In Loving Loneliness

The love of my life is gone. But he is not gone. The other night, I heard his voice as clear as day. I believe that I need to remain sober and solitary in order to give my husband the space to communicate with me. But it is just all love. It is beautiful, and though I shed tears, I feel held and supported from beyond the veil. So, right now I am actually craving being alone. January 27th marked the fourth month-versary of Steve’s passing. I have spent a lot of time these last four months seeking out company and support from others. From attending the Harvest Dinner, movie nights at the Grange, and going to church and Bible study. To be honest, I am ready to live my life as a Hermit now. 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez was one of my favorite books in high school, and I always craved a solitary existence. I followed this in high school, and wandered around the world searching and longing. I found Steve this way. I would not have found Steve had I been a part of a group or defined community. Steve was a solitary person as well. In our early years of marriage, I spent a lot of time alone painting and driving to the mountains with my dogs while Steve worked hard at a full-time job. I had a few friends that I would seek out now and again, and in my early days sometimes did long for a break from my isolation by seeking connection from strangers. But, that is not the way for me now. It is a stark contrast from these last nine years of living full-time with Steve after he became disabled for a spinal cord injury and spent all his time at home with me and the pets. After working through (in)surmountable grief these last four months, I am remembering these early days of solitude, and I am feeling comfortable being and living alone.

I actually enjoy going to church by myself. I enjoy sitting alone, or next to a person that I do not know very well. I enjoy praying and focusing on my sinful nature and grieving my past mistakes in a solitary fashion while amongst other people. I like going out by myself. Whether it is a community event or the bar for karaoke or an open mic. I like being a fish in the sea. But even that can be lonely. Still, this aloneness is where my truth lies. I believe we come into this world alone, even though we are deeply connected to the mother who births us, and we are also very much alone when we pass from this world. The trip over the “rainbow bridge” so to speak, is a solitary journey. I believe we travel into the light and then we lose all sense of aloneness. In life, where we have an innate nature of humanness, we are on a solitary journey. I am happy to arrive on the other side of immense grief, and I have worked through a lot of this grief alone, but also in communion with others who are sensitive, and now I can actually breathe.

There are many hard truths about my psychology in this world. I have anorexia/bulimia, I struggle with alcoholism and addiction, I have schizoaffective disorder, I struggle with depression and anxiety, I have PTSD from being physically and sexually assaulted, I am queer (though I am still trying to understand what this means as a solitary single person), I am a woman, and I am smart or gifted. But it is okay. As I accept these things about myself and follow a healing path where I seek out support, I am able to surrender these words or labels, and identify once again as MOON. Steve used to say in his love for me, that I was just Emily. This is true. I am all and none of these things listed above. It is helpful to know my issues and seek out answers, but it is also acceptance and surrender to identify myself in love or in Christ without any label, and be who I am in authenticity. My sister, who has provided endless support in so many ways these last four months, and has grieved at my side as she also lost her dear brother in law and friend of almost thirty years, read somewhere recently, that it is in the not knowing who we are that we find the deepest healing. And this means surrendering the label of alcoholic, schizoaffective, codependent, and even “Emily". This is why I choose the nickname or “brand” of MOON. It is an abstract concept. It is so undefinable and is also endlessly definable. It is equal for everyone. We all share the moon, we all have a moon, and we are all affected by the moon’s cycles, equally. It is the eighteenth card in the Tarot. 18 is a special number for me. It is how old I was when I fell off the end of the Earth and into Steve’s loving arms. I will never forget landing back in Seattle after being Hospitalized in California, and falling in love with Steve. Thank you dear friend and soulmate for giving me the best 27 years of my life. I will never forget you, or cease being grateful for your loving and gentle soul that continues to watch out for me today from beyond the veil.