What I've Learned

It has now officially been two years since Art died. It's difficult for me to believe it has been that long, because I still miss him every single day. I was fortunate to be able to be away from home and with all four of our children again this year so I didn't have to spend that sad "anniversary" alone. We all gathered in New York City, where my son and his wife live, and had a good time sharing memories, eating good food and exploring the city. I know that one of these days, I will have to face the anniversary of Art's death at home alone, but I'm glad it wasn't this year. I don't think I was quite ready yet.

I've spent these few days since I returned home thinking about some of the things I've learned during these two years since Art's death.  I think the most important lesson I've learned about living alone, at my age, is that I need to stay alert—every minute of every day. I can't afford to let myself be distracted  and, for example, absent-mindedly leave a burner on, or trip over something and fall. After all, I've already had one fall in the house resulting in a broken arm. (Fortunately, I wasn't alone when that happened.) I've learned to stand a few seconds when I get  up from a chair or out of bed, to make sure I have my balance before I start walking. And I've learned to always keep the phone right beside me when I am sitting watching TV or reading, so that I won't be tempted to jump up and rush to answer it, potentially risking a fall.

Another important lesson I've learned about living alone is to keep the lines of communication with my neighbors open, so that they are aware of my comings and goings. Several months after Art died, I neglected to tell my next door neighbors that I was taking a short trip. My neighbors across the street knew I was going, but, unfortunately, they were gone for a couple of days during that same time period. When my next door neighbor noticed there hadn't been any activity in my home for a day or two, she  tried to call me to make sure everything was okay. Of course, I didn't answer the phone, so she came and rang my doorbell. She does have a key to my house, but instead of using it, decided to call my daughter in CT who told her that I was traveling. When I returned home, she apologized for calling my daughter saying, "You and she must think I'm a really nosey neighbor." I assured her that I was the one who should be apologizing for not telling her I was going to be away; and I thanked her for caring enough to check on me. It is a great comfort for me, and my children, to know that my neighbors are watching over me.

I've learned to manage most of the things that Art always took care of, but I've also come to realize that there is no shame in asking for help with some things, or in paying someone to do them for me—especially if they involve climbing on ladders or using potentially dangerous electrical equipment. However, I have to admit that it still sometimes bothers me to ask for help.

I've learned that it's important for me to get out and be with people on a regular basis. I am much better off psychologically if I don't spend too many days home alone, where my thoughts inevitably begin dwelling on unhappy memories of the past. It's strange how that works. It's not that I don't have memories of Art when I am busy and active. It's just that those memories are more likely to be of happy times.

I've learned that just because I have begun to talk to myself on a regular basis it does not necessarily mean I'm going crazy. At least, I hope that's the case. I seem to remember hearing somewhere that you don't have to worry until you start answering back.

I've learned that the "couple thing" will probably always be an issue for me. I still find myself feeling a twinge of sadness and envy when I hear my friends talk about the fun things they and their husbands do together or with other couples. BUT, I think it would be even more upsetting if they didn't talk about those things around me.

I've learned that no matter what I am doing or how happy I am at any given moment (I do have many moments of happiness), I can't entirely shake the feeling that a piece of me is missing. I know that may get better in time, but even if it doesn't, it's okay, because it's the sad truth. A piece of me is missing.