I almost changed this post title to My Lonely Places, but My Lonely Times seems more correct. You see, being alone in my home (our home) isn't always lonely. Sometimes I am so busy or I have company or I am just at peace being by myself: sometimes this house seems big, cavernous big, and quiet and lonely.
My house is not big, far from cavernous, but my lonely times visit me there more than almost any other place. Donny was a quiet man, but he was a presence. I could usually find him in one of three places - at the dining room table in front of his laptop, in his basement office in front of his desk top computer or in the garage tinkering with whatever he was fixing.
He was quiet, but his space was not. Music almost always accompanied him. He was a true audiophile. It wasn't just a song that he liked, but the quality of the sound, too. No matter which computer he was using there would be music, loud music. When he was in the basement I had no trouble knowing what he was listening to. Sometimes the sound was so loud I could feel the reverberations in the hardwood floors. At his laptop there was music and usually some radio talk show. When working in the garage he would have earbuds in so he could still listen to his music while working with power tools.
Those sounds, the music and the power tools, were the soundtrack of my husband. Now I hear every little noise. I keep the radio on, but that is not new. There is still the quiet.
My other lonely time is driving. Normally my longest trips are to and from work. I am OK without the radio or I was. Now the radio has to be on. I need the music or the stories to crowd out the thoughts of Donny and the loneliness. I need to crowd out the loneliness because often that feeling leads to tears. Tears and driving don't mix. After having to pull over so I could cry and then continue my drive I realized the quiet was a trigger. I am learning how to deal with triggers. When I am alone I am less vigilant about avoiding triggers. I can cry. I am learning how to take care of me, without my best guy. It is not easy, but I am doing my best.
I miss that quiet man and the sounds of him.
The Hopeful Romantic