It is fourteen years since Greg died. In some ways, it doesn't seem that long. I can still remember vividly the weeks leading up to that, the last week in Intensive Care at the local hospital and the last hours of his life, as his blood pressure sank and his heartbeat flatlined on the monitors. I can vividly recall the conversation with the doctors afterwards and the journey home as the reality sank in.
In other ways, it seems an eternity. Days, turning into months, turning into years of coping without him, solitary confinement, climbing the stairs to bed each night and turning out the lights on my own, sleeping on one side of a huge bed with just emptiness the other side. Waking the next morning with that emptiness still beside me. Sitting alone in the evenings all year round watching endless, mindless TV programmes to fill the silence.
People have commented to me how much I do to occupy myself, considering I am retired and should be taking life gently. I go to three gym classes a week, two choirs, help out at the local food bank and charity shop, volunteer at the local park information centre to name a few. Not to mention single-handedly doing all the housework, gardening and house decoration. People say it makes them dizzy just reading that list. But the alternative for me is sitting alone at home. I already watch far too much television and have lengthy discussions with the wall on a regular basis. There is only so much of that I can do without turning completely into a recluse or a zombie.
As the fourteenth anniversary comes up, I contemplate if this is what the future holds. The grief gets less painful and changes into something I can't quite put my finger on. A sort of faint longing for how things were, how things could be, a definite fear of missing out, an acceptance but not entirely accepting. Many people have suggested dating websites as an answer. I don't know if I will ever be ready for that. Once bitten twice shy. Supposing I jump from the frying pan into the fire and that works out to be a disaster? Companionship would be lovely but at what cost, if he is an axe murderer or will rob me of my possessions or we simply fail to co-exist? I'm nervous to try. I really don't think that's an option. But what else is there other than what I am already doing?
At choir, we are singing a medley from the musical Jekyll and Hyde, getting ready for a concert at the end of the month. This song in particular jumps out at me with the words being so relevant to my situation. I'm not depressed, in case anyone thinks otherwise, but just pensive.
5 comments:
I’ve been reading your blog for awhile. The last few years of Greg’s life were horrific for him and you and Kate. You should find a new companion. Join local groups. Be open to new experiences and people. And also it sounds like you and Greg were happy for a long time before his addiction. Take comfort in that. But also keep up the crusade against alcoholism.
I know someone who was widowed young and she went on many cruises. Solo travellers would meet up each day and go ashore in groups and later meet up for dinner. She made great friendships and travelled often.
If you enjoyed this there would always be the next one to look forward to and no risks. I’m quite shy but I think if the time came I think I could take a deep breath and try this.
You were brave to write this blogpost ADDY - allowing readers like me to look into the very heart of you. Using a dating site to meet up with a man does not have to be a big deal. You would just be having a couple of drinks and a conversation. The first time it might not go well but that's okay - you'll have met up with someone and had an interesting night out. Perhaps with the third or fourth man you might "click" and arrange to meet again.
Thank you for this honest post. My illness has a 5-year survival rate of under 10%, and it is on my mind how my wife will manage when the worst happens.
We know a widow who re-married and within a short time was pushing her new husbands in a wheelchair. Ageing is ruthless and I think you are wise to be cautious.
My wife's mother was widowed at an early age and never remarried. She had a small number of good friends, belonged to various groups, and went on organised historical, art, and archeological tours with knowledgeable guides all over the world, read a lot, did a lot of craft work, and always seemed content, rather like you, but perhaps never revealed any loneliness she may have felt. She was quite self-reliant. I think it is often hard to go home to an empty house, as quite a lot of bloggers say, and as I remember from my younger.
Try the internet dating, I have and whilst I haven't met the one, I have had some lovely dates and made some new friends. Good luck!
Post a Comment