The first of the “firsts”.

Easter has never really been my holiday. I gave up religion years ago and I gave up this holiday in exchange for Thanksgiving in my divorce negotiations. So, while today is a holiday, it’s not one that I associated with any real traditions but it is the first one that I’ve flown solo. Maybe it’s a gift to have a gentle introduction into all of the social media happy family posts be of pastel colors and jelly beans and that by the time we reach turkeys and trees I’ll be settled into this new routine. 

I think in this whole transition I’m also coming to terms with the fact that I’ve never truly been on my own.  I met my first husband at 18, married him at 20, had kids at 22 and 23, divorced at 33, had primary custody of the kids as a single mom, remarried at 38, widowed at 46. And, while I wouldn’t change a thing about the path that led to my children, I think that the challenges I’m facing right now might be easier to navigate if I’d spent more than a minute (and part of every other weekend for a few years) as a single person.

I sit in admiration of my close single friends, and oldest child, who listen to my processing through the fact that I love alone time but that Loneliness is a different creature altogether. 

Loneliness was definitely starting to creep in as I approached the weekend. Not necessarily because of the holiday, but because I knew that the hours felt really long last Saturday and Sunday.  The adrenaline and shock of disappearance, death, and all of the “to-dos” that come with death have abated, even the anger is beginning to fade (somewhat). And, if I’m honest, so have the perpetual pings of the check-ins on text, phone calls, and social media - as they should - but the silence in their absence is deafening. 

I’ve been really focusing on emotions work - specifically grief work - since my grandfather died in January. Part of that practice is to reflect on The Feelings Wheel . 

I leaned into the fact that Sad is my primary baseline emotion right now.  I was journaling about the question of “How do I both accept the solitude but not let loneliness turn into feelings of abandonment and isolation?” 

While I’m not religious I do think there might be a part of the universe that sends you a lifeline when you need it (my bff and I joke that it’s Freddie Mercury) it was in that moment that I received a text from an old friend asking if I’d like to join him and his wife to catch up later that evening. 

It was the littlest thing. They were in town visiting family. They didn’t need to include the possibility of discussing suicide and widowhood to cut into their evening. But, they asked, and I felt a weight lift. We got together and while we did (briefly) talk about the sad reality that goes along with death  we spent most of the evening catching up about other things and I left feeling lighter, not feeling like a third wheel. I didn’t feel like I had to either perform as the sad widow, or the strong crusader of pain and recovery, but just as me - someone with a complicated story and a good sense of humor - who is going to be okay.

I may, for a very long time - potentially forever, live alone as a single person. That doesn’t scare me. What scares me is coming out of this whole adventure as a lonely person and feeding that loneliness by retreating into myself. I’m less scared about that today and I’m grateful.