I'm not talking about the holidays. Or about the weird stretch of time between them where we all get lost and time blends and no one wants to work or do things of any importance. Or about the commercialism that consumes too many, or the continued argument about what this time of year should mean to anyone.
For our family, it's when things changed.
My husband passed away in December of 2020. It was during Chanukah when Chanukah was earlier in the month. So if I use that as the marker, it was the 26 Kislev 5781 - which this year, following the Gregorian calendar of 2024, coincided with Christmas day, Dec. 25th. But if you follow the calendar that most of us here in America do - that would make it Dec. 12th.
Some folks have told me I should be past it all by now. And to a large extent they are right. He died, I didn't.
Before he passed away, this time of year was like it is for most of us, with a few extras thrown in particular to our family - my son became bar mitzvah on Dec. 13 of 2014 - so that was always a nice day to remember. My maternal grandmother was born on Dec. 25th, and my paternal grandfather and his brother were born on Dec. 27th - both days of celebration in my younger years, and fond remembrance days since their passing. And all of these days still hold a special place on the shelf of memory.
And then this happened. Long story short if you haven't been following along - congestive heart failure was what was listed as his cause of death, at age 58, but essentially it was diabetes tinged with early onset denial that killed him. We traveled a very long and arduous road for almost 20 years from diagnosis to death, that gave our children a bit of a different growing up. They knew they best snacks at various hospitals and were fully prepared to call 911 and able to administer emergency care to their father at any given moment for most of their teenage years. They spent more time and celebrated holidays in more hospitals and rehabs than most of their peers. While most kids were planning where to meet up with their friends pre-homecoming, mine were working in the visit to the medical facility so their father could see them all gussied and grown up. I won't lie and say that I don't still harbor a bit of resentment that we couldn't deliver a more normal childhood for them, but that's the thing about partnerships - you don't get all the say. He did get to see our son graduate high school,and attend his senior band banquet (our son was not a prom guy) but his baby girl's graduation was short by one seat, and Daddy wasn't there to shed a tear as she drove off with her boyfriend to prom.
I've thought about moving on, opening the possibility to a new companion. The idea floats in and drifts away in waves. It didn't even occur to me the first year past his death - I think I was catching up on sleep from the last few years of his life when I didn't get much, as we all lived on alert 24/7. Then came year two, then three, and now we are four years out, and alas, time doesn't give you a pause button as long you are tiptoeing on this side of the grass.
I dated and played quite a bit before I met my husband. I had formal boyfriends and relationships. I had informal ones. I had situationships, and yes, a few one-night stands along the way. So dating isn't new - but I certainly didn't miss it once I accepted the proposal of marriage. I wonder if that's why.
Many widows and widowers I know that started dating pretty soon - looking back, a lot of them had been with very few - if any - partners before their spouses. Not all of them, but a good number of them and many of them were paired from a young age. I'm sure that may have something to do with it. It bears no indication that they loved their partners any less or were any less devoted - but I would assume there may be either a curiosity to experience another partner, or perhaps, a bit of discomfort from being alone.
I never minded being alone. I was an only child of the seventies. Children then learned to be alone, and quite self-sufficient. Parenting was different then and so many of us were raised by parents who were barely adults themselves. I never felt lonely - not that I can recall.
When I got to college - the idea of sharing a room was a bit unnerving, but also novel and fun, and now living on a floor of a dormitory (I remember a rumor that it was the longest dorm floor in the country) and having this brand new, extended family of sorts was exhilarating to me. The next few years were an adventure, living with all numbers of housemates in various dwellings. And that trend continued for quite a few years post college - if for no other reason than affordability, but also, because I truly enjoyed the company.
But I always carved out my alone time. Whether it was closing my bedroom door or taking a walk in the woods, finding a perch in a park, or going for a long drive, I always relished my personal time. It was always a good reset, a refresh, and upon return I was ready for the next round of whatever co-habitation brings.
Between regular housemates and moving in with my husband (then boyfriend) I lived for a year by myself - my own apartment, my own things. I have often been heard to say that I should have done that longer. I really enjoyed that time - that sense of dominion over my domain in every sense of that state of being. But practicality kicked in - I was renting, he owned, and we were already spending so much time together it just made sense, and saved me quite a bit of money - allowed us to build a little nest egg and live well and comfortably.
And from then on, I have never lived alone again.
I still don't, though my children are adults. My son, who chose to not go to college (in my mind I still use "yet" after that sentence), works full-time and still lives with me. My daughter is away at university, but not far, and of course she comes home on breaks and occasional weekends. And I am lucky enough to genuinely enjoy their company and it does give a sense of relief knowing that the chores are shareable, extra hands available, and if necessary, someone around to care for me when I'm not feeling well. I don't demand that kind of cooperation, but to me - and it seems to be to them - it's a natural part of the deal.
Some have said to me that it's the kids that are my obstacle. That knowing that support system exists makes me complacent. That if I was alone again, I'd be more motivated to find a partner.
I'm not so sure about that.
I have a feeling if I ever do have the chance to live alone again, I won't want that to change. Not to say that I wouldn't seek some form of companionship and affection, but I wouldn't be looking to fill that space permanently - make accommodations for another human, when finally, after all these years I wouldn't have to anymore.
The idea of learning to live with another person - that is simply daunting. The idea of even just going through the rituals of dating, much less moving into something more permanent in the future, sits as well on my constitution as pickles on a potato.
And so....we'll get through this season - for us, it always ends on Jan 6th - the day after my late husband's birthday. The day we put away all the holiday decorations - pack up the menorahs, take down the tree, pull down the lights and the garlands - that's the close of the winter holiday season for us. Always has been as a family, and likely always will be.
There's some irony there - in that day is also called Epiphany by the Orthodox Catholics. Maybe this time, it will be one of my own.
コメント