The deep ache of aloneness

I’ve discovered there is a particular type of loneliness that comes with widowing.

It’s not necessarily an ‘I don’t want to be alone’ feeling.

Or an ‘I would like some company’ feeling.

It’s more of a gut wrenching, deep seated feeling in the pit of your stomach type feeling of aloneness that is kind of hard to describe.

And it is there despite, or inspite, of being surrounded by so much love and care, that is it all entirely confusing and frustrating and agonising - for everyone. Me and my friends desperately trying to help.

I think, for me, it is different be being lonely.

I felt it very soon after Pete died.

Back then it usually occurred at night when all the kids slept in my room in a bizarre rotating sleeping situation which started with all 4 and me in the (queen size) bed. It didn’t work, I found myself getting in one of the kids beds at 2am and which evolved into a 2 in the bed with me, 2 on ‘pillow beds’ my on the floor and a very detailed roadmap of the childrens’ creation which outlined how each of them would transition between the sleeping places night by night.

It was then, often after talking kids to sleep and having them cry and the room being somewhat silent that I would feel this aloneness.

This overwhelming sense that: There is no one here for me. I am alone.

But it came with other feelings mixed in.

A bit of everyone else having someone to hold them in the depths of their grief and together in their combined grief of the loss of Pete but me not having that.

A bit of the sense of the huge gaping hole that losing the protection that support gives.

A bit of feeling rudderless and anchorless and completely adrift and so completely unsure of how to find the shore.

A bit of feeling so weak and unable to hold myself up but having no one to support my still standing, despite being surrounded by strong people offering to help.

A bit of feeling so loved by people’s words and actions but not being loved by any one person over and above all else.

A bit of there being no end being in sight, or ever having any of what I had lost, and needed, again.

I guess I probably expected it at the start.

I expected it during the first year.

I did not expect it to swamp me so many times in the second year.

It’s another acknowledgement I need to make of how ignorant I was of grief.

I can kind of cope with the loneliness that is going to events alone. It’s anxiety inducing but usually once I’m there, found someone I know, found something to put in my hand (coffee, wine, water - doesn’t matter), it’s all fine.

I can get over being the only single person at event for people in my friendship group who are 99% coupled up. The best events are when other singles are there.

I am getting better at dealing with not having an adult to talk to at night. To go to bed alone. To choose and watch shows and have no one to discuss them with at the time.

I can even deal with (mostly) the fact I am the only parent to need to negotiate and discipline and wrangle and console and cook, clean and wash for four kids.

They can make me feel lonely.

But every now and again this overwhelming wave of complete aloneness happens.

I find it crippling some days. I cannot get out of bed easily. I cry in the shower. I even cry while talking to people or texting them trying to explain where I’m at.

It gets to some pretty low depths.

And I always bob back up to the surface of the water before I drown.

But I have found it so hard to explain to people.

I usually go with ‘pretty shit’ or ’no, not okay, actually’

It physically presents in me like an actual ache in the pit of my stomach. Like a weight on my whole body. An inability to stop my tears. A deep longing in my heart to be loved by one person and one person alone. A very innate want and need to be needed - not by children or by friends or by family as much I do dearly love all of that and need that - to make someone else’s life better in sync with making my own better.

I write that down and read it back and think ‘urgh, that makes me sound so needy...’

And then I can take that train of thought to a whole other level of despair over there not being anyone ever again thinking I am a wise investment of their love (it’s not a long term thought, don’t worry, but when I’m plumbing the depths of my internal mental woes, I like to cover ALL the bases!)

But the feeling of aloneness is just so deep. And consuming. And overwhelming - and it is just so hard to explain in any reasonable way.

Because company and talking about it can’t necessarily fix it.

Sometimes, it actually makes it worse.

I do wonder if COVID restrictive socialising has made this all a bit worse this year. Last year when I was completely bereft I could take myself to a friend’s house and lump myself upon them and not even think twice.

This year, if I need that to happen I need to make clandestine plans to visit people where we won’t be seen, shut curtains in my loungeroom, or just accept I have to deal with it alone or with people on the end of a phone.

And I shouldn’t be ungrateful because I live in a regional area of Victoria and I can sneak around a bit, I do know I can visit someone if I am completely desperate, I can spend more than an hour outside wandering picturesque golf courses or up mountains.

I had to wait until the last wave ended before I could write it all down.

It was a deep low sprung upon me - I think - because of our house buying.

I’m sure there’s a mathematical law about everything having an equal and opposite reaction and if I had paid more attention in school I would probably know if it was Newton or Pythagorus or Einstein (or quite possibly someone else!!).*

I think this last bout was that.

I was so high about the house that all the emotion it stirred up elating me, also stirred up all the feelings of the glaringly obvious of the who and what was missing from our lives.

It came on the back of navigating some big things like Father’s Day; a whole term of remote schooling; just generally being more tired than I should have let myself get...

But it also happened to have been a while since I had felt that really deep aloneness. And it had probably been building for a while.

And one tiny trigger after another built up to set off a waterfall of emotional heartache.

And the ironic thing about being so alone is that you don’t really have anyone to tell that you are feeling so alone who can actually do anything about it.

That kind of adds to it, if I’m honest.

Because when you tell people how alone you feel it just completely reiterates that you are alone in it. Surrounded by love and care. But not one of those people giving it to you can provide you with what you need. Because they all have someone else that, at the end of the day, needs to come (rightfully) before you.

I do not begrudge any one else having that. Not at all. Not one bit. I am not angry that they do and I don’t. Not at all.

I just wish I had it... again? like before? I don’t know...

In some ways, on those days of complete aloneness, I think of that ‘it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ and think that saying is actually rubbish.

Because I actually do wonder if knowing what it feels like to have someone who makes you feel wholly loved - albeit with the occasional relationship fight, stand off over tea bags on coffee tables, snoring, inability to put clothes in washing baskets, and doona thieving - is better than not knowing what that feels like because of the gaping wound it leaves when it is snatched away from you without warning.

Because that feels pretty bloody shit. Pretty debilitating. And with a physical ache and need for it to return. Even with all the now very insignificant downsides you have in a relationship like that.

And to my married and coupled and single friends who have provided so much unwavering support and love and care and kindness in the face of all of this: I know you also felt helpless at what to do. You did. You do. And you continue to by being there (and periodically ensuring I float back the top... often with a wine cork as a floatation device).

* It WAS Newton! I did listen in class after all!