Things that aren't as small as you'd think

It's been an extraordinarily lonely day today.

I kept busy-ish yesterday - got a few things done around the house, had a bourbon-and-cigar Zoom date with my friend Mike, talked to my sister, talked to my niece, talked to my son, slept... okay. I kept busy-ish today too - got a few more things done around the house, started prepping for Thursday's Facebook Live reading of The First Wives Club. 

What's different today? Honestly, I don't know. But the loneliness of missing Doug has been oppressively hanging over me all day like a storm cloud, black and heavy with rain that hasn't yet fallen. A fellow widow told me yesterday that I should "accept that the thing you need to be happy is probably never going to happen," and should instead "focus on what would make you happier than you are right now."

But here's the thing: I can't, because I'm unable to do all the things that could make me happier right now, thanks to the pandemic. If I could wave a magic wand and Covid disappeared tomorrow, I'd be going out with friends, doing shows, going to shows, taking day trips, going camping, going out to karaoke, trying new restaurants, going to escape rooms... There's a lot I could do to be happier. If Covid disappeared.

Even if that magical scenario happened - which, let's face it, it won't; not any time soon, at least - the best I could do is find a way to shift my perspective to "my life is terrific and it's missing only one thing." But that one thing is NOT a small thing; that one thing is someone to share it with; someone to build a life with; someone to build a history with; someone to know inside and out, who wants to know me inside and out; someone to be my closest possible family. Sure, I got to do that with Doug, but for far too short a time. Maybe I'm crazy, but I want another shot at that. Believing it's even remotely possible is an entirely different problem (because I don't believe it is), but it's what I want. I can absolutely appreciate all the good that's in my life and still be unhappy about what's missing; I'm pretty sure that's allowed.

And honestly, people who suggest that I can be just as happy alone are speaking from their own perspective rather than mine. I THOUGHT I was happy alone, and I KNOW I was happy with Doug, and I can promise you: Being I-thought-I-was-happy alone wasn't even close to the soul-deep happiness I had when I had Doug to love and to love me back.

Of course I still had problems, and of course there were times when I was upset, or angry, or scared... but even in those moments, my life in the big picture was happy, because I wasn't just me. I didn't have to deal with all of life's little and big mishaps alone. I was part of a team, and we tackled life together. I could talk to Doug when I was upset or angry; he'd hold me when I was scared. Now, I have only myself, or whichever person gets stuck talking to me on that particular day. And I'm grateful for those people, even as I recognize that it's not the same as having MY person.

Today, I struggled to open a pickle jar. I've got one of those silicone gripper things for just that purpose, so of course I got it open using that, and immediately started crying, because of course I did: opening jars was Doug's job, and there would always be good-natured ribbing about what I'd do without him to open jars. Such a tiny little thing, joking about something so silly, but that's what a marriage is: millions of tiny little things that weave together to form a life.

I can and do make fun of myself, but not with the love and goodwill my husband did. 

I can have fun alone; I can have fun with family and friends in zoom calls; maybe someday I'll be able to have fun with family and friends in person again. I can open my own jars, and take out the trash, and feed the cats, and take care of all the requirements of daily living. But no matter what else I have, no matter how otherwise wonderful my life may be, I'll be missing just one thing.

And it's not a small thing at all.