It’s Always Something

 

It’s always something: Something to celebrate, something to mourn, something to regret, something to attend to.

I miss my husband. Because it is always something: a phone call or three; a doctor’s appointment; walking the dog; visiting friends, laundry; cleaning; the list is endless. I do it all alone. Alone. If I need help, I either have to ask someone for a favor (something I am loathe to do) or hire someone. As of today, I owe about 20 people rides somewhere, food if they are sick or favors. Because I am alone—a widow—and it’s always something: big somethings; little something; annoying somethings; or happy somethings.

When sad or tragic somethings happen, I have no one to hold me and help me bear the burden. When happy somethings happen, I have no one else to celebrate with.

And when I need something, well, it’s just me solving the problem, making the decision and bearing the emotional burden.

I wish I were one of those women who seem to thrive on their alone-ness—the ones who revel in their independence. I’m not. I’d like a companion to hold my hand, put his arms around me and say, “It’s always something.”

 

About Kathy

I grew up in Buffalo,New York the second eldest child in a family that eventually included eight children. The neighborhood was an Irish-American enclave. These two facts explain a great deal about me. I spent many years as a teacher who really thought of herself as a writer.

6 Responses to It’s Always Something

  1. Ginny says:

    Thank you, Kathy, for sharing your thoughts and feelings. I hear your sadness. Your aloneness. Please know that, although it’s not the same as having your beloved husband, the SolWriters love you and support you in all ways. My warmest regards. Ginny
    PS: We’re trying to get to Solivita. Life keeps getting in the way. We should be down by early December. I am so looking forward to seeing you and the rest of my SolSisters.

  2. laura demers says:

    I had hoped to meet you at the fall festival. By the time I finished my time at the quilt booth you had left. I look forward to getting more familiar with your writing.
    We are in the same “alone” place. I read your blog and felt that you spoke directly to my heart and mind.

    • Kathy says:

      Thank you Laura. I am happy that my writing meant something to you. I’m sorry that we did not have a chance to meet. Perhaps we can get together another time.

  3. Thanks for sharing this, Kathy. I, too, often feel very alone, but it can’t compare to what you experience as a widow. You have a strong network of friends and are very active, but it’s natural that there are times when that’s not enough. Hang in there.

  4. Adrian says:

    I saw your post on the IWG on Facebook and looked at your blog. Sad as this blog post is, I enjoyed it for its truthfulness. So often people try to tell everyone they’re doing great, life’s fabulous, isn’t everything wonderful, and those are the people you hear the most from, but a whole lot of people are sad, regretful, grieving, but they think no one wants to hear about it, so they just keep it to themselves. I enjoyed your candour, a lot. As sad as you felt, it might have improved your mood just a little, by bringing it out into the open, and saying it for the rest of us 🙂 Thanks.

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