IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES; IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . . it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us . . ."

                                            - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

As I sit down this evening to write about the year that is ending, I must beg Mr. Dickens' pardon for my stealing the brilliant first lines of his much-lauded 1859 novel. It has indeed been a year of highs and lows for our country and our world.  But tonight I'm going to write about personal highs and lows.  I invite you to do the same in the comments.

                     

                                            Photo by Custom Patches By Bob on Unsplash

When I began to think about this past year, I was surprised to find that sad and challenging events notwithstanding, there was much that was positive to be chronicled.  I will begin here with the worsts, in order to make way for the bests.

The worsts

I endured the loss of my beloved husband, Bill, and the "firsts" without him that followed -- his birthday, my birthday, family birthdays, Thanksgiving, our anniversary, Christmas.

About three months after Bill passed, my 2014 Prius was T-boned by a car exiting a parking lot.  My car was totaled, and just as I was completing the paperwork that attends a death, I was confronted with insurance paperwork, along with the necessity of purchasing another car.

Exzema, something I had never suffered before, entered my life while Bill was sick.  It became worse when he died and much worse after the accident.

Bill, God love him, was a packrat and he left me with mountains of stuff to deal with. 

The bests

I was surrounded by love and support from family and friends in the wake of Bill's death.  I will never forget this kindness.

Bill's sons and I planned and pulled off a wonderful celebration of his life.  His sons also spent many hours over several days going through his stuff, taking what they wanted and helping me to dispose of much of the rest.

I was not seriously injured in the accident.  My whiplash is being treated by wonderful physical therapists.

I have taken advantage of the six free massages offered by a local hospice.

A friend and former colleague has taken over interactions with the insurance companies that are handling the accident.

My daughter Anne and her husband Peter searched online for a car. Peter found, and went with me to purchase, the 2024 Kia Niro plug-in hybrid that I am now driving. 

I was buoyed by the support group I participated in for two years before Bill's passing.  The people in this group - their stories and their vulnerability - will be forever in my heart.

I visited Victoria, British Columbia with a friend, travelled east to visit old friends, and drove six hours to visit other old friends.

I spent many happy hours with my very young grandchildren.  I hung out with friends.  I read and I wrote.  I gardened and I walked. 

Of course, I never stopped missing Bill, and the above events and activities were interspersed with bouts of grief.  While I do not in Dickens' words have "everything ahead of [me]," neither do I have "nothing ahead of [me]."

I know my grief will be with me in the new year, but given the many blessings in my life, I am cautiously optimistic about 2026.

May we all find reasons for hope as the year turns.

OF LOVE, LONELINESS, AND AN ANNIVERSARY

I have been thinking about the varieties of loneliness I have experienced in my life.  I was lonely as a child.  I had playmates, but my main companions were books.  As a teenager, I had friends, but longed for a boyfriend.  (I was a late bloomer - no boyfriend until I was 18).  As the years went by, I found that I did not know how to be alone, and that I was lonely whenever I was not in love.  This made for some dark days.  Happily, as I wrote about in an old post, I eventually learned to enjoy my own company, and to treasure time alone.  

I rarely knew loneliness in midlife.  This was not just because I had a partner.  I remember years ago reading a quote from the actress Jessica Lange to the effect that she had never felt lonely since having children.  I did not understand.  I, who was both partnerless and childless at the time, could not fathom a life without loneliness.  

 

But Jessica was right.  I have never felt lonely since having children, even after my daughters were fully grown and launched. I do not look to them to fill my days--although their children, my grandchildren, do plenty of that, but there is something about having this net of family that has kept loneliness at bay.

 

At least, that was the case until six months ago when my husband died. I am now experiencing a new kind of lonely.  I do not want for people with whom to spend time. My life is filled to the brim with beloved family and friends.  I do not wish for another life partner. The loneliness I am feeling now is the loneliness that comes of missing a particular person. 

 

I am delighted to spend time with my friends and family. There is, however, a Bill-sized hole in my heart that no one else can fill. Evenings are the most challenging time, especially the long, dark evenings at this time of year. Evenings, I look for him in the funky old chair where he always sat.  Evenings, I am sad.

Today Bill and I would have celebrated 21 years of marriage, and although I had the joy of spending most of the day with precious granddaughters, there is a loneliness that comes of not being able to share the day with him.  

 

In the mid-century novel Love Story, a character famously says, "Love means never having to say you're sorry."  That's a crock.  I wish I could tell Bill I am sorry for the times I was impatient or otherwise a less-than-ideal wife.  I do tell him these things.  I believe he knew and knows how much I loved him.  Love means many things, including the possibility of loss and grief.  If not for the love that Bill and I shared, I would not be feeling the loneliness of missing him. 

 

I am grateful for that love.  It was worth the loss and loneliness. And in honor of that love, I will treasure my memories and seek to make the most of the years that are left to me.