From 3:00 pm Saturday until 3:00 pm today I was totally alone in the house. I didn't answer the phone or watch tv. Okay, I did cheat and get an outside look at the world on my computer, but that hardly counts, considering the Internet is a portal to hell (and not reality). (This, by the way, is a direct quote from someone I know. Have I mentioned this before?)
So what's the significance of being alone? For a lot of people, it's a constant and lonely reality. For me, it's a retreat...
Since Jake's birth, I can probably count on my hands the number of times I've been alone in the house. I've had plenty of time away from home alone, but when Ike keeps Jake, generally they stay home to play while I go out. This is a funny outcome to my life, considering that at one time I thought I'd always be alone, living like my aunt Dottie in the woods. (Kimi, that's the aunt who reminds me of you, by the way. If you're reading this. Not because you're alone in the woods, but because you look kind of like her.) I enjoy being alone. When I think back to life pre-son, I realize now that I took my time alone for granted. I enjoy having time to reflect and rejuvenate. And for me, I have to be alone to do so.
This weekend Ike went on a "working retreat," and Jake stayed with his grandparents. After Ike left, I spent a little time with our elderly neighbor/landlady, then walked back to the house. Huh. Should I lock the door, I wondered? Normally, I would not in the middle of the day, but now it was just me. Somehow that seemed different. So, yes, I locked and deadbolted the door: stay out, world. From the door I wandered inside. I piddled around, cleaned a bit, read a lot, got sucked into researching yoga on the web (current life ambition: be a yoga instructor. Give me a week, I'll want to be a chef.)... Really, what I did was insignificant.
But it was how I did it: alone. There's something about complete silence, broken only by my own breathing or my occasional mutter to myself. I made it a point not to speak, but I was surprised by how often I talked to myself. Why? I can hear me think.
Oddly enough, though I'd been looking forward to this time "away," I kept forgetting no one was here. I left the bathroom door cracked open so Jake would know where I was (but why was I even shutting the door in the first place?). I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye, especially when I passed his room. When I went to bed, I almost left the reading lamp on for Ike...when I remembered he wasn't here.
I suspect that I will never truly be alone again. I have a family with which I feel extremely close. One that is with me even when they are not. I feel them even if they are miles away.
My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Davis, has been a widow for 9 years. Her two children have moved away and had their own children (and their children have children). What was it like for her yesterday when I said, "I won't know what to do with myself without my family at home with me"? Did she think of her family, perhaps remembering a time when she too longed for just a little time alone? Or instead, maybe once you've shared a life with a spouse and watched your children grow you will never truly be alone.
That's what I hope.
Posted by Becky at November 3, 2003 12:01 AM