On Being Alone

Turtle underwater

Every day I am stronger.

I see it in the way I stop to listen to the robins as they flit around the back garden, pouncing on worms for their fluffy, chirping babies. I feel it flow through my body when I set off for a walk with the dog, sunshine warming my bones, unlocking the stiffness in arthritic joints. And then, unexpected, a certain song comes on the radio, words open the lid on the well of sorrow and loneliness that sits deep in my heart, plucking out fat, salty tears of loss.

I can rationalize the death of our marriage, the death of might-have-could-have-beens. I absolutely know that my life is happier and better in so many ways without that dominating, angry man turning all the colours grey but…I can’t deny that I did love him so very much. No matter what happened between us through more than 40 turbulent years together, no matter how much he hurt me (and perhaps I hurt him), I once loved him with all my heart.

A few musical notes, poetic words and I am so overwhelmingly sad. A deep ache of loneliness for the man I thought he was, the man I wanted him to be. Most of the time, I hold down that pain with my busy, happy, free life. I am blessed with loving children, grandchildren, and friends. I smile a lot these days.

I had thought my sorrow was for lost dreams and found disappointments but it’s becoming clear to me that it comes from a dark hole of loneliness. From the moment we are born, we seek a loving touch. Even at the advanced age of 66, its absence just plain hurts.

I notice I’ve developed the habit of hugging. I encourage my dog to jump up beside me on the bed at night. I plant my flowers, trim my shrubs, and fill the bird bath with loving hands. All these things help, but I have to face it–despite the unhappy years of being with someone who didn’t love me and the ugly exposure of separation and divorce, I long again for a partner in life, someone with whom to share all the joys and fears of the fading light. I am so very lonely. I am so very sad. Finally I can admit it to myself. I relish the hot relief of tears spilling some of the sorrow from my heart.

The song finishes, and I wipe my wet cheeks with my sleeve and once again count all the bright blessings in my life. I remind myself that no one has it all, that this longing isn’t demeaning but simply part of being human. It’ll be okay.

And hey, it isn’t over until it’s over. The music of  life is playing. It’s sad and joyful and so very beautiful.

 

 

The Peace of Wild Things

The Peace of Wild Things – Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.  For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Woyaya – We Will Get There!

 

Photo by Krivec Ales from Pexels

In the years after my husband left me, I had to stop listening to music popular in the years we were married.  The memories were just too painful.

Instead, I went back to music from before I met him.  Those songs held no negative memories, and helped me find ‘me’ again… if you know what I mean. Continue reading

My Year of ‘Yes’.

 

Year of Yes: How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun and Be Your Own Person

 

Mum

May 2016 be your year of yes.  May it be filled with love, family, adventure, travel, new experiences and empowerment.

All my love,

xx

That was the inscription my daughter wrote on the book she gave me for Christmas 2015    Year of Yes (How to Dance it Out, Stand in the Sun and be Your Own Person) by Shonda Rhimes,- the incredible creator of Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and Private Practice (amongst others).

2015 was the year my husband left me, and that Christmas, despite my daughter giving birth to her first child a few days earlier, I was truly lost and in despair.

There was one particular paragraph in the book that really resonated with me.  Losing yourself doesn’t happen all at once.  Losing yourself happens one ‘no’ at a time.  ‘No’ to going out tonight. ‘No’ to catching up with that old college roommate.  ‘No’ to attending that party.  ‘No’ to making a new friend.  Losing yourself happens one pound at a time. Continue reading

Travelling Alone As A Single Woman

I’ve always wanted to go to Israel, ever since I read Leon Uris’ book Exodus back in the late 60s. I even dreamed of going to work on a kibbutz when I was in my late-teens, but wars and life got in the way.

And then, this year, I finally got my chance.

But I was scared. Although I’ve travelled with friends and family since my husband left me, this would be the first time travelling completely on my own – albeit as part of a tour group.

So I sat down and went through my fears. Continue reading

Seeking Revenge

Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.  Confucius.

In 1995, a woman in the city where I live – let’s call her Lucy – who’d been married for 38 years, was dumped by her husband for a younger woman. As with all women of that generation, Lucy had devoted her life to her marriage, family and his career.  Distraught by his betrayal and her pain, she shot him six times.

Lucy’s husband recovered and went on to marry his mistress. Lucy was found not guilty of attempted murder by reason of temporary insanity and served time in a mental institution.  On her release, scorned by society and abandoned by many of her former friends, she struggled to rebuild her relationships with her adult children and find a purpose to her life. I’m not sure she ever did, and, sadly, she died within a few years, aged 66. Continue reading

This too shall pass…

There are times when all the inspirational quotes in the world, all the positive self-talk, all the telling yourself that you should be over this, that you’re moving on, that you’re stronger and better than you were, all the kind supportive comments of friends, family and counsellors just don’t cut it.  Something triggers you and the tears and pain and grief cuts right into your soul leaving you as raw and in such emotional agony as those early days.

There’s nothing – nothing – anyone else can do to help or console you. You know you’re just going to have to go down that dark path by yourself and know you’ll come out the other end into the light.

And when you do emerge into the light, it’ll be bitter-sweet, because you know that somewhere down the line – maybe not for weeks, months or even years – that darkness is waiting for you up ahead, hiding out of sight, waiting to pounce again when you’re feeling vulnerable.

For me, it was a combination of things. I had packed away all the pictures that include my ex-husband – or at least I thought I had.  But last night I came upon a family photo taken of us all a couple of years before he left me. We look happy.  Solid.  I’m looking at the camera with total innocence, his arm around me, no idea that my marriage and family are about to implode.   Continue reading