Loneliness Has a Hell of a Marketing Problem

I feel like I have written about loneliness a few times, but it was sort of tangentially.  Lately,  the loneliness has felt a lot more tangible.  When most folks think about loneliness, it is about just being physically alone.  I used to think that too.  Then life introduced me to a wide variety of loneliness, and it turns out that lonely is a lot more complicated than having an empty house.  Don’t get me wrong, it is that, and it is so much more.

Over the last several months I’ve met many versions of loneliness that I never knew existed.   There is the obvious loneliness, like her side of the bed being empty.   The passenger seat in the truck being empty.  All of the control chairs, empty.  The shower, where she kept an extraordinary amount of products is now down to my three lonely little items sitting in a space that belonged to both of us.  And the emptiness of no “Mornin Beautiful”.

Those are actually the easiest versions to identify.  They are visible.  You can see the empty chair.  You can see the empty side of the bed.  That next kind of loneliness is harder because no one sees it.  The loneliness of touch is one that I have been struggling with and have already written about.  An empty hand when I am walking around.  No long hugs.  No sitting with my head in her lap watching Star Trek.  All of the casual ways we touch our person over the course of a day, all empty, all quiet and all of it sucks.  There is no way to prepare yourself for just how loud this emptiness is.

And then, eventually, loneliness gets even sneakier.  The missing touch isn’t just about what you don’t feel anymore.  It’s about all the little moments throughout the day when your brain still reaches for your person before it remembers they’re not there.   This is the loneliness that nobody sees but holds equal measure.  I have no one to tell funny stories to, as I would have today listening to a first date conversation when I stopped at Firehouse subs for lunch.  I really wanted to show her my coffee cup I painted to match the Brakes on the Galaxie.  What gets me is that split second when I think I still can.  These realizations come dozens of times a day.  This loneliness isn’t like a giant wound, it is a thousand tiny ones, and that sucks too. 

And eventually I realized there was yet another version of loneliness hiding underneath all of those little moments.  Like when I hear a funny story at Firehouse subs, it isn’t just that I have nobody to tell.  It’s that nobody will laugh at the same parts that she would laugh about.  No one else would know all the characters from forty years of stories that we could compare that couple today on their first date to.  No one else has all the context. 

Bride and I spent decades building our own little world to play in.  It was filled with inside jokes, vacation disaster stories, and all the stories we shared on our adventures.  We could tell a whole story just with a look across the room.  Hahaha, I miss that.   Over the decades, we built a Large Language Library, kinda like AI does.  Day by day we added context and stories and shared experiences, and inside jokes.  And we used it in so many ways.  And then one day, I found myself holding all those books by myself.  That is a different kind of lonely. 

As lonely as that can feel, it would be unfair for me to pretend I am walking through this thing alone.  I have amazing family, chosen and real, coworkers who check in on me, and people who have shown up in ways I never expected.  And that is when I discovered yet another version of loneliness.  You can be deeply loved and still feel lonely.  That sounds contradictory, and I guess the only way to experience that is to live through it.  I am blessed with an army of people in my life who care about me.  They want to and have helped in ways I will never be able to repay.  They have shown up, literally in many cases, and been present for me and I am grateful for every bit of it.  I’ve sat in rooms surrounded by people I love, people who were showing up for me in every way possible, and still I found myself looking at an empty chair wishing her cute little ass was sitting in it.

There is a harsh reality though, no one else lived inside that little world Bride and built one brick at time together.  No one else carries the same memories, the same experiences or the same context.  They understand pieces of the story. They understand the hurt, and they understand I miss her, as do they.  They will never be able to fully understand what it was like to be us.  And that is another version of lonely.  Maybe that’s what makes loneliness so hard to explain to people who haven’t experienced it.  Both things can be true at the same time.  It’s all strange but a standout in this has been the loneliness and being loved can exist at the same time, back to the paradox.  The dialectic nature of loneliness is so fucking weird.  And somehow, loneliness still had one more surprise waiting on me. 

