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Tuesday, September 15, 2015

What Does it Mean to Be Alone? September 15, 2015







I am blessed by many friends, many colleagues and family members  in New York, in California, in Florida, in North Carolina, in Oregon, in Denver Co. in Arizona and in Montana in the summertime. My husband who had Alzheimer's disease was not living at home with me for the past four years. But all of a sudden, life is so different for me. 

My husband's passing which was neither unexpected nor unanticipated has changed my perspective on life. I am for the first time, alone, really and truly alone. My son who has shared this burden and the joys which accompanied caring for my spouse with me, understands all too well, what this loss means to me. It means almost the same thing to him.

I returned for the first time since my husband died in July to Arizona last week and my son met me at the airport. My daughter and one grandson met us for dinner to welcome me back before I came back to our home, the home we built to be a safe haven for my husband where he could have his garage workshop and his garden and be able to wander freely and safely in our enclosed, gated community.

I never gave up believing that he would one day return to live here. Now that dream can be no more. I threw myself into holiday preparations. I cooked, I even baked a cake which is very unusual for me, to ward off the uncomfortable feelings of Ioss I find difficult to accept. I challenged myself at the gym. I actually published my second book. More on that later. When we read on the New Year holiday that this is the time of year that God decides who shall live and who shall die during the coming year, I remember asking last year, for a peaceful end to my husband's  suffering and debilitation. Gratefully, I thanked God this year for hearing our prayers.

And my dear son decided, I should not live totally alone. I needed another living creature, plants were not enough. He purchased a betta fish whose aquarium sits to my right, to keep me company as I write.



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