I’ve never been accused of being too quiet; neither was my better half. There was a running chatter whenever we were together. When we weren’t, constant phone calls (his more than mine) filled the spaces. Now, I seemed to have transformed into that little old lady who talks to herself. Yikes.
One is a pretty lonely number; I’d like to pick another, please. Once upon a time, there were three babies to take care of, run after, listen to and pick up after. There was a husband to talk to, cuddle, eat and sleep with. I even had a pet (okay, more than a few over the years)
And then there was none.
Being alone, means there’s no distraction from feeling the worst you’ve ever felt. It means seeing everything in glaring clarity. It amplifies every grief and fear. It can make you feel desolate in a crowd of people. Sometimes feelings of loss and loneliness can nearly eat you alive. Sylvia Plath once said “Widow. The words consumes itself”. Depressing, huh? Continue reading