You're Not Alone. (But you really are...)

I was walking out of a local hospital the other day after visiting a church member and an older couple walking in caught my eye. They were holding hands, walking slowly into the building. No rushing, no talking, just being together. But they were holding hands- the universal sign for love.

Later that day I mentioned this to a friend. I tried to put into words what I felt at that moment, watching that older couple navigate the curb, the entry way, all while never letting go of each other's hand. "I feel so alone." I stated. A simple truth. A fact. I no longer have my person to hold my hand as I walk into a hospital for an appointment. I don't have my person to walk silently with, no words needed as we navigate the world, together.

"You are not alone!", she emphatically told me. "You have me, your friends, your family, your boys!"

Cue the rage.

My internal dialogue started up. "Great! Are you going to help me parent my boys?" "Help pay for college?" "Pay my bills?" "What about when I can't figure out the TV remote? Are you the one who is going to drop everything and show up at my door?"

My external voice simply said, "I know."

I am thrilled that my friend doesn't know what true loneliness looks like. That when she wakes up in the middle of night with an itchy back she has her person to scratch that itch. That when her child does one stupid thing after another she has a partner to parent with so she doesn't have to be the bad guy every.single.time. That her routines and traditions have not been torn apart and stomped on, rendering them unrecognizable. That she still knows who she is.

I am happy that when her brain says to do something she can just do it. No second guessing, no talking herself into it, no deciding that it doesn't matter anyways because, at this point, what really does matter? That she isn't stuck in her car in the gym parking lot, not able to gather the energy to actually walk to the door. That she can text her person any time she wishes, for no reason. Or to bring home that one ingredient she forgot because she is still part of a team.

Widowhood lonely is a different kind of lonely. We know what we are missing because we lived it for years. We know what having a person that belongs solely to you is like. Here is just a small part of what I am missing, every day...

My person was a morning person. He would get up, immediately get dressed and get moving for the day. He was never late for work, even when his office was in our basement. He wanted me to be with him every moment so I got up too. Got dressed. Had coffee and read the news with him in our living room every work day morning. Now I sleep as long as I want and sometimes stay in my jammies all day. My morning routine is gone.

My person ate lunch every day. He would show up at my office door if I didn't appear in the kitchen and he would make me stop working to eat with him. Now I sometimes eat, I sometimes don't and I often stay at my desk for too many hours without moving. My daily routine is gone.

My person was a dinner on the table every night kid of guy. I planned meals for my family because he was so appreciative of my cooking. I stopped work every day at the same time to start dinner and he would come up from his office to find me in the midst of creating something delicious and he would round up the boys to set the table while he sat in the kitchen with me, keeping me company. Now I sometimes plan meals, sometimes cook meals and sometimes eat with my boys. My dinner routine is gone.

My person helped me fall asleep every night by playing 20 questions or asking me about favorite memories. He would fall asleep first and I would eventually close my heavy eyes and match my breathing to his as he slept. Now I stay awake half the night, unable to replicate him sleeping next to me. My sleep routine is gone.

Even the tense moments, the ones where we would argue, are missing. Yes I can make all the decisions and there will be no backlash when my person doesn't agree, but making all the decisions isn't as great as it sounds. It is exhausting. And it is boring. even my drama has changed.

My cheerleader. My coach. My half the household income breadwinner. My travel planner. My spontaneous date planner. My partner in crime. My co parent. My person. Gone.

So next time a grieving person tells you how alone they feel. Agree. Hug them. But don't tell them they are not alone. Because no matter how much time they are spending with friends and family, it is not the same. It will never be the same. And they will eventually be OK with that. (Or so I am told.) Grief is a walk alone, even when surrounded by others.