Le Miserable

 

 

Why am I feeling so miserable? 

When I dig into this feeling of “miserableness” and its cohort, loneliness, it seems that Mr. Covid plays a central role. Before the pandemic, those of us who lost loved ones were comforted by gatherings of friends — rites of burial, pot-luck dinners, invitations to connect. But not so today, on top of losing a loved one, we who mourn are virtually left alone during this time of medical isolation. Many have experienced the horror for leaving a loved one at the door of an emergency room and learning about their death later by telephone. Thankfully, that did not happen to me and I grieve for those who did.

 

In the past, friends sat with you, cried with you, and listened to stories of the departed loved one. In the Jewish tradition, relatives “sit in shiva,” they come together and visit with the bereaved person for seven days. We who have lost loved ones this past year have not had that opportunity — to sit with those who mourn.

 

So, I think that’s what is going on within me. This stark, cold absence. For forty years, I rose in the morning with Sabine, had coffee, and we talked about our life together and the coming day. Often, as I sat in my morning meditations, she would rise and I would hear her footsteps shuffling along as she went into the kitchen. How sweet that shuffling sound remains in my memory.

 

For the purpose of maintaining our physical health, we have jeopardized the mental health of many of our fellow Americans. It is the dangerous (yet necessary) trade-off we have made during this pandemic. Yet, I struggle with this trade-off. It is not that I have been left alone in misery — I have “podded” with my best friend and his wife, my children have visited and helped me, other friends have called, brought food, and encouraged me through word and prayer.

 

But the feelings persist… I realize that the friends we have were couples and now I feel like a ‘third wheel;” odd man out. Like many men, I seem not to have many female friends who don’t also have a husband or partner. The one close female friend I had died a few years ago. (Come to think about it, death has been all around me these past few years: Sabine, her mother, and a close colleague.)

 

Yesterday. I wrote the following poem to try a and explore these feelings. At my age, I am not looking for sex, but rather someone to hang out with and be the best of friends. It just might be too late in life to experience this once again. I know I must learn to be alone. It will not be easy.

 

 

Adrift

 

yes do call him

caregiver-at-large

adrift 

after many years

care-er w/o

care-ee 

like a magnet

seeking

connection

no longer physical

love

but endearing 

companionship

a woman friend

where thoughts 

feelings

can be shared

adventures embarked

still 

yet

time flows sand-like

through his

aging 

fingers 

he worries 

while

memories of

his beautiful

life call him to 

dance 

In a home now 

occupied 

by one.