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?
Solitude, however, can also bare your strength. It makes you ask questions. Who am I now without you? Who will I ultimately be? I can’t press ESC from where I am right now. I can’t ‘delete’ all that happened and refresh. All I can do is start again. No, I wasn’t talking about a plus one. Though I won’t rule that out some day, that possibility isn’t in my lexicon right now.
Aside from my husband taking up the space in my heart, he also set the bar high enough that few people could scale it. Who the heck would put heart candies on every step, single beribboned flowers in every nook, silly little stuffed animals wherever they knew I’d be on Valentine’s Day? Will someone else ever have such a love of the city, of Broadway, of reading and things I often didn’t even know I had a passion for myself? I can’t imagine anyone filling his size 11.5 shoes.
Right now life is just a steep walk up a hill that was never listed on the map. All I can do is try every day to navigate my way in my own single pair of backless heel sandals.