I’ve been avoiding the topic. I’ve put off writing about it for weeks and months. I’ve written about all kinds of emotional challenges since my husband died two years ago. But not this one. This topic has been too personal — too embarrassing.
I’m not talking about sex here. I’m not talking about my ever-advancing age or the extra 15 pounds I’ve been carrying around lately. I don’t even mean the condition of my perineal muscles (which is not bad, btw. Just so you know).
Touchy subjects, all. But for me, not shameful.
What is hard to cop to, what I’ve been circumlocuting for the past two years (and for the past three paragraphs) is . . .
I’m lonely.
There. I’ve said it. The cat is out of the bag. I’ve written it down. The truth has been let loose into cyberspace. Now you know it. My friends know it. My kids know it.
Maybe even I am ready to know it.
I’ve been doing a lot of weeping in recent weeks. I get sad easily. And I’ve started to wonder, is this grief I’m feeling? Am I missing Jon? Or is this something else?
A Life That’s Too Darned Quiet
It’s Jon, yes. But it’s also something else. and that is, I’m lonely. I’m a lonely widow! My life is too darned quiet.
I do most things alone now. I spend my days tending to my to-do list, checking off things like “pay taxes” and “get gutters cleaned.”
But even when I do stuff with other people, I do it alone. I’ve been invited to a seder next week, for example. I’ll show up by myself.
I met a friend at the Sargent and Spain exhibition at the Palace of the Legion of Honor yesterday. I made the drive across San Francisco alone.
I invited friends over for dinner and a movie (“The Fabelmans”). I chose the wine without benefit of a second opinion.
I’ve done a pretty good job of reaching out to friends over the past two years. I joined a knitting club, not for the knitting, but the chatter. I’m considering Ikebana classes. I like flowers, but what I really like is being in a room with a bunch of talky women.
My friends have done an even better job of reaching out to me in the months since Jon died. A niece came and stayed the weekend. A cousin brought lunch. A neighbor suggested joining her garden club. Another neighbor brought me crab cakes.
My friends have done everything friends can do in a situation like this one, and I’m still lonely.
That’s because there’s nothing quite like a live-in partner, someone who either wants to know how your day went or does a good job of faking it. Someone who knows your doings, trivial and catastrophic. Someone who’s there.
Widowed and Lonely
I’m not the only woman who’s ever lost a husband. There were 11.61 million widows in the US alone in 2021, and 3.58 million widowers. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person who’s widowed and lonely.
Why then have I been so reluctant to admit to my loneliness? Why have I kept this big, fat secret? Why this elephant in the room?
Because I don’t want to scare my children and my friends. I don’t want them to worry about me. I want everybody to think I’m doing just fine, even though I’m not.
After months of writing about everything but loneliness — Roe v. Wade, my extra pounds, Volodymyr Zelensky — I’ve decided to bite the bullet. Tell the world. Acknowledge the loneliness. Go public with it.
See what happens.
What’s happening is . . . I feel better already.
Thanks for listening.
I too am so lonely. It has definitely gotten worse over the years. I was widowed 12 years ago when I had three children under 7. Not only was I a young widow at 45, but also an old mother. This combination has left me incredibly isolated in addition to being without my partner. I was only married for 10 years. In March of next year, he will be gone for as many years as I knew him. I am going to retire in a few years — I hope — though I am now eligible for my full pension — but with three kids 13-19 I can’t stop working. My neighbors are all the same age but all still together and enjoying their retirement. They are buying homes in Florida and travelling the world and I am raising three teens alone. I don’t know any parents my age or any single people (men or women) so spend pretty much all of my time alone or at work. I feel like there is nothing in this world for me — I do for everyone else but no one fills my bucket. I love my kids, but they are kids.
So true. “I love my kids, but they are kids.”
I wonder whether, when those wonderful kids of yours have left home for jobs or college, you might actually have more time for yourself to pursue some of your own interests and meet new people who have a lot in common with you. (Sometimes, though, the trick is figuring out what those — often forgotten — interests are.)
After Jon died I became something of a joiner. Not my usual style. I joined a writer’s coop, I took some solo trips to spend one-on-one time with relatives, I spent more time with my church community. Churches, synagogues, mosques and temples are greatly underrated institutions these days. Not only do they supply spiritual sustenance, they are often communities of people with long-term close relationships.
I wonder, are there a couple of equally lonely women right under your nose who would love it if you reached out to them?
Meanwhile, I say — it’s OK to feel lonely! It’s part of the Human Condition! You’re not alone.
What if u have no wonderful friends and family. Your children call for a quick talk once a week. Was I an awful person to b so alone??
Is there someone you know who might be feeling as lonely as you? Do you think they might appreciate it if you reached out?
Greetings from a fellow lonely widow (& writer) whose husband was also tragically yanked away unexpectedly a couple months ago, complicating the grief. And yes, the lonely is part grief, part just the heart’s needs. And yes, the efforts of dear friends & family are touching but no replacement for an intimate partnership. May you find God’s knowing comfort in those private recesses of your emotions, as He comes alongside especially when we’re alone.
Yes. I think that’s true. God keeps us company in our grief . . . Those first months are so hard, the shock of it. Some very helpful advice was given to me at that time: to think of my life as having two parallel tracks, the grief and my ongoing life. You can have them both, and I still do. Even early on, I had many days and hours when the loss was put aside and I laughed and enjoyed the company of friends. I have made a point ever since of making new connections and strengthening old ones — but without thinking that I somehow had to “get over” my grief. That has made all the difference.
