Might As Well Face It...

A friend of mine, a recovered drug addict from the 70's, once told me that the definition of an addict to him was someone who used when they were alone. A recreational user simply used when they were part of a crowd. No party, no real draw to the substance. However, if you use the drug of choice when you were all alone then you were truly addicted to the drug. That being said, I am an addict. 

No, I'm not addicted to drugs (except for the occasional Advil). I'm also not addicted to alcohol, even though (Pastor, please don't read this part) I partake in an adult beverage on occasion - even when I'm alone. ("I love Jesus, but I drink a little.") but I'm not addicted to either of those things. No, I'm addicted to my beloved. I think about her all the time. But I especially think about her when I'm alone. As a matter of fact, one of her favorite songs she would play was "Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer. (Yes, you're welcome for that ear worm.)

Thoughts of my bride consume me. She was a special woman. The most special in the world. And she knew me better than I know myself. Over the course of our marriage we had discussions about what would happen if one of us passed. She was certain that I would be married again within nine months. I laughed at her and told her it wasn't going to happen. And it's still not on my radar. But, since I have been open and honest with you dear reader, I now understand why she said this. For many men, and probably women as well, grief eventually turns to loneliness. As I think about the guys I know who have been in my position, I know a number of them who remarried within a year after losing their mate. And I'm beginning to understand why. In Genesis God looked at man and said he was not meant to be alone. Each time Wanda looked at me and told me I would be remarried within nine months I took it to mean she needed reassurance that she was the only one for me. Now I am beginning to see it as her recognizing my need to not be alone. I do not do alone well. I don't eat. I don't sleep regularly. I sometimes sit in the quiet with only my thoughts to keep me company.

I had lunch with a good friend today and we talked about being alone. Having been divorced for awhile he told me it took about a year before he was comfortable with being alone. Now he has no real problem with it. His new house is set up for a bachelor's life. He looks forward to being alone with his son as well as being alone when his son is with his mom. It took him time to get there, but he did. I envy him for that. I also envy the time he gets to have when his son is playing in the house. I may never get there. But I'm trying. But sometimes, and, ironically, I'm not alone in this thinking, loneliness in the silence of an empty house is very loud. 

So as I venture through my journey and begin to figure out where to go from here, I thought I would close with a little note I wrote her about a month after telling her goodbye:

It doesn't matter what I do, I'd rather do it with you. 

It doesn't matter who I see, I'd rather be seeing you. 

It doesn't matter where I go, I'd rather be with you.

It doesn't matter what makes me happy, I'd rather be happy with you.

Whatever I do, whatever I see, wherever I go, whenever I'm happy, it would be so much better with you. 

I miss you.

By the way, she would really be ticked at me for posting this picture (the last one I took of her). But if she doesn't like it she is more than welcome to come tell me to stop!