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.