I suppose there are different kinds of loneliness. The kind one experiences when a partner passes away. Take my Mom for instance; my dad died suddenly in 1984. By todays standards my Mom wasn't "old" when he passed. She was only fifty seven. Only? She is now 81 and still with us. She seems to be doing quite well. A little arthritis and the memory is slipping a bit, but she still lives alone in her house with her dog. Oh yeah, she still drives.

She never got over my Dad's passing. She visits his grave still. Every anniversary, ever birthday, every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sometimes I go visit his grave for no particular reason. (I guess I miss him). There are always new flowers. Artificial, but new. She goes there a lot. A lot more than I realized.

She calls me every June, near their anniversary date and tells me how many years they have been married. Not how many years they would have been married if he were still alive, but how many years they have been married. She cries every time she tells me and proceeds in telling me how much she misses him still, how precious their time together was and how she would give most anything to get it back.

I don't believe she was ever lonely when my Dad was alive. I know she worshiped the ground he walked on. Looking back at what they had and how they had it, is almost fairy tale like.

I'm married. I spend most evenings alone. Somewhere we lost the importance of being a couple, of being in love, of sharing time and conversation. When we do have conversation it seems very superficial. The passion we once had for almost everything has been swept away by the winds of complacency. If she comes home early it almost seems awkward. I'd rather she didn't.

What happens to people? Why do we let go of what should be most important to us and take for granted it will always be there? My Mom never took my Dad for granted. They sat in the living room, talked, watched the tube, had ice cream and talked about the kids, or old lady Claghorns rose garden, trying to figure out how the damn things got so big. Sounds boring, I know.

It's about eight or eight thirty now. I've spent the previous three hours wondering if I'm going to spend the rest of my life stuck in this void. Will I ever have someone who wants to come home, share a bottle of wine and get lost in each other? The phone rings, I look at the caller ID in hopes it will be her telling me she is on her way. It is the FOP. I don't answer.

I've already eaten. When she gets here she will be hungry and I will be ready to think about heading for bed. A bit early you say? Maybe.

I once felt very badly for my Mom and the way she misses my Dad. In recent years I have grown very envious of her for what they must have had to keep that fire burning so hot for all these many years.

I hope somebody misses me that much when I'm gone.

Learn more about this author, Louis Wesley.
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