Blindsided

One side effect of Mom's passing that I never foresaw was the sense of solitude, of being involuntarily alone, that entered my life as soon as she left it.  Never expecting it, I never did anything to prepare myself against the loneliness of each day, no longer graced with someone right at hand, ready, willing & eager to discuss all manner of topics, from lively political debates to current movies,  what was happening in the church & at the school, family & friends.  

The house went suddenly silent.

See, I'd never developed discussion partner roles with John.  My hubster is a terrific conversationalist with others, blessed with an ability to carry on discussions about what seems to me the most arcane topics.  John has a far more elastic memory than mine, able to pick up & retain interesting facts & ideas, one well-honed by years of listening to the radio, not zoned-out by years in front of the telly.  When he is with me, he likes to just be quiet, to just enjoy being us.  And he never had to do more, since Mom was always there.   

Until she wasn't.

I do not have a good relationship with my house.  It has never been a place where I felt welcome, felt safe.  To this day, there isn't a room in which I feel fully comfortable.  After Mom was reunited with her O! Best Beloved, this sense of whatever was compounded by a pervasive sense of mild to not-so-mild depression.

See, I'd never been alone.  Ever.

Last night, for the first time, I experienced the positive power of those feelings of unwelcome solitude.  I know how my grannie clients who have lost spouses, who are alone in places where they know very few people & are close friends with none of them, who find themselves feeling an alone-ness they never saw coming, never prepared themselves to handle.  It is really pretty darn impossible for someone who has a busy, active, family & friends-centered life to imagine what it's like.  About as possible as someone who is sighted understanding what it's like to be blind.

My mother had a great gift for solitude.  She exercised - her famous side bends, touch toes, twists.  And she was a devoted walker.  Mom was a great letter writer, always had a crossword puzzle at the ready, always had WFLN playing on the radio.  She was at ease in quiet.  Mom was  a rarity.  If she had a Fortress of Solitude, it seemed to be filled with things to keep her mind perking along, growing, expanding.  And she always, no matter how alone she might have felt or missing Dad, knew that I'd be home at the end of the day.  

Imagine how it feels to be for people who know that they'll be just as alone at the end of the day as they were at the beginning.  That is the reality for many, if not most, older people.  Most don't have the advantages we tend to have in Bryn Athyn, of knowing so many people.  But even in B.A. there are many older people who find themselves still with us while their close friends - the people who knew them as youngsters, as young adults, young marrieds, through middle age & older - and siblings have gone.  Imagine if you had a life filled with family & friends, with voices, with wonderful moments & people to share treasured memories - then, it was gone.

Going to be pondering that over the next few whiles...