Home alone over the holidays: a diary
One dreary Saturday afternoon in early November my wife of twenty-two years abruptly left and took her family, my entire local intimate support group, with her.
I was apoplectic; paralyzed with fear and foreboding. As she packed some things to temporarily move in with friends I took to a Lazy Boy, staring at the deck with birdfeeders and beyond at the woods, hoping to get a grip. After she left she was less than a block away as the crow flies. But we were on different planets where intimate communications can’t reach relationship issues.
In the days leading up to Thanksgiving I went about my routine as best I could. I worked out at the gym. There was band practice. I wanted to be my usual upbeat self, but was quieter. I tried wearing a mask of my usual ready-to-smile facial expressions. But grief and embarrassment made it difficult. Nobody seemed to notice. Everyone was gearing up for the holidays.
I decided to tell family and friends on a “need-to-know basis.” Actually, it was my difficulty facing what was happening rather than their need to know that mattered. Bit by bit I found I needn’t have been embarrassed. I discovered a few things about our relationships that I hadn’t noticed.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. A large group of family and friends gather at a relative’s large home for a day-long feast of eating, talking and loving. I wasn’t included. I imagined they were wondering about the real story behind why Jim wasn’t there as they conversed. I fixed a turkey breast, cranberry sauce, peas, potatoes and gravy and ice cream. Not Thanksgiving.
I all-to-briefly saw grandkids the next day and we decorated the condo for Christmas. A little. Except for shopping more carefully this year and buying my wife the usual gift of earrings, which she said she really liked, I never got in the Christmas spirit.
Christmas Eve has always been a quiet, small gathering of family for dinner, exchanging gifts, conversation and perhaps watching It’s a Wonderful Life. I was alone again. As I stared in the fridge wondering what to fix for dinner, the doorbell rang. It was dark and raining. Nobody was there, but there was package on the stoop. Could there really be a Santa Claus, I wondered.
I opened the box and found a coffee cup with Christmas pictures of kids and grandkids and “I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” I say that to them every time I see them. Granddaughter Amalia, now 15, and I started singing it to each other when she was two.
Christmas Day. A month further into the abyss. I drank coffee from my special cup and had an apple and couple of handfuls of nuts for lunch. Dinner at 8 was a large pineapple sundae – crushed pineapple that had been in the fridge a while.
Between Christmas and New Years I started eating more “regular meals” again. My daughter, fiancé and grandkids visited and stayed overnight. We talked, laughed and played games. I felt loved.
Since that awful November day, my sleeping pattern has been disturbed. I usually get enough sleep, but when I go to the bathroom in the night a message often pops into my head – Why don’t you think about …? Had you considered …? I ponder that a while, then drift off to sleep and awaken after daylight.
I had a crisis New Year’s morning. I was tired and in bed by 10 the night before. At 1am when I went to the bathroom I got the thinking prompt, went back to sleep later and awakened at 6. It was dark. I was disoriented. Was it 6pm New Year’s Eve? 6am New Year’s Day? 6pm New Year’s night? What was going on? I couldn’t take this! I closed my eyes to quiet myself, stayed awake until daylight, got up and found my bearings again. I wondered when this nightmare I was living with was going to lighten up.
Now the holidays and their crises are over. My sleep pattern is nearly normal. I’m beginning to find peace and my new place in the life that surrounds me.
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