For those who might not know, my wife of 50 years passed away rather unexpectedly last October. One night in July she started acting “odd,” odd enough that I had her helicoptered to the emergency room. It turned out to be a rapidly moving, inoperable form of brain cancer that took her life about three months later – just as they had predicted. Those three months were full of fear, rapidly declining capabilities, sorrow, and more joy than I would expect in a situation such as that.

I was (and still am) absolutely, totally crushed by her death and the lose of her companionship. It is obviously a truly “existential” experience for me. The “who” that I was was so totally wrapped up with who “we” were that that old “who” no longer exists – it died with her. Now I am searching for, or perhaps building, a new me. (I wonder what that will turn out to be.) This is turning out to be not such an easy thing to do.

(Sorry for the weird use of double words together in the sentence – it seemed right and gave me a bit of a chuckle.)

I have discussed all of this in previous posts, I don’t want to dwell on it, but just wanted to give a brief background to what is on my mind today for those that might have just stumbled upon my blog. For anyone that did that, “welcome” I hope you come back again.

I have been spending my days alternating between “home” and a rental of a small, rather quaint house in the town of Sonoma. At home I have all of the “normal” things to do. Things like pay bills, buy groceries, do the laundry, clean the swimming pool, and many other daily chores. When I am in Sonoma I have nothing whatsoever to do. I check my email, write a little bit once in away (such as this little blog), walk around town, either cook something simple or go to a restaurant (usually opting for the latter), sit on a park bench when it isn’t raining, and talk to people during happy hours at one or another of the local bars. I am also looking for a house to purchase so I can move closer to town instead of being miles out in the country by myself at home.

I have been really enjoying talking to people. For some reason it has become really easy to get into fascinating discussions with total strangers about all sorts of topics, many just fluff, but most seemingly about important topics in our respective lives. I tend to shy away from talking about my wife and all that because nobody wants to hear about such things, but I share as lot as do those that I am talking with. It is fun, but I am also noticing an odd behavior that I am doing.

I realize that I have become a bit like a hermit crab that likes to sit on the edge of it’s shell home, watching, moving around, wiggling it arms, dragging its shell around the beach – but instantly retreating back into the safety of its shell as soon as it is approached. I get out and about, watch what is happened in town, getting into interesting conversations and being oddly more “social” than my normal style – but if anyone actually approaches me I skuttle back into my shell – often literally going home early and going to bed to read one of the many books I have been reading lately – always non-fiction about technically related topics (mostly history and biographies) – almost never novels.

I think I have become so quick to withdraw that it is sometimes on the verge of insulting to those who reach out to touch me. For example, there is a nice lady that I met in one of my conversations at the local pub who has been asking me to do things with her – go see a movie, join her in her art class, attend a lecture – that sort of thing. She is obviously offering to become more of a friend than just an acquaintance. However, when she approaches I quickly retreat – often actually getting into my car and going “home” for a few days of solitude. I suspect that she finds my behavior a bit insulting, or at least confusing.

I bring up the example of this lady mainly because when I watch my reactions it is clearly something more than just not wanting to get “involved” – it is almost like touching a hot stove or stepping on a thorn, an reflexive reaction to avoid pain. I suppose that is to be expected (although I didn’t expect it) as a part of my grieving process leaving me with my wounds exposed. I have just barely gotten past the point of breaking down in sobbing tears and tight throat at the most unexpected times. I can generally get through the day in relative comfort and sometimes even a bit of joy – but I seem to not be ready to go out and face “the real world” – I am pretty happy to hunker down in my hole of reading books and periodically going out to observe the world – but not becoming open to close encounters of any kind.

I am writing this because I promised a few friends that I would report my experiences following the death of my wife, perhaps so that we can all come to understand a bit more about what to expect, and what happens to us when we lose our anchor to the world. Perhaps there is something about this which can be helpful for others, or perhaps it is just a chance for me to think about what it happening to me in a very selfish way – I hope it is useful to others as well as to me.