn’t make sense to keep turning away from something that is part of the human experience.

I learned at a young age how to bolt and I think I have perfected it over the years. I’ve written about in my books and on my blogs and told the stories in workshops and retreats. I have also offered ways to slow down and ‘be with’ whatever comes up and remember clearly from my Hoffman Process my teachers saying “Whatever you are feeling is okay.” Okay wasn’t a place I wanted to be but when I felt I had no choice I realized I would survive the discomfort if I just kept breathing.

There is a line I heard from Debbie Ford at a Shadow Process training in San Diego many years ago. She said “What you don’t own, owns you.” You know when something owns you because an unsuspecting trigger comes along and the lid blows off of your well constructed box of unseeables. And so it is with the unwanted emotions that come up and wrap around me like a snake determined to wring the life out of me. When I relax (and don’t think for a minute that I’m doing this ALL the time) they become something to look at and learn from and their grip eases. Sometimes, not always, I don’t feel I need to bolt. Sometimes, and not always, they don’t seem so threatening when I look them directly in the eye and ask “Who are you and what have you come to teach me?”

Bolting has served me well since Doug died in November 2023. To endure the worst pain of my life I have leaned into whatever has softened the incredibly raw edges. I’ve eaten lots of chocolate and sugar and most things offered to me. I’ve read stacks of books, watched endless hours of inspirational videos, dove headfirst into one intriguing topic after another and searched endlessly for someone who could ‘fix’ this desperate aching in my heart. In the end, and it’s not the end yet, that means if only for today, my salvation might be realized by my willingness to slow down and accept the rise and fall of the waves of all emotions and feelings including the ones I might label as unwanted. I can recite positive affirmations until the blessed cows come home but without the fearlessness of a soul determined to show up with curiousity for life I will continue to long for a solution to what is clearly available with pure surrender in every breath I take.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | June 16, 2026

Maybe I’m Ready

Yesterday a dear friend sent me a link to a talk given by one of my favourite teachers, Caroline Myss. I’ve been listening to her off and on for 29 years and her work seems to show up at the most appropriate times. Like now.

Something as been shifting around me and it both drives me deeper into despair and springboards me into a hopeful future. When I watched this video yesterday it did both. And it loosened something in my nervous system. And it lit a spark. And it opened something.

Maybe I’m Ready.

Choices That Can Change Your Life by Caroline Myss

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | June 14, 2026

I Know Why People Do Desperate Things

A few months ago I joined two online sites for Widows and Widowers. I wanted to find people who were grieving the way I am or at least close enough that I felt I wasn’t doing this all wrong. At first, it felt good to read about the struggles that people were having weeks, months, years and even decades after losing a spouse/partner. It felt reassuring that my reactions were normal. Some of the stories were told in heartbreaking detail of daily struggles. I saw myself over and over again.

Then one day I realized that it wasn’t really helping me to be reminded of my pain and suffering. As I moved along my path I wasn’t sure what I wanted but it didn’t feel like this was a good fit anymore. I had only posted one comment that had only a few vague responses. I got it. The way I posted didn’t resonate with many people. I kept reading the raw anguish that came from people and how everyone said this was a safe place to express all your feelings. I wondered how ‘safe’ a place could be with over 2,000 members from across Ontario. I was reluctant to share more and left the group.

Tonight, I long for connection, for comfort, for Doug to be here with me now. It is this feeling of desperate loneliness and despair that I realize moves people to do desperate things like join a group and pour their heart out to thousands of strangers. After all, I’m posting on this blog which could be seen as the same thing. And right now, it feels like I am doing it out of desperation. Each of the wonderful people who pause their lives to listen and hold space for me are not available. It happens. And when it does, I tell myself that this is a sign that I’m supposed to figure it out and manage it for myself; this is my work in this lifetime to learn to be self-sufficient and self-soothing. And I hate this work. At least right now I hate it. I want a companion. I want someone committed to my wellbeing. I want someone to just listen to how hard this is for me right now. And more than anything, I want Doug. And no one can give me that and no one can even fully understand how this aching for him robs me of the joy I’ve experienced these past few weeks. Even last night watching a spectacular fireworks display with a young couple I love dearly (and who love me back) I was so enthralled I forgot for the moment how the longing cuts like a knife to my heart. Today I’m trying hard to stay in a space of gratitude the best light show I’ve seen in decades and for the gifts of friendship and time that have been given to me lately and over these past unbelievably long months.

I’m trying. I’m trying because the risk of doing something desperate, whatever that might look like, is always present in these dark, dark moments. And I know that if I wasn’t spending day after day sorting through years of accumulation in Doug’s garage I might not feel this way. If I wasn’t watching the cottagers coming back and setting up for the summer I might not miss what was our prime time of year. And if I wasn’t trying so hard to distract myself from my feelings I might find some relief in just letting it consume me until it runs out of steam.

