Unlike most people, I thoroughly enjoy being alone. It is because of this simple fact that I have survived almost 15 years of marriage to an over the road trucker. Although I love my solitude now, that wasn’t always the case. I had to acquire a taste for it, become accustomed to it, and finally I came to enjoy it.
Before my mom died I hated to be alone. If you would have asked me then I would have moaned and groaned about being alone. I hated it. I wanted friends. I didn’t think at the time that I could stand being without someone. It didn’t have to be a man particularly. I just needed someone, anyone to talk to, hang out with and care if I got up in the morning or not.
Nineteen years ago the unthinkable happened and my mom died. Her death rocked my whole world and shook me to the very core. Shortly after the funeral it was time for my Dad to return to work and I was thrust into solitude. I would go to work and come home to an empty, silent house. Before she died we did absolutely everything together. She wasn’t just my mom; she was also my best friend and partner in crime. She was my companion and my cheerleader. She was everything to me. When she became sick, I devoted myself to her every need and took care of her. I wanted too. She had devoted her life to me so many years ago when she quit her job at a local factory to be a stay at home mom. I have always appreciated her sacrifice, and when she became ill, I felt it was the very least I could do. I know in my heart of hearts she would have done the same for me.
Once my Dad went back to work, I was left very much alone. I mourned my Mom something fierce and sank into the deepest darkest depression I have ever been in before or since. My life was empty without her. I had never been so alone. I came home from work and busied myself watching movies and in the process built a fairly large collection of the films that tugged most at my heart or made me laugh. I would sit for hours at the piano and play through every single piece of sheet music I possessed. As time went on, I began to enjoy my solitude and even prefer it. I forced myself to go to the mall alone, to go out to eat alone, and all kinds of things I would have done with her and would have never done alone before she died. I buried myself in mountains of books and listened to music.
I became independent in the aftermath of my Mother’s death in ways I would have never dreamed possible before. I can honestly say I enjoy my solitude now. I like coming back into a house which is silent except for the snores of my Boston Terrier after the kids leave for school. As much as I welcome the bickering and giggles of my kids when they are home, my time alone has become essential to the survival of my sanity until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.