Being alone makes you realise how lucky you actually are

This week I have been childless and spending time on my own.

It’s an odd experience for me who basically hasn’t had any time in my own for nearly 14 years ... because even if I went away without the kids, Pete would have been with me, or I would have been with friends or work colleagues.

But it was medically advised that perhaps, considering I hadn’t had a whole day on my own without someone needing me to do something since Pete died, it would be wise to spent at least 24 hours in some sort of solitary confinement.

It would give me the opportunity to just ‘be’ - to lose my shit if I needed to; to cry uninhibited and without anyone wandering in; to yell and scream about the injustice of it all without anyone hearing; to lie in bed and not have anyone question if they could pop popcorn or tell tales on a siblings behaviour; to do whatever I wanted.

It was also advised I take a few days off work around that and to do it all before the one year anniversary because it would mean I had at least had the opportunity (even if I didn’t) to crash and burn and pick myself back up again.

Turns out - as I suspected - I don’t enjoy my own company a lot, and I like to be around people.

The complete solitary confinement day included putting my phone aside, book reading and Netflix bingeing and eating whenever and whatever I wanted.

And it was fine.

But it was lonely.

The house without the kids is lonely. And quiet.

The day of not talking to or texting people was very quiet.

The days around the solitary confinement day have included coffee and wine with friends and talking to the kids on the phone and the realisation I like people being around.

I like the peripheral noise of people around me.

I like engaging in conversation - in real life, on the phone and via messages.

Granted, I liked being about to watch whatever I wanted on tv and not having to sit through more episodes of Miraculous Ladybug and Cat Noir or A Series of Unfortunate Events... but now I’ve had the chance to start a couple of new series I can pick them up once the kids go to bed each night.

I watched movies and tv shows that made me cry and about death and I have come to the conclusion I think I’m ok.

Everyone has been waiting for ‘the crash’ - that time where after me doing all of the things all of the time will come crashing around my ears because it’s unsustainable.

I’ve been scared of it, too.

But after so many days alone I’ve kind of got to a point now where I’ve decided the adage of ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’ seems to be ringing very very true.

Throughout this year I have vented to friends and family and online and via this blog - I have purged all of the feeling that I suspect would eat people up inside.

They ate me to a point, too.

And while I learned very quickly in this grieving process that people don’t really cope with honesty, I’ve decided my honesty at blurting out whatever I’m feeling has helped me along the way.

I lost the person who I would talk to a dozen times a day - and I have replaced him with a dozen people I talk to in a day.

I’ve been able to tell people in my life my honest feelings and they haven’t thrown it back in my face.

Some people have. Some people haven’t coped with my honesty. Some of those people are those in my most inner circle - but they have accepted that this what I need to do. Some people have not.

Time alone has allowed me to realise quite a few things.

It has made me realise I am equal parts scared and ok (to a point) with it being a year since we lost Pete.

I am absolutely not ok that he is gone.

But there’s an acceptance that he is.

And because he has been held in such regard by so many people who have told me how much they also loved him, it has helped.

He has been celebrated this year by so many extraordinary acts of generosity that I can only feel grateful that we had him for as long as we did, and the amazing legacy he left behind.

I am scared at what life after the first year looks like, but I also know that we have done a year. And if we can do one year then we can do two.

Because the people around my family will make sure of it.

I think I dislike being alone because it means I’m not with people I love and who love me. Not for us to exchange declarations of love, but to just take comfort in them being around.

The kids have been the best medicine for grief. While they traverse their own journey of grief, me needing and having to help them has helped me.

Their successes and losses and trials and accomplishments have helped us all move through the year with ups and downs and rounds about and made sure that we have kept on going.

By doing all of the things we always did has meant while the boat sometimes looked pretty unsteady, it had to keep limping through to get to the next port.

The capacity of my friends - near and far - to provide such unwavering support, to listen and join in with the tears, the story telling, the sense of loss, the assistance to do the things, the visiting, the caring of children, the food, the beer and wine and gin... all of these things have ensured I didn’t crash and perhaps won’t.

Because all of these things have provided a cushion for my grief.

That my little crashes during the year that I have shared are collectively caught with a parachute from my people.

So while time on my own has been good - the difficultly in which I had not talking to people for a day only served to remind me about me:

• I don’t like not talking to people.

• I’m ridiculous at over sharing and over talking.

• I can find comfort in being alone but I don’t like it.

• I will do practically anything to avoid doing housework.

• I can accept that our house may not be the tidiest and it irks me because I want to have the facade of being able to stay on top of it all (and I understand the previous point contradicts this) but I will always say yes to people who want a coffee or drink with me.

• I can sob uncontrollably about losing Pete thanks to a movie or song, take a big deep breath and do the next thing.

• I am really grateful to my friends who accept how I’ve done this year and supported me ... albeit that I know there have been concerned messages going around about it this year.

• I have a terrible habit of yelling at computer games when I can’t complete levels.

• The dog listens less than the children and therefore makes a reasonable substitute to them when they are away.

And so I’ve done a week without kids and spent plenty of time realising how much mess they make but how much I like their noise (I reserve the right to take this back at the first whinge or sibling fight) and now I’m ready to take on the anniversary of losing Pete.

Because I know that whatever happens I’m not going to be doing it alone, even though he isn’t here to give me that hug and those words of support I have so dearly and desperately missed this year ... because I have been cherry picking all those things from my friends all year.