Sudden Change

Widowhood August 8 2009

The widow walks a long and lonely path.
Like a twin who’s shared a heart and brain,
She’s sundered through
And struggles to keep on as one
Where there were two.
She straggles,
Tries to recover, rediscover,
And redraw herself.
She may move forward,
But she never leaves behind
The love she’s lost.

Life will never again be the same. The differences that evolve, however, will have their own sources of joy.

A friend today sent me a description, by the author, of the book, "Moving to the Center of the Bed." What a fantastic title to describe what one must do when suddenly a close relationship has changed forever: instead of being half a couple, one is suddenly forced to stand alone. ("Moving to the Center of the Bed: The Artful Creation of a Life Alone" by Sheila Weinstein, Moving to the Center of the Bed Publishing, $15.95)

Ms Weinstein writes of her experience as her husband's dementia deepens, "At the age of 62, it was terrifying to suddenly find myself alone. At times I thought that I would surely die of the pain and loneliness. But I didn't. Not because it wouldn't have been easy to give in to depression and despair, to say goodbye to life rather than stand up and fight for it, but because I am a determined woman. I needed to know that I could make it on my own and that my life did not depend on another human being for its meaning or its duration."

When we first commit wholeheartedly to a relationship, we build, painstakingly, a new way of being.

When the relationship ends, that part of ourself also ends.

We grieve our loss of the other. We also mourn losing who we had become. It's like moving house. We used to know where to turn automatically to find a sheet, a glass, a spoon. When we stand at the end of a relationship, we used to know what to say, what to think, how to be in the world. Now, we have no clue. Nothing works as it used to. Who are we? How will we live?


Habits NOVEMBER 21 2008

Habits are comfortable.
We enjoy routines – getting up, stretching,
Brushing teeth, showering,
Smelling that first warm morning cup.

Our movements are precise – two steps here and three there.
Get a glass and dish on the way by.
Turn left, grab a spoon, no need to look --
Choreographed --
A fluid, graceful sequence --
Steps well-learned, entwined.

Now, as if waking from a dream, I’m suddenly alone.
The dance has vanished.
Like a disconnected marionette,
I turn aimlessly--
Right, then left; forward, then back.

I wonder, confused:
“What now?”
“Where’s that spoon?”
“What comes next? “