Earlier this week I read an interesting post on Beyond Midlife Bloggers entitled “Wanted: The Single Person’s Life”.
In this post, Jane Gassner describes the single person’s life:
“A Single Person’s Life is one of contentment, pleasure even, in the solitary nature of day-to-day events. That is, no one else is about to crap on your fantasies or complain about the way you made the bed. If you snore, you only wake yourself. If you get up at 3 a.m. and must have a bowl of cereal, no one is there to say, “What the hell are you doing?” You don’t have to wait for the bathroom to be free and the only smelly old sneakers in the closet are yours. “
I have to say she is 100% correct. This new life of mine is a life of contentment and pleasure in being solo, for the first time in many many years. The last time I was flying solo, I was responsible for 2 teenagers and money was tight. Now I am, for the first time as an adult, living completely on my own.
It. Feels. Fine.
It. Feels. Right.
People ask me if I will start dating again. Will I marry again. I tell them it is extremely doubtful. Truth be told, the word “never” has been used – repeatedly. I don’t refer to JD as “my last husband” for nothing. I feel guilty for feeling this good about widowhood.
JD suffered from OCD and this made a good deal of our life together frazzled and stressful. It took me many years to figure out what was wrong. It got worse as time went on. I was in over my head and there was no one I could turn to. I couldn’t speak of it as he didn’t want anyone to know.
So instead family and friends thought he was eccentric, difficult, uncaring. Internally, I refer to that period as the time I was the Unwilling Mayor of Crazytown.
The feeling of freedom with my new single life (and the freedom coming from no longer having to live life according to the tyranny of JD’s OCD) is incredible. I feel confused and guilty because I know now if by some miracle he was restored to me I could never go back to that Crazytown life – even though I still love and miss him terribly.
Why does it seem like he had to die before I could really start to live? This question I can never answer, even as I ask it of myself.
Every. Damn. Day.