The drowning of a widowed heart

Christmastime is upon us and, while many shop and gather together in friendship, I stand alone. Partly because I have been left alone by those I care about as they spend time with their close(r) friends and family. Also partly because I choose to be alone. I carry a sorrow that I cannot (and do not wish) to share. Even in my sadness, I wish for others to experience the happiness I had.

This time last year, my spouse, James, was in and out of hospitals dealing with chemo, blood transfusions, seizures and medications that carried him away down a river more quickly than expected, more quickly than I could follow. By January, he was gone, swept around the bend, out of sight for now.

Here I languish. I bob along with a slower flow, occasionally struggling against the current, often just floating, occasionally face up, often face down. Dead man’s float. I bide my time until it is my turn to be swept around the bend. Like a discarded, plastic soda bottle – empty, with no means to steer my own course.

For me, the holidays were always a time of intense loneliness, even in the crowd of my big family with tons of aunts, uncles, cousins gathered in a small farmhouse heated by a wood stove and bodies. Music from accordion, fiddle, and harmonica would tumble out the windows opened to let in crisp, snow-scented air. A cacophony of voices from a myriad of conversations would fight for position – federal and local politics, health of a grand-uncle in Boston, what a wayward cousin has been up to lately, where to place the still-warm rabbit pie on an already groaning table. Words and noise piling up, up, up towards the smoke-hazed light on the ceiling. I should have been happy. Even as a small child, I knew that I was unusual in my seclusion in a crowd. It made me feel that much more alone. Every so often I would slip off to another room or out to a corner of the barn to release the tears. Then I would readjust my mask and return to the noisy fold. No one ever noticed.

Twelve years ago all that changed in an amazing way. I met James on the eve of Christmas Eve, or Tibb’s Eve as it may be called by some. December 23rd, a day that is forever etched in my heart. December 26th was our first date. By New Year’s Eve, we just knew – this was It. We had found each other at long last. I didn’t have another lonely Christmas again until this year. So much love, joy and laughter in the too few years we had together.

The sudden absence of that happiness now creating a sucking whirlpool. It’s like all the loneliness and sorrow that I used to carry at Christmas was just off to the side, building itself up, biding its time, waiting to pounce. It’s back eleven-fold.

There is a saying, “Laugh now, cry later.” I never knew what that meant until now. The yin-yang yo-yo of life has flung me off the other way. I’m underwater, trying to get my bearings, grabbing at rocks and branches, but nothing is solid, no thing to stop the swirling and spiralling. It sucks. It sucks. It sucks.

I won’t be by myself this holiday season. My family will see to that. Sighing, I cling to the flotsam of a dusty, aged crate and dig through the memories it contains.

Ah, my mask. Here it is. It still fits.

Letting go of my expectations of others

I no longer have hopeful expectations of other people and I am content with that. Expectations have led me to my greatest sorrows and heartache. We grow up being taught to give without expecting to receive. When did that change?

I expected that, by this age (50!), I would be further along in my career, have more vacation days to enjoy my middle age, have been with the same company for many years. The economy and a few ladder-climbing co-workers took that expectation away. I moved on, as we all must, and have found a job that I quite enjoy. I no longer expect that, if I just work hard and stay late most nights. I won’t be downsized or restructured. It makes for less stress and more planning for the next time that it might happen.

I expected that those I thought of as close friends would be there for me as they insisted they would be. I have not seen them for months. I’m not sure why they went away and became somebody that I used to know. It just happens sometimes. I had assumed we were closer, more bonded. We look up from work, from love, from grief, and the others have wandered off. Perhaps they expected me to be a better friend. Maybe I’m the one who wandered off. It could be they expected me to reach out to them, that I would ask for help. I guess they didn’t know me that well after all.

I had an expectation that, when I fell in love, I would have that joy and happiness for the rest of my life. I expected him to live, that we would go on with our lives, put cancer behind us and laugh about it someday. “Remember the time you threw up on me after your chemo?” “Yeah! Hahaha! The look on your face was priceless!” After that, no unmet expectation could ever break me as much.

Of course, facts don’t change. I expect the sun to come up tomorrow, the moon will wax and wane. If I trip over something I expect that I will fall because gravity still works. I expect the storm clouds to gather and that the sun will come out tomorrow. I expect the tide will come in and go out and come in again as it removes our names in the sand no matter how many times I re-write them. I expect I will keep re-writing them anyway.

