Today I put my husband’s picture as the wallpaper on my phone. It is a curious thing. It is the first time I have done it in the two years since he died. He has replaced the image of the octagon in Ely cathedral which has been the back drop for several months. And I don’t know how I feel about it. It makes me realise that one way of coping with the loss of someone is simply not to think about them too much. In some ways the strongest memory which has been present for two years has been the man in decline. The brain tumour took so much of ‘him’ away and the experience of witnessing this was so profound that it persisted.  It has been essential to move on, to do new things, to embrace life. To forget! 

But as I look at a picture of him from earlier years with a warm, wry smile the memories of those times come flooding back, not in terms of events but in terms of emotions and the deep sense of connection we shared.  There is much truth in the words of the song “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” But looking at the picture is painful. Can I bear to have him looking at me everyday and reminding me of his absence? I don’t know.

A quick search on Google tells me that in 2020 there were  nearly 2.5 million women over 65 in the UK living alone and about half as many men. I have had to learn to live alone and it is not something I would have chosen. But it’s not all bad!! I run my day exactly as I wish. I do not have to consult someone else on their opinion of some change I might want to make to the house or on what we might have for dinner. I do not have someone who is depending on me for some form of care. I do not experience the conflict which I know is present in many households and life is calm.  For much of the time I feel happy.

Yet there can also be a curious emptiness, particularly in the evenings. You simply miss having that someone to share the events of your day. Humans are social creatures and although we need our own spaces and at times some solitude we thrive most in community. In generations past families were generally larger and lived in close proximity; in fact I suspect that for my Yorkshire ancestors overcrowding was probably more of an issue. And that of course presented its own problems. For the women perpetual childbirth must have drained them of so much energy and in many cases lead to an early grave. Evidently one hundred years ago in 1921 life expectancy for women was 60 and for men 56 so in any ways living into old age alone is quite a new phenomenon.  We have to learn how to become old! We have to learn how to enjoy the memory of the past we have had whilst continuing to discover that which is new.  Perhaps in time I will not feel sad by the face looking at me from the phone but just grateful.