A Lonely Journey Looking for Hope

I’m beginning to hate retirement.

I retired almost four years ago to travel around the country in a motor home, following a dream John and I had shared. The hardest part of that journey was being alone so much of the time and so far from friends and family. Last year I finished writing and published my book about that journey, 42 States of Grace: A Woman’s Journey.

One of the reasons I returned to Portland, where I was transplanted some 33 years ago, was because my community is here, my friends, my faith community. Out of my biological family of six siblings, one brother who is single lives here, and I see him maybe once a week, on average. Of my two children, one lives in Coos Bay with her husband and I see her probably five times a year, give or take.

For the past year, up until last month, my son had been living with me. This took some adjusting to and definitely had its drawbacks. But one of the huge benefits was having someone in my life on an ongoing basis. It helped combat the chronic loneliness I deal with since John died. Karl was home most evenings and weekends and he brought my darling grandson, Jesse, over to spend nearly every weekend. Last month he moved back in with his wife. I have no idea where this will go, but I am happy for him and hope for his sake, and for Jesse’s, that it works out this time. I admire his perseverance and faith that eventually this would work out, and I hope and pray that is rewarded with a long and happy relationship.

Again, there are many blessings in this, for me as well as for him, but there is also great challenge and pain for me. I barely get to see Karl or Jesse, haven’t, in fact, seen them for two weeks. And once again I struggle with loneliness, being alone often for days on end without a face-to-face conversation with someone I love. Except Charlie, of course, and he’s not a great conversationalist, to say the least! Once again it seems my life has been completely stripped of purpose and meaning, and once again it is due to events over which I have absolutely no control.

Today, after Mass – the one time I can at least count on talking to people, touching and hugging and laughing and smiling with friends -- I called Karl to see if he and Jesse were coming to visit. He had too many things to take care of. It feels as though I don’t matter. We’ve had this conversation before, but I don’t want to go there again. I don’t want to GUILT him into seeing me. I don’t want him to see it as a duty. But at the same time, I am deeply disappointed.

So I took Charlie out for a long walk, where it seemed that everyone was walking with friends or family, spouse/partners or children. After my walk I did a little grocery shopping – something I do much less of since Karl and Jesse are seldom here, one of those little benefits. Partly I just needed to be with people, but all the people were again parts of families or couples and I’m sure I was invisible or at least inconsequential.

It hasn’t escaped me that 10 or 15 years ago I would have loved having a weekend in solitude. But like anything else, too much of a good thing becomes a really bad thing. And it’s not that I mind my own company; I think I’m pretty great company in small doses. I think perhaps it’s mostly my perspective. This being alone stuff is painful because I never expected this is how I would spend my life. It doesn’t fit in with my plan. I was supposed to be retired with my husband, doing great things together. After he was killed, I was supposed to find someone wonderful to share my life with. Besides Charlie.

Many people I know are struggling with challenges these days. Many people are looking for work and incredibly frustrated – and afraid -- that nothing seems to be available that matches their skills or experience. I have been there myself, years of trying to find a job in my career path with little luck. I have experienced my husband’s pain in trying to find work to support his family, again for several years. There were years when I worried we would lose our house or suffer similar financial setbacks. But I always had faith that we would be okay, even if we had to live in our car, because we would have each other, we would still be a family, and that was what mattered most. In retrospect, I didn't appreciate how fortunate and blessed I was then.

Now, I have a regular stream of income, primarily from John’s retirement, but I have no family to share my life with on an ongoing basis, no one special to be with. I think if I had to choose, I would take those days of fighting through as a family and knowing I was loved and valued rather than my current life of just figuring out how to make it through the next long, lonely, pointless day.

And so I find myself asking God on a daily basis for some kind of relief, some glimmer of hope that I will not have to spend the rest of my life alone and lonely and irrelevant. But I also pray that if that is my role for the next 20 or 30 years, or however long I have left on this earth, that I am able to find some acceptance, joy and peace in this life I have found myself living, that I find purpose and meaning and ways to make a difference.