My First Year As A Widower

As I write this, it is one year ago to the day that my wife, Rae, died, unexpectedly and suddenly.

A lot of things have obviously changed for me since then, and this article touches on some of those aspects.

Grief

I have never been a particularly emotional person, and while I used to cry a lot as a young child (blubbing was the term