As strange as all those versions of loneliness are, I think the one that catches me off guard the most is the loneliness of a missing future together.  I have heard grief is more about missing the past, and it is.  I miss a thousand yesterdays, actually 12,995 yesterdays.  Twelve thousand nine hundred ninety five days, and I wanted more.  I miss old vacations, I miss old stories, I miss all the moments that are already written.  What I did not see coming was how much I would miss the things that never will get written at all. 

The trips we were still going to take.  The projects we had in planning stages, and the conversations we were yet to have.  The version of us that neither of us became yet.  Sometimes I realize I’m not lonely for who Bride was.  I’m lonely for who we were still supposed to become.  I am lonely for the future that will never be. 

Maybe that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned through all of this.  Every time I thought I understood loneliness, it showed up wearing a different costume.  It’s not just an empty chair sitting across from me.  It’s not just an empty hand.  It’s not just having no one to tell the story to.  It’s not just carrying a library of memories by myself.  It’s not just being loved and still feeling alone.  And it’s not just grieving the future that never got a chance to unfold. It’s all of those things, and probably more to come, all at the same time. 

Loneliness wears a lot of costumes.  Sometimes it can look like an empty house.   Sometimes it looks a crowded room.  Sometimes is looks like an empty passenger seat.  Sometimes it can look like me in the garage saying, hey Beautiful come look at this.  Sometimes it can look like 12,995 days of memories by myself.  And sometimes it can look like the realization that there are new memories of us that will never get written. 

Loneliness has a hell of a marketing problem because most people think they know what it looks like.  I know better now.  And if you happen to be carrying your own version of lonely, whatever costume it’s wearing today, just know you are not the only one meeting it.  I know I sure needed to hear that myself. 

Tiny Islands of Certainty

So, an unexpected thing happened yesterday morning at 5am, I took off my wedding ring.  I wish I could tell ya there was some grand reason behind it.  That maybe I woke up with clarity, arrived at some profound realization, or finally crossed some invisible milestone in my grief journey.  The truth of it is much less dramatic.  When I got out of the shower, I looked at my ring, gave it a couple of spins, like I’ve done most every day for as long as I can remember. 

Then I slipped it off and rolled it around in my hand, something I have not really done before.  There wasn’t any intent behind it.  No deep meaning, just a mindless motion.  I wandered into the bedroom and grabbed the chain with Sandy’s rings out of the dish on my nightstand.  I slide her rings off and sat them back in the dish, and slipped my ring onto the chain.  

I stood there for a minute or two looking at it.  Not really thinking, just staring at it.  Just doing, not thinking.  Then I said out loud, fuck it and slipped the chain over my head and went about my day.  I caught myself several times that day playing with it without even realizing it.  Running my fingers over the ring while I worked, while I was in meetings, and while I drove home, all the while my mind wandered around between a forest of meaningless thoughts. 

That night I laid in bed staring at her rings sitting in the dish on my nightstand while I rolled mine around my neck.  All I could think was fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck.  Not because her rings were in the dish.  Not because mine was hanging around my neck on a chain.  It was because for the first time since Sandy died, I wasn’t sure where either of them belonged.  And I can tell ya, that realization fucking sucked. 

To be clear, the rings weren’t really at the heart of it.  The issue was that they represented one of the few things in my life that still felt clear.  After she died, so much of my world became a gigantic question mark.  Who am I now?  What does the future look like?  Which  parts of my old life do I let go of, which parts do I hang on to, and which parts to I just learn to carry differently?  And somehow the rings remained simple.  

For months I knew exactly where they belonged, even when I had no idea where I belonged.  Her rings were on the chain, mine was on my finger. 

Tiny islands of certainty in an ocean of uncertainty.  Until they weren’t. 

And lying there in the dark, I realized I wasn't just asking where the rings belonged. I was questioning where I belonged on this leg of my journey.