I expect that others have placed their expectations on me. That they assumed I would continue to be there for them. They believed that I would want to hang out, chat about shallow topics and drink Red Rose tea at their kitchen table or meet at a coffee shop for a latte and a blueberry scone while smooth jazz plays through a speaker. (Okay, that last one actually sounds pretty good.) They probably think that, because they haven’t seen me in a while, that I  just got on with things after I lost my best friend and the love of my life. I expect that they are very disappointed in me no matter what their expectations were.

I expect that whoever has been mowing my lawn when I’m not home will eventually stop. I will then have to get that scary, loud mower out of the garage and do it myself, all the while terrified I am going to cut myself because I’m a klutz. I expect that I will rediscover comfort and joy, but I do not expect it tomorrow or any day soon. I expect that something in the house will break and I will have to figure out how to fix it myself or pay someone to do it for me. I expect me to rise to that occasion. I will most likely disappoint myself on occasion.

I still expect that I will be surprised and delighted when I receive a kindness or a hand of friendship. I expect I will appreciate my own strength as I pick myself up and stand alone, however much I quiver. I expect to look back and notice that someone was there all along and I just didn’t understand what they were doing.

I expect that, inevitably, someone that I know will read this and think I am writing about them. But I’m not. Not specifically. They will assume I am angry. But I’m not. There is no anger. There is heartache and loss, but there is no ire.

I do not blame people for disappointing me, for tumbling or jumping off the pedestal that I put them on. I blame myself for expecting too much from them.

I expect that we are all human after all.

I’m an introvert, not a troglodyte!

I am so sick of hearing people say, “Oh my gosh! Don’t tell people you are an introvert!” in hushed, secretive tones. I’m not telling them I have typhoid, for Pete’s sake! I’m not a troglodyte hiding in my cave waiting to strike out at people because I despise them! I’m providing some insight into how I process information and how I recharge so people are not surprised by how I act or react.

It does not mean I’m to be shoved in a corner, or that I don’t like people, or even that I don’t want to interact with people. I am not necessarily shy. It just means that after work, I might like to go home and have a quiet dinner with my spouse, read a book or play with my pets. If I’m feeling up to it, I may even want to go out for a movie with a few close friends.

The introvert doesn’t need to go socialize to recharge as the extrovert does. They may go out to a party or a busy mall to interact with more people or larger groups, but it is not a necessity. 

Also, there are varying degrees of introverts and extroverts. Everyone is a mix of the two, really. Carl Jung came to the conclusion that no one is purely one or the other. Everyone is a blend of the two and land on a sliding scale.

We may recharge different ways, have our own preferences for communication and interaction. As this video indicates, respecting the yin and yang relationship of introverts and extroverts is important for a better flow of ideas and communication. When we work together we can accomplish big things, wondrous things. 

If I am quiet when I meet you, I am most likely weighing my words and trying to determine how you might react to what I have to say. The more I listen the more I can learn about your likes and dislikes and the better I will be able to angle my discussion to entertain and engage you. In fact, I am usually happier to listen to others talk than to talk about myself. Don’t worry. If I have something to contribute to the conversation, I will speak up.

Most of what I think stays within the confines of my brain, rattling around like bingo balls. Occasionally, one will pop out and I’ll yell N33 or some other seeming nonsense. I swear it made sense in my head and would probably make more sense if I had said it two minutes ago when the discussion was on that topic. Sometimes it can be lonely when I’m the only person who rides my train of thought. “Ticket for one, please!”

Did I mention that I can take a while to think or respond to a question you ask? I do not talk while I am thinking. Rather, I go over various responses to a question and calculate the outcome of verbalizing each response then come to a conclusion. Those who do not know me may think I am zoning them out and I turn inward to have an inner dialogue, so I have to remind myself to say something to indicate I am thinking. “Hmm, let me think.” is a good one to say so the inquirer doesn’t think I’m ignoring them.

I could go on and on about what it means to me to be an introvert; however, as I said, I’m not big on talking about me. So I will end with this: if it appears someone is ignoring you or that they are “stuck up” (something of which I have been accused) and you shrug and walk away, perhaps you should consider that they may just be an introvert. You may be missing out on a real, intelligent, witty person. It may take some time to get an introvert to open up; however, you may be very pleasantly surprised to discover that it is nice to have this person in your life and in your workplace.

See you at the next get together! I’ll be the one in the quiet corner or in the back yard talking to the dog. Feel free to come say hi. I don’t bite.