So maybe writing this truth is my own form of desperation. And maybe it is therapeutic in some way. And maybe I’ll read it again in a month or a year and know that I survived another desperate moment.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | June 11, 2026

I Wonder If They Knew

I wonder if they knew
When I was sitting there all conversational
Sharing, laughing, remembering, being curious
That I was sitting there alone
In a world I didn’t understand
Doing my best to show up real … and I was real
I just wasn’t all the way real
The real that came so easily before
… And before is a million miles away
And barely in my body as I sit there
So grateful for companionship
And feeling more alone than I or anyone can comprehend
Because it doesn’t make sense
I look fine
But I’m not
And no one wants to hear this
Not even me.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | June 11, 2026

Writing For Myself

A few days ago I got an email notification that someone had ‘liked’ one of my blog posts. It wasn’t anyone I knew but I was curious what the post said. It was actually just a short Buddhism quote I had shared. I scanned the page and saw a link to an earlier post I had done in April 2024. I decided to read it and that changed my day.

I felt so much emotion – sadness, love, hope, empathy, compassion and even some joy. In that moment I knew that I had been led there to give myself the comfort I needed from my own words. I write what is on my heart and sometimes it points to things I’ve learned and taught others. Mostly it’s just what I’m feeling or thinking in the moment. Reading this post of two years ago brought back so many memories of that time when I was in aching despair over my loss of Doug. I still am and surprisingly to me, not as often. As I sort through his garage trying to rehome tools and make space I feel his presence so strongly. This is what is right for me at this time and finding peace in my heart and in my world is making a difference for me.

I’m glad that person liked my blog because it led me to words I appreciated so much. Thank you to a random stranger and everyone else who shows me my inner strength and wisdom. I am humbled.

P.S. If you are interested, here’s the post called “Let There Be Peace on Earth” that I found so helpful to me.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | June 2, 2026

This Changes Everything

When this came to me last Thursday it awakened something inside of me that has created a big shift. It’s nothing new. I’ve known this information for decades. And once again, a new layer of awareness and understanding has emerged. May you be moved.

Poem – Instructions before visiting earth.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | May 28, 2026

Doing Hard Things

I’ve done lots of hard things in my life and, right now, it feels like the hardest thing I had to do was hold Doug’s hand as he took his last breath. Today I sobbed through my whole 25km bike ride and kept replaying the experience over and over. I wondered if he really did stop breathing, if his heart really did stop beating, was he really ‘gone’. I sat with him for a couple of hours after he died and was taken away by the soft and kind men from the funeral home. And that was hard too. And I’ve been doing so many hard things since then.

Actually I did a lot of hard things during his illness so it’s been nine years of doing hard things. And today when I was trying to make something work and avoiding having to make a phone call and struggling with a tangled extension cord I just felt so defeated. I had this feeling that if I had done the hardest thing of my life – letting him go when I wasn’t ready – then why can’t life be a little easier now? Why can’t the hard things just ease up? Why can’t I catch a break? After all, I’ve proven I can do hard things so I don’t need to keep proving it over and over and over again. At least that’s how it felt this afternoon. I’ve had these thoughts before but when I am sitting here reflecting tonight there is something else that floats to the top of my mind. Something that makes me cry. Again.

You see what I know is that I have absolutely done a lot of hard things since Doug died. And right alongside that some pretty extraordinary people have picked me up, helped me, supported me, comforted me, acknowledged me, listened to me, held me and done some things that for me would have been very hard. And they have done things that were pretty easy but in my state of despair looked so hard. And they did some things that were hard for them too. And I have kept going and they have kept going. We have all found some way to keep going and doing the things that can sometimes look so hard.

And yes, when I do some hard things I feel relief and I know Doug would be so proud of me. Now I am tasked with the opportunity to be proud of myself if I decide to see these hard things as something worth doing or necessary to do. And most of the hard things I feel I have to do are things I would have done easily. So what happened? Why is this drama unfolding so often these days?

The answer is grief. My grief. And no one understands the particular characteristics of my grief but I know its breadth and width. I recognize the sound of its breathing in my ears, the heat of its intensity, the growling of its roar when it sneaks up on me. I feel the grip it has on me in spite of, or maybe because of, my willingness to let it play full out until it exhausts itself. Only then is there some deep sighs and the relief that comes from letting come and letting go.

Grief may have hijacked my confidence and independence but it hasn’t stolen my tenacity. The last time I saw my mother before she died suddenly in September 2009 I told her that I was proud of being tenacious because I learned that from her. So that will be my defense against the relentless drive of my grief that makes so many things feel hard until they are done.

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | May 12, 2026

What Lasts Forever?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Posted by: Ms. Daryl Wood | May 5, 2026

Peace

Peace isn’t always quiet. Sometimes it’s a deep breath in the middle of chaos, a silent moment in your own mind that whispers, “You’ve survived worse. You’ll make it through this too.” Tiny Buddha

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