The first thing I did before my husband left for California was go down to the basement and bring up the white wine from the downstairs fridge.
“Why are you doing that?” he asked when I returned.
Sheepishly, I stuck the bottles in the fridge upstairs. “It’s for when you’re away, so I don’t fall down the basement stairs getting wine and hit my head when nobody’s here.”
“Jesus,” he said. “That’s not going to happen!”
Probably not. Still, better to be prepared.
My husband took a job on the opposite coast right after Thanksgiving. I supported his decision—it’s exciting work, and I’ve never seen him this happy—and we agreed that we’d keep our house in Massachusetts and I’d mostly live here, since it’s unclear how long he’ll have to be on site.
For the first couple of months, things felt normal-ish. I went out to help Dan find a place to live, and he came home for the holidays a week later, along with our five children and their spouses.
Then the children left. Dan and I spent a day taking down the tree and decorations before he departed, too. Now, for the first time in nearly 30 years of marriage, I’m living alone.
For the first time, nobody needs me. Our children are busy adults. Most are happily partnered. My mother, who lived with us, died last January, so I have no caretaking duties.
Who am I, if nobody needs me? I’m not sure yet.
Right now, I’m busy conquering my fears. I’m not fond of the dark or noises that go bump in the night. I don’t like to set mousetraps, and I like to empty them of tiny corpses even less. It’s winter, so I worry about the snow being too heavy for me to shovel. And what if my husband and I spend two years apart and one of us dies before we get to live together again?
“Promise to call me every night,” I told Dan at the airport. “We have to check in with each other and make sure we’re still breathing.”
He laughed. “Maybe I should get you one of those buttons to press so you can say, ‘Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.’”
“Not funny,” I said.
When I asked various friends for advice about going solo, some of their answers surprised me. One friend chastised me for “letting” my husband live alone. “What if he likes it too much?” she said. “What if he meets someone else?”
I pictured a woman in a bikini. On a surfboard. Yeah, that didn’t help my adjustment any.
“The main thing,” said a divorced friend, “is to avoid eating dinner in front of the TV. There’s something really sad about that.”
Another warned me against the “sweatpants-are-actual-clothing” trap. “I know you have Vuoris in every color,” she said, “but you honestly shouldn’t go outside in them.”
“Not even to the post office?” I asked in shock.
“Not even,” she said. “You have to get dressed every day in actual clothes. Otherwise it’ll seem like you’ve stopped caring.” She tipped her head at me. “A little makeup wouldn’t hurt, either.”
Despite the weirdness of my new singledom, there is liberation, too. The kitchen counters are always clear of clutter. I own the TV! My friends all want to come and have slumber parties, and if I want crackers and cheese for dinner, there’s nobody to disagree. Dan and I have long phone conversations, just as we did when we were dating.
Best of all, the mornings are silent, except for the dogs snuffling around my feet and the birdcalls outside. With no voices to interrupt my thoughts, I was able to go back to a novel I struggled to write for three years and put in a drawer out of frustration. There is creative space in my head again.
Marriage is wonderful. Family life is complex and fascinating. I’m blessed to have so many people to love in my life. But, slowly, I am remembering the rewards of solitude.
26 Comments
I stumbled onto your blog just now. I loved it, it’s so light hearted yet intimate. I hope you have a nice time finishing you novel.
Thanks so much, Denzil! It’s nice to see you here!
Beautiful Holly! Enjoy!
Thank you, my dear friend!
Holly, you will become more comfortable in your own skin alone in the house as times go by. You will hear fewer bumps in the night. Hopefully your pups will snuggle at night and warm up your solitude. The moments you & Dan spend together will become even more precious and your souls will remain as joined and whole as they have ever been! And, you will finish your novel!! Love you my friend.
What a sweet note! It’s always so great, having you as my cheerleader, Sonja. I hope you’re well.
So now I just read the rest of your story to quote Paul Harvey. At l least you and Dan can still talk. Frank and I had talked about details of being alone but now that I am here in Florida in our cute place I some night call him all kind of names I think I am doing okay but is a change. My sons and wives worry. I am not a worrier so every day as it comes. Love you. Brenda and I are still good friends
Ah, Gerry, how I miss you! And I bet that really is a big change without Frank. I wish we were closer. I think of you and Brenda often.
From one Holly Robinson to another, this one on the WA state/British Columbia border, you’ll be just fine. I’ve been single forever and like my own company, as I am sure you do yours. Keep us posted.
Thank you so much, Holly Robinson of the West!
We can’t, as a species, avoid the deeply programmed urge to “hang together,” but as we get gain life experience, the expression of our own life spark becomes unavoidable.. And how to serve this inevitability, as well as our other commitments and important relationships, become our life’s work. Thanks for opening the door on this ultimate life question (the other one being the meaning of life and of death).
What a gorgeous way to phrase this: “the expression of our own life spark,” and “how to serve this inevitability.” I bow to your elegant language. Thank you for taking time to read the post!
Thank you, Holly, for your nice words.
You deserve nothing but the NICEST words.
I enjoyed this “true confession” very much! Glad you are able to recognize some of the benefits of solitude. You have the gift of being a writer, which I know helps!
Thank you so much, Linda. Yes, for a writer, solitude is a true gift–but it’s a LOT of solitude all at once, so I’m still feeling my way. Thanks for stopping by.
Sounds like you will do this brilliantly.
Amy! I love seeing you here! Maybe we can see each other when I’m visiting Dan in CA! I hope all is well.
I would love to see you when you are out here. Just let me know! It’s been too long.
I agree! I’ll be out in February. Email me! hollyrob1@gmail.com
I love this Holly! It reminds me of the fears that I experienced when my last child left for college. I was single, 60, empty nesting and alone. The quiet was SO loud! I allowed myself to be sad for about 5 minutes and knew I had to do something before I crashed and burned. So, I joined a gym, hired a personal trainer, made healthy dietary changes, attended yoga religiously, ran a few races, volunteered with a non-profit children’s charity, and started a business. I forced myself to put on makeup, get cute, and meet friends for drinks. It was scary, amazing, and wonderful. It all helped me to enrich my time and to reconnect not only with myself but with my community. I am happy for both you and your husband that you have allowed each other to soar. Best to you both!
Wow, Maryellen, this is SUCH a wonderful comment. I know what you mean about the quiet being SO loud. And I love it that you did all of those amazing things, especially running (I took it up at age 60 also), after your last child left for college. I’m trying to adopt the same attitude…your support helps!
Thank you for your transparency! My offer for coffee is still on the table. Let me know when you are in CA again and I will drive to meet up with you. I am in S CA also. Another New England girl transplanted here for the last 40+ years!
I would love that, Maryellen. Can you email me and we can communicate that way? I’ll be returning to CA in February and I’d love to have coffee! My email is hollyrob1@gmail.com
When Mark was living abroad we talked on the phone every night. We spoke more during those long conversations than we do now when we see each other every day. The phone is an intimate way of staying im touch. And I’ll join you for a walk whenever you want!
You’re so right–our phone conversations have become a lifeline, for sure.