A Form of Homelessness

Marriages come in all shapes and sizes. The marriage I had with Susan was such that everything I did was in service of that marriage.  To paraphrase mystery writer Raymond Chandler  about his marriage "She was the light of my life, my whole ambition. Anything else I did was just the fire for her to warm her hands by. That is all there is to say".  Think about your very best high school friend, someone you hung around with all the time, shared your deepest and darkest secrets. your bad jokes, your music and so on.  Now imagine being married to that person, and having all the wonder of that high school relationship wrapped in the intimacy and love of a marriage.  That is what mine was like. 

I was recently away for a couple of weeks, and was constantly reminded of the fact that there was no one at home waiting for me to show up.  It is a daunting thought after 20 years of togetherness. 

Susan and I regarded each other as 'home'.  Home is a state of mind more than it is a place. And we were home to one another.  Susan used to say that we 'did good home' for ourselves and our kids, and indeed for anyone who came by.  It was a place of safety, warmth and love, and everyone could feel it.  

So what are you when that is gone, blown to smithereens by the viciousness of cancer? I would submit that in a very real way, those of us who have been widowed, are homeless. And the challenge is for us to figure out how to rebuild that home and create a safe haven for ourselves. 

I will be exploring that challenge in the next few posts, so stay tuned. 

Suffice it to say that while I have a perfectly serviceable roof over my head and have all the basic necessities of life, not only do I miss Susan with every fiber of my being, but also miss the essence of marriage, which at least for us was that we served as witnesses to each other's lives.  I miss that the most.