*OK2B1
The title of this piece is borrowed from a group of singles who meet at a local church. Though I have not met with them, I presume that their association with others in the same situation provides companionship and support as they deal with one-ness in a society where two-ness is pretty much regarded as the ideal.
The group’s slogan assures me that it is OK to be one, and I remind myself of this with some frequency. The idea seemed preposterous when, after 52 years of married life, I lost my husband to leukemia and the lonely, single life became an actuality. At that time I could not conceive of my situation as being OK in any way. Pollyanna and her philosophy offered nothing to me.
In some of the dips in the emotional roller coaster that losses force one to ride, I wished that I had been the first one to die and hoped that I would not live much longer. At other times I was determined to be strong and able to cope with the challenges that my husband had foreseen and worried about. I was going to take care of all of the things that he had always handled. This I would do in his memory.
Having been by-passed when mechanical skills were doled out, all of my life I had been happy to turn over any difficult jobs to my father, brothers, husband and son, all of whom have been skilled “fixer types”. As my husband became increasingly disabled, I found that I must replace light bulbs, open stubborn jars, keep the car in good shape (as well as back it out of a narrow garage and driveway), balance the check book, pay bills, carry in groceries, and even put out the trash. I did have the benefit of his advice when he was able to give it.
My first big problem after my husband died was replacing the furnace. The monster in the basement had served us well for forty years and I had learned how to light the pilots and felt that I understood its idiosyncrasies. However, a routine check by a gas company employee revealed some carbon monoxide in the house and it seemed best to put in a new furnace since there were signs of rust and corrosion on the old one. Winter time brought problems of snow removal, a balky car, and navigating icy streets and sidewalks.
Summertime brought other problems. The exterior of the house had had only “patch” painting for a couple of years, and a complete painting job could not be postponed any longer. I did find a man who was willing to paint the house and did not mind climbing the extension ladder to reach the high peaks. Summertime also necessitated finding people to trim trees and do other yard work.
No doubt the busyness of coping with what seemed liked never-ending problems was salutary in forcing me to think of something other than my two constant companions, loneliness and grief. I began to feel that some healing had begun, but coming into the empty house, knowing that no one was there to notice whether I was early or late, and facing empty weekends were continuous openings of the wound. Tears often fell freely. Some of them were caused by sadness. I was especially vulnerable to the kind of music we had enjoyed. Some of the tears were from frustration when I couldn’t get the garage door open or move a piece of furniture.
The most difficult thing I endured was a break-in at my home. While I was entertaining a group of ladies in my living room, someone forced open a bedroom window, stole my purse, took the money, and scattered the other contents of my purse in the back yard. In connection with that incident, a particularly onerous task was cleaning up the volcanic ash used by the detective in his search for fingerprints.
It has not all been bad, however. Right after my husband’s death, a friend who has long been a widow pointed out to me that this was another passage in life, a change like all the others which have come along, and that there can be some good in it. The good that has come from it is the wonderful kindness which I have had from family members, friends, and especially my children, who had their own grief but supported me in every way. The attention of friends has not diminished as could have been expected after a few months. I continue to receive invitations to social events, offers of help from neighbors, and emotional support from local agencies and clergy. All during the period of my husband’s illness and following it, our pastors and Christian friends prayed with and for us and helped us to be strong in our faith.
Something has come out of my widowhood which I think is desirable, although I would gladly have done without it if I could have kept my husband. I can see that I am now more self-reliant and independent than I have ever been in my life, and I am “finding myself” and pursuing interests which I had put on hold during the years of raising a family. I am spending more time at the piano and organ, doing more reading, taking part in volunteer activities, and renewing an interest in writing.
In no way do these things compensate for the losses which life has presented to me, but, having learned to “accept and adjust”. I can in some measure agree that it is OK to be one.
*Title used by permission.