As strange as it sounds, the next thing that popped into my head was the last cigarette I smoked, which was in 2004.  Most folks just assume when someone stops smoking there must have been some grand turning point or dramatic event.  But for me, there just wasn’t.  One day I was a smoker, the next day I wasn’t.  there was no ceremony, no strategy, no countdown.  Just a quiet decision that came out of nowhere one morning that I didn’t want to smoke anymore, so I didn’t.

The truth is, I don’t suspect it came out of nowhere at all.  I suspect that decision had been growing beneath the surface without me even realizing it.  And then one morning, I simply woke up and discovered what I used to feel was necessary, was not any more.  Laying there in bed staring at Sandy’s rings and absentmindedly rolling mine around the chain, I couldn’t help but wonder if grief works the same way. 

No because I am done grieving, I am not.  Not because I’m letting go of her, I never will.  Maybe I didn’t wake up yesterday and decide to take a step forward.  Maybe I simply discovered I already had.  Maybe sometimes all that works quietly in our subconscious, taking root while we are too busy surviving to notice. And then one day, we just find ourselves doing something unexpected and realize we’ve taken a step we never planned to take.  And If I am being honest, that realization is both comforting and terrifying at the same time. 

For months after Sandy died, the rings felt important because they were tangible.  Something I could touch.  Something I could hold onto when everything felt so damn intangible.  But lying there that night, I found myself wondering of the rings were ever really the evidence of our marriage in the first place.  Symbolic yes, evidence, maybe not.  After 38 years together, the evidence is everywhere, in stories, in memories, and in the habits we gave each other over the years.  It’s in the way I still talk to her sometimes.  It’s in the things that make me laugh.  Its in the way I still call her Bride without thinking about it. 

The truth is, I have no idea how long I’ll wear the chain with my ring.  Maybe this is where my ring belongs, and then again maybe it’s supposed to be just for right now.   What strikes me is that for the first time since Sandy died, I am willing to sit with the discomfort of not knowing.   Not knowing how long the ring will stay on the chain.  Not knowing if someday it ends up in the dish with Sandys rings, or maybe not.  Not knowing what any of it ultimately means.  And that is uncomfortable. 

If I am being completely honest with myself, I think what bothered me the most wasn’t the ring itself.  It was the realization that life keeps right on moving along, even when part of me wants to plant my feet, lean in and refuse to move along.  Every step forward in grief feels like a tiny betrayal, or a letting go of something ya don’t want to let go of.  Intellectually I know that is not true.  Loving Sandy and continuing to live are not mutually exclusive.  But as I have said before, my emotional self does not much care about my intellectual side, especially when it comes to the grieving process. The same damn dichotomy that still fucking sucks.   

For today, the ring hangs on a chain around my neck and that is enough.  I have no idea what the chain means yet, maybe that’s why I am writing this.  And maybe, maybe it means nothing.  Grief is a lot like life in that regard, you get the test before you get the lesson.  Things are revealed to us long before we can understand them.  My journey has been full of moments that I did not recognize were important until I was standing on the other side of it. 

Grief has a way of working behind the scenes.  It quietly rearranges things while were busy trying to survive another day.  Then without warning, it reveals results.  Maybe that is what happened here.  Maybe the ring was never the story.  Maybe the story is realizing that grief keeps changing us long after we think it has done its worst to us.  Maybe the story is discovering that some part of me has already begun adapting to this reality before the rest of me is ready to admit it. 

So here I am, not really moving on, not really letting go.  Just learning.  Taking one uncomfortable step at a time, trying to figure out how to carry 38 years of love into a future I never planned on living. 

Two Pretty Damn Amazing Weeks

Well I just got a text letting me know my departure from Jacksonville to Chicago has been delayed.  It appears I still have an hour and 21 minutes  between gates in Chicago for my Lincoln flight.  So I decided I might try to type out a quick Oratory.  I am now at JAX waiting departure so I thought I would finish this one. 

