A long marriage experiencing Alone Again will change a load of things. Here, we only used a cord of firewood a winter. Usually, some of that wood be started to occupation of the fireplace late afternoon — by then, the falling sun. We would share the couch — and cocktails (if wine qualifies as a cocktail). Always a book each — some low volume music (mostly classical hers — some blues, mine). We carried on more than a few conversations including our three children’s and theirs — reminiscing what a wonderful job we did as parents ( perhaps overstated a tad). Then a dinner — always different, always good. She cooked, I did the cleaning.
A couple of times a week we ate out. We really enjoyed that, not so much the quality of the food — but the quality of our conversation.
About once every five winters we’d ‘do’ a trip — to Europe or South America on a freighter. Once, our first born and his wife took us on a first class cruiser — a total novel experience.
All that, and a bunch more is how we lived in our ‘retired’ winters — together.
So, how am I doing winters solo? Well. I ought explain more than — it sucks.
Perhaps as much as a quarter cord of fire wood was still present at her death. Three years later, the fire place has been warmed three times. One, for a visiting friend to both of us — a friend who taught our three in grade school, helped me build the house that only a family could change into a home. The second for a minister I befriended. And the last — an error I created in trying to relive “our” fire times.
I really enjoyed freighter trips with Raquel — but now — I can’t enjoy it without her.
The same is true about eating out. What we did together is all that has any meaning for me. Now dinners are frozen, lunch — peanut butter and toast — but Sunday breakfast — well, that was my time – and eventually I became almost ‘good enough’ making a cheese omelet for us. I still make ’em, and I experience her smile.
Alone? Never, but it’s taken me sometime to digest it. I, no, we, had / have three children. Neither they nor I, are without Mom spiritually . They don’t accept my notion of moving on (with another) is a betrayal of our love that shows death to be a wimp. Actually, I think ‘Mom’ is more with them on this one then she is with me. I’m still trying to figure out how I can have it both ways.