Definitely 2 tracks. The 1 more linear & moving much faster than the other. I thank God for the personal growth over the years that He knew I would need to prepare me for giving myself grace to just let it be however it needs to tumble out & about. Bless you
Yes! Let it be, “however it needs to tumble out & about.” So true.
Hello Barbara. I put in Google widow and lonely and got your article. I have been writing an article over a year about it yet get so emotional. Like you, I have great friends, neighbors and my spiritual brothers and sisters whom look after me. Yet tonight. The quiet is painful. The tv does nothing. Bawling for a couple months daily. In Feb it will be three years since I lost John and my mother. And my mother in law the year before. Three in a year.
The children grown, gone and busy. We went out to eat last Friday. They do great. I was with friends earlier and at a friends for dinner and cards late last night.
It was great hearing someone else relate to the painfulness of being alone. I appreciate your article.
I’m Gina from fatfitanfab.com, and I too am working up my book. I appreciate knowing I am not only one whom feels this. Thankyou. I will try an post my widow article soon. It is 90% done. Just emotionally hard.
Welcome Gina! Yes, I’m finding that friends are doing a great job of keeping me company. And — good luck with your writing. I find it helps me hugely to share my thoughts with my readers. Let us know when you have posted your piece!
even when you and jon were first married, the mental picture i had when i said barbandjon might have looked like a foreign language, but it was the way the two of you felt to me.
still is.
this was a hard one to absorb, real and honest.
thank you.
Well, I would be a whole lot lonelier if I (and Jon) didn’t have friends like you.
Thank you for your deep scratching of the itch. Made me reflect on my father after my mother died (6 yrs before he did). He was still hale and hardy … yet insisted on keeping my mother’s caregiver 5 days a week. Then as he became more ‘elderly’ he employed a cadre of 3-4 nice looking, nice women 24/7.
They gave him relationship, conversation, authority, dire tion, recreation (as in car drives). Obviously, it was no where near the depth of what he had with my mom… but it did give him Presence, Proximity, and Personality.
Keep writing and make this into a book … it will be so relevantly giftable to so many!
pamela
Pamela — thank you! Yes, I think I have a book in the works here. It sounds like your father was able to enjoy the people who were there for him — his caregivers. My mother had caregivers, and so did my aunt, and it’s really nice to know that there are so many good people out there ready to step in and keep us company when we need them.
Brave words from a brave lady. I don’t know why we have so much shame with the idea of being lonely. I wonder if it has something to do with the sense of abandonment associated with loneliness sometimes. If we feel abandoned, we feel unworthy which is shameful. But it is not shameful, being lonely is not shameful, it indicates a person who loves people and loves life lived with others and especially with one very special other. BTW, I am up for Ikebana and museum visits!
Yes. I think that’s it. We think, if I’m lonely, it’s because people have abandoned me. Which is maybe why I feel angry at Jon sometimes — he went away and left me!
Barbara
This post touch me deeply. I shared it with my support group. Many were so moved they sent it on to their friends.
Nancy
Thank you for sharing this, Nancy. I’d like to reach more people with these stories.
It’s really soon. You are still in the grieving process. There’s no time limit on that. The fact that he passed so suddenly and unexpectedly…was yanked away…didn’t give you time to adjust. You’re doing a great job of doing! Heck with the 15 pounds. Eat the cake! ♥️
“Yanked away” That’s exactly, exactly how it feels . . . OK. Yes. Cake!
My mother was a widow for 20 years. I was glad she had her faithful dog with her at almost all the time. She often said she would not have survived without her. Singing in her church choir also brought special comfort. Always know you are loved by your family & friends.
I’m kinda allergic to dogs. So I’m making do with knitting, gardening, writing, Skyping with the grandchildren, and working out like mad at the gym.
Great! Sounds like you are making good , life-affirming choices! 💕💕💕
Trying to!
Sending you extra love today. Thanks for being brave for the rest of us — afraid to acknowledge our feelings.
Thanks for the extra dollop of love. I’ll take it!
Thank you for writing and all I can say is, keep on writing. It is your “thing ” also you have lots of fans!
So wonderful to have fans who “get” me. Thanks for being there!
Dear Barbara, A widowed relative I am close to, who has been suffering the loss of her husband for almost three years now, said that she has more recently become profoundly aware that it is not only him she misses deeply, but their life together.
I have a son next door, grandchildren 15 miles away, others less than two hours away, friends, but everything I do is really done alone – visiting, pursuing interests, meeting with friends – as I am alone. My husband is not here.
We were once for many happier years a part of a living couple and now we are alone.
With care, Kathleen
I think you have put your finger on something. There is something about being part of a living couple that can’t replicated by anything else. So . . . yes. I’m noticing that I am grieving for that state of marriedness, along with the loss of Jon.
You always get right to the heart of the matter. Admitting the loneliness has been part of my conversations with family because they all miss him “almost” as much as I do. Hard to imagine life without his spirit lifting us all up, but we must. Two years seems like such a milestone, like I should be feeling less sorrow or more joy for living by now . . . nope, just more tears from time to time. Thank you Barbara for your constant verbalizing of your loss, and attempts to go on without the love of your life by your side.
I, too, had no idea that I would be mourning Jon after so many months and years. I love him more than I thought!
Take up golf.
Very funny, Sue. I love it. Pickleball has also been suggested.