Every widow has a relationship with loneliness.Every widow’s relationship with loneliness is different.So much of our now relationship with loneliness is related to who we were going into being a widow.I have met widows who spent a lot of their married life alone – due to his work, or hers.Or just due to differences in likes, dislikes, friends, family, events.And they were comfortable with doing things not with their partner.I have met widows who rarely spent time in their married life alone – as if the 2 lives were almost 100% melded into one another.They were uncomfortable doing anything without their partner.Me?I was somewhere in-between.I spent time alone during our marriage when he was at work.At least until cell phones became a “thing” – then, we spent hours upon hours with one another via phone calls.If Rick was not at work, we were together.Church. Family. Friends. Shopping.Working at & on the house/yard.It did not matter – we were together.My relationship with loneliness seems to be a daily changing challenge!In the early years of being a widow, I fought the loneliness with a vengeance.I either totally craved, yearned, and sought after, people to be around - - or I hid away with a totality that scared me. I was engulfed by grief.Now, years and years down the road, the fire of grief has turned to a smoldering.It no longer rages – well, I say no longer.Every so often, it flares up and seems to consume me all over again – usually at the littlest thing, a smell, a memory, a picture, something that grips my soul to share . . . the little things that always did turn into a big thing.Grief found a way to burn my life – past and at the time, present, as well as what I thought my future would be – into nothing more than a pile of ashes.Those raw and open wounds of the early years have become deep scars – still more tender than I like to admit, but no longer oozing beyond any control.Rarely now do they break open, unless I am in the midst of a storm, and usually only around 3 am.It is now in these years down the road from that moment which changed it all, that the loneliness calls.A haunting call.A different call than in those early years and times.When a son tells me how much he misses his dad’s wisdom and words for trials and struggles when life hits hard.When a granddaughter talks about how much she misses her P-paw and the way just his presence made everything feel right somehow.When a memory of an intimate time floods my mind, and there is no one to share it with.When a stupid pun, or dad joke, comes my way and I know just how much Rick would appreciate it!When a particular sunrise or sunset takes my breath away.When I read something that is so soul touching it brings tears to my eyes.When I scroll through my phone or Messenger contacts and realize there really is no one to call or message who remembers a particular event or time – because it was something that only Rick and I shared.When the housework is done for the day, and the long hours left loom larger than life before me.When I catch myself wandering through the house with little to nothing to do – or that I want to do.When I struggle to create as a creator – of food, of writings, of craftings – because he is not here to support or encourage me.When I fight the “what’s the use” mentality.When . . . a thousand ways and times.Loneliness has become a constant companion.It’s not the being alone.I pretty much have that down to an art.It’s the soul wrenching loneliness.If you have a quart mason jar full of marbles, they don’t rattle if you shake them.The jar is not threatened with breakage due to the marbles.The marbles within do not move.The jar without is solid at holding them quiet.If there is only 1 marble in that jar – well, it’s different.If the jar is shaken, the marble bounces around.If the jar is shaken too hard, too much, the glass marble can crack or break – and so can the jar.Rick used to tease me that I had “lost all your marbles” – when I would do or say something off the wall, making him roll his eyes 😉.I really have now.Lost my marbles.And my jar is broken.Rick was the jar.Life with him was my marbles.1 marble in an empty world – loneliness.

I like to read, and to write, about how there is Hope after loss.

Unwritten.

 No one told me how deeply loss & grief would change everything.

“You are handling it all so well.”

God, just a question or three this morning.

It’s been over 10 years since Rick died.How can it still feel like it was yesterday?or at the most, just last month?

When Rick was alive, there was not so much silence.I can remember craving silence – not for all time, but every so often, just silence.

LORD GOD . . .

Rick was not a bah-humbug, Mr Scrooge, when it came to holidays.

Dealing with people these years since Rick died has taught me one major lesson – time after time, with a brutal force.

It's another Sunday afternoon . . .

I've been more quiet lately.

We all want our independence and freedom.We all want to make our own choices and decisions.We all want to be accepted for who we are, what we do, and who we spend time with. And we all get mad at God when He doesn’t step in and stop bad things from happening. We literally play Russian roulette with our lives – what we eat and drink, what we do, who we spend time with, how we drive, and a hundred more things each day.But we expect God to stop the consequences. And when He doesn’t?We become angry 2-year-olds, throwing a temper tantrum! As parents and grandparents, we work hard to teach our kids and grandkids the good and right choices to make – and we work hard at protecting them from the not so good or right choices that they do make, or that they could make.We guard them, love them, pray for them.We set up boundaries, and perimeters.We help them. And then, there comes a point – that due to their stubbornness and willfulness, sadly . . . the only way they learn the lesson of obedience is by disobeying. In those times of disobedience, we hope and pray they do not fall hard, and there is no permanent damage or injury.Sometimes we are able to intervene and interfere enough to avoid tragedy. In those times of learning lessons, we offer a shoulder to lean on, bandages for the hurts, and struggle greatly to NOT say,

When I was a little girl, our house was filled with kids - cousins, nieces, nephews, and all those that sometimes came with those.Sometimes they were there for a few hours, and sometimes for longer.Our house was not a large house.Therefore, my room became the gathering place for all the kids - a virtual playroom.Nothing was sacred.Nothing was safe. 

I am a woman. 

What society (meaning family, friends, schools, companies, churches, counselors, therapists) teaches and preaches about grief and being a widow – either with words, or with silence – hurts my soul.There are hundreds upon hundreds of books, articles, websites, podcasts, groups, pages, and more – in our world that deals with grief and being a widow.

Sometimes – well, more than not – the missing of a friend overwhelms me.

Years ago when Rick and I first got married, late one night while standing on the front porch in the darkness with only the dim light shining through the curtained window, his arms around me, my back against his chest – Rick asked me a question.“What do you want to do, to be, in this life? Because whatever you choose, I will support you without question, hesitation or argument.” Slowly I turned towards him, looked into his eyes, laid my hands softly on either cheek and said,“I want to be your wife, the mother of your children, and the keeper of your home.” With a soft tear rolling down his right cheek, he smiled, and huskily said,“Then, I tell you what – I will make the living, you make the living worthwhile.” We stood like that for what seemed forever.Seems I can still feel his arms around me, smell him, hear his heart beating against my ear. For all those years of our marriage, that is exactly what we both strived to be and to do.