So today I head back home from spending 2 weeks in Jacksonville Florida.  I was completely unplugged from everything, work, house, bills, and most of all my puppy, Handsome Petey Kabuki McPants McGillicuddy, more commonly referred to as Larry O.  From all appearances, he has enjoyed himself.  His tail was pointing up every time I watched, and that I know means he is happy.  Plus, he had extra cuddle time, that was a great upsell at drop off.  I am looking forward to scooping up the butt dart from the border and loving on him.  I have watched him playing every day, their camera system could you some work, I think I will suggest a trade of my expertise for boarding days. 

I shared space and a lot of meals with a lot of chosen families on my trip.  I went to have a meal with folks at places we always went to when we lived here.  Well, except Lubi’s, Bride could not stand a loose meat sandwich.  They were probably heart attacks on bun but damnnnnnn, they are good.  I shared three home cooked meals as well, and they were equally yummy. 

I watched the sunrise every morning, one of them was in Ocala and the rest were at the beach.  I love sunrise, but boy watching in a chair in the surf at the ocean is something everyone should do at least once in their lives.  I just wish I wasn’t learning how to love it again without her.  I remember back in the day a great friend of mine came down here to Florida from Ohio and we went to sunrise as his first time seeing the ocean – it was magnificent and a gift to me to watch someone see that for the first time.  Coincidently, my Niece and her family were also vacationing here so I got a sunrise with her and got to spend some time with her family.

Jacksonville is very much different and very much the same, it just does not feel like home anymore.  I’ve  always said home is where I hand my hat, but it turns out that wasn’t quite right.  Home was wherever she was.  That is what Smithlandia really meant.  All but the three hats I brought with me are still in Lincoln, and I have hundreds and that collection started all the way back to high school.  And yes, since the Beach Diner is closing, I bought one of their hats.

I got to hug a lot of necks, and that was very much needed.  There is something special about that kinda hug, the kind where nobody is really saying anything, and yet everything is being said.  Some of them held on a little longer than normal, and we both knew why.  Because for a few seconds, it filled a space that has been too damn quiet, for both of the of us. 

While I saw a lot of people, I also had a lot of alone time, that was good and bad.  Still writing down three things every morning looking for forward momentum.   Some days its three steps forward, and then, in the same day, its two more backwards.  And every morning I’m still waking up to world she is not in anymore, left wondering how that’s even real.

Overall I have moved forward but the pace is spotty.  And that is the new norm so that is just OK.  I am glad I sprinkled a few ashes as well, while not closure it did feel a bit like adding a period at the end of a sentence.  Problem was, I was not ready for the sentence to end.  I just sat there for a bit after.  It was nice to have that time when I was out of my element.  No constant reminders, no work things, no house things, no dog things, just me, myself and I.

And now for an abrupt topic change, I rented a Hyundai Sonata, it was a hybrid and I kinda liked it.  Well, I liked the efficiency and tech.  Over the two week period I put gas in it twice, and the overall average for my two weeks was 44.7 MPG, which is a hell of lot better than my truck.  Not enough to make me switch yet, but it got my attention.  The tech package was pretty impressive as well, lane drift protection, adaptive cruise, and self steering, although I turned that off after just a minute or two.  The only thing I did not like about it was it was low to ground, I’m old and fat so…  and the drivers compartment was crowded, see aforementioned note on being fat and old.

So I will be back in Lincoln tonight, and will pick up Larry in the morning, after his bath and nail trim and other pampering.  Fingers crossed the two flights are uneventful.

So I Stay, and I Keep Reading

I keep reminding myself that this is going to work out, that Smitty is going to be OK.  Even though there are days when it just doesn’t feel like it.  Maybe days is stretching it at this point.  Maybe it’s hours, or minutes or moments where it just seems overwhelming to me.  I also remind myself that I will not have the dynamic duo I had for so long.  The we, the us, and the they are gone.  I  am now just the me, the he, and the I.  It still feels weird to be using those tenses, and I stumble over them all the time.  I guess that will be the norm for a while, maybe forever and I don’t even mind anymore, small reminders of who we were together.

