I am an older adult with family nearby. We get together regularly. I have virtual and face-to-face friends. I write a newsletter, paint, do other hobbies, and like being alone, so there is no loneliness if you look at the usual definition.
But, I am lonely for that person who knew me so well, was my life partner, hugged me when I was sad, and was there whenever I needed help - the guy I wanted to share my entire life with. He died three years ago, and it seems like the sadness has increased with the knowledge of how final it is. I wasn’t expecting - or prepared - for that.
A previous article discussed caregiving and loneliness—the loneliness of the caregiver and the person being cared for. I’m talking about something very different.
One website describes it for me perfectly.
A common theme among people who have lost their spouse is the debilitating effects of feeling entirely alone and incomplete. The sense of feeling like you have lost an essential part of yourself is both painful and disconcerting. The world suddenly looks like a different place, often odd and distanced.
The article, Isolating or Cocooning, helped me better understand, as the author described the five years after her husband’s death this way.
Year One. Wonder Woman stepped forward to continue working, being a stalwart, maintaining a stiff upper lip, and doing what she needed to do after losing her spouse.
Year Two. Tough beyond compare, with no realization or preparation for how difficult and painful the process would be.
Year Three. It's probably bordering on depression – certainly questioning what on earth is supposed to happen now and struggling to find a reason to be here.
Year Four. It is a continuation of year three, with a slightly lessening heartache. Now, we are trying to figure out how to move out of that isolation and begin life without my prince.
Year Five. There are still moments of overwhelm and shedding tears, but it now seems there’s a new light at the end of the tunnel.
For whatever reason, this, the fourth year, is more challenging as the foreverness of Dan’s absence sinks in. As I said in the article, Victim No More, I’m committed to moving forward. The loss remains, but the journey continues. I haven’t seen that light at the end of the tunnel, though.
There are many websites about the loss of a spouse or partner.
The WPS Health Blog - “When you lose a loved one, there are always a lot of changes. Those adjustments can become drastic when that loss is your partner or spouse.”
Daybreak - “Loneliness is a painful awareness that you are not with a person you love.”
Hospice of Red River Valley - Even though others may surround you, the physical and emotional void left by the person’s death may include an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
I have pictures and a few of his belongings in the apartment. However, writing the newsletter has helped the most. As I write about him, he is with me - somehow.
P. S. I’d love to have you share the Aging Well Newsletter with others. I want to bring the lessons I’ve learned through the years of life and caregiving to as many people as possible. More than anything, I want to continue to expand our community of readers.
So please forward this email to a friend and invite them to join us. They can subscribe here:
Thank you for being part of the Aging Well community.
If you want to contribute to my work, consider donating to the Alzheimer's Association. This link takes you to their website. The choice is yours.
A previous article discussed caregiving and loneliness—the loneliness of the caregiver and the person being cared for. I’m talking about something very different.
This is so beautiful, Janice. I love the ending especially: "...writing the newsletter has helped the most. As I write about him, he is with me - somehow."