One of the first things a widow will struggle with is loneliness.
Depending on our individual circumstances, the lonely can come and go, and will hit us with everything from a gentle wave hello to something akin to swallowing a grenade.
I have never figured out how to master the base feeling of being alone. Mostly, even after all this time, I tend to lean heavily on distraction and hope the feeling passes.
But one part of the loneliness – and there are many different styles/parts/flavours – has fallen victim (mostly) to my keen coping skills.
The part that leaves us with no one to talk to.
Most of us, while we appreciate the perpetual company, most of the time, don’t realize how much we come to depend on the constant presence of someone who already knows the backstory to everything we could possible say.
I could start a conversation with, ‘Bloody hell, he did it again!!’
And Paul would know exactly what I was talking about. No explanations required. Just an expectant ‘hmmph’ that invited me to expand on the details once more.
This is one of the top ten losses of my own widowhood.
But Here’s How I Cope (Most of the Time)
My response, early on, was to write.
And early on, what I was writing was not fit for human consumption. I was lost in the throes of fresh grief and what was coming out of that pit of despair was vile.
What I didn’t want was a diary – a physical copy of a journal – lying around the house for the kids to find. Especially when so much of what I was venting was anti-kids. They anchored me to this life at a time when I wanted out. Badly. And I did resent them for that.
Certainly not their doing. But oh, how I was feeling it. And not something I wanted to share with a bunch of teenagers who already naturally blamed me for all of their problems.
I had to keep it all private. And safe.
So I started a blog. My first blog, actually.
I went online, opened an account, and started writing.
Mostly I wrote letters to Paul. Mostly complaining to him about the five teenagers he abandonned me with. A lot of complaining.
But also a lot of missing him. A lot of remembering.
A lot of love.
I have ten years of letters to him. I like to think that somewhere in cyberspace, he was able to read them.
Although some days, I kind of hope he can’t.
But sending letters, like messages in bottles into the great barren sea of emptiness, made me feel better.
It made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I was being heard.
It didn’t really fix anything at all. I was – am – still struggling with loneliness.
But this one small habit of mine, helped. Enough.
My 23-year-long conversation with my husband continues still. It’s just very one-sided these days.
If he could reply to that, he would probably laugh and say that really, nothing much has changed in that regard.
If you would like to start a blog yourself, WordPress offers a free blogging platform. You can start a basic online journal. You can set the privacy settings however you like. Your posts can be 100% private, or you can share them, using your name, or hiding behind the anonymity of a pen name. Your choice. (But I would suggest keeping it private until you’re in a place of confidence and strength.)
If you’re reading this, you’re reading a WordPress blog.
Just link over to WordPress.com and follow their directions. You can be blogging in no time. Great if it helps. And if it doesn’t, no worries. We’ll eventually find something that does.
(I am not an affiliate for WordPress and do not receive any compensation for this recommendation.)
Dragonfly You 
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