I know this is not my forever, this is a chapter and thank goodness chapters come to an end and a new one begins, that is the way of things in the world.  If I span across the whole journey, this chapter is the one I like the least.  It has been the most difficult, I think because I was so used to having a partner in the game.  Someone who would listen, encourage, support and love me, just like I did for her.  It feels a little isolating to be thinking about this and working my way through it without her, I miss her wisdom in moments like these.

I still have to fight the urge to treat this moment like the whole story.  It feels so large and heavy that it is sometimes hard to see over or around it and recognize that this is just a chapter in a much larger story.  The story we created was simply amazing by any standard.  I knew that and so did she, but I don’t think I understood the magnitude of how amazing we were together.  Spending a couple of weeks here in Florida, surrounded by chosen family, has been a great reminder of that, and I am grateful for each of those reminders, spoken and implied.

Somewhere out there, there is a version of me who made it through all of this.  In some ways I wish I could time travel forward to that dude.  Other times that feels like cheating.  I don’t really know how to explain that part.  I just know it hits wrong.  I just know there is something about skipping ahead that feels wrong, like I’d be missing some ugly part that was necessary to help me become whoever I am supposed to be after this chapter.  I don’t like that, not even a little.  But I also know I don’t get to only read the good parts the story.  So, I will keep moving through the pages, wherever the story goes and however difficult to read, until I get to that future me, who will have been forged into that future me by the journey itself. 

Realizing I’m no longer the one writing this story is really messing with my head.  It is disorienting in a way that does not make sense to me, her absence just turns up the volume on all of it.  It’s like the whole thing gets louder when I try to make sense of it.  I feel like most of that comes down to how badly we want to believe we are in control, like if we just try hard enough or think clearly enough, we can simply negotiate with the page to say something different.  But that ain’t how this works, not really.  Letting go and just being feels wrong, almost like I am violating some of the base code I am programmed with.  Every thing in me wants to push back, rewrite a few lines of code, to do something other than just sitting with it.  Submitting to the page I’m actually on is hard.  Real hard.  It feels very much in conflict with my fight or flight instincts, the ones that have been baked into our DNA since before we made it to the top of the food chain.  All I have is how I show up for the page in front of me, even when showing up sometimes feels like the hardest thing I have ever had to do. 

I don’t like this chapter.  I would not have chosen it in a million years.  It kinda like in book club having to read a book that ya don’t like.  You read it anyway, out of respect for the one who selected it.  This is the book that has been selected for me, and not reading it is not an option, that would be disrespectful of Beautiful Brides memory.  So here I am, slogging away, slower than I want to be moving and this book appears to have a lot of pages to turn.  Some days I make progress, other days I have to go back and reread the shit I didn’t like the first time I read it.  I just keep showing up, and that counts! 

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I found myself on the same beach where we said our vows again at 20 years in.  Sunrise, the same kind of quiet, the same sounds of the ocean doing its thing.  Only this time it was just me, well technically just me.  I had carried her there and did the only thing  I knew how to do, I let her go into the place we loved.  I don’t know if there are words for that moment that actually do it justice, I had nothing but tears then, and now as I type this.  It did not feel like closure.  It did not fix anything.  But it felt right, the kind of right that comes with absolute certainty.  It felt like one small way to honor the story we had, in a place that knew us well when we were still a we.   I stayed long enough to feel it.  Then I walked away without really knowing how to feel about it.  

Somewhere out there is a version of me who has already read the whole book and knows how it ends.  I don’t get to flip ahead to that part though, I have to read it the way it’s written, page by agonizing page.  Regardless of how many times I reread a page, I am just trying to make it all make sense.  Not every page lands, not every chapter is fair, and it’s still my book to read.  Fair, that reminds me of something she used to say, fair is what ya pay to get on a bus and where ya go to get a funnel cake or corndog.  So I will just keep turning pages, trusting that something will shift along the way and trusting that when I finally reach the end of this chapter, I will understand why I had to read it in the first place.  So I stay, and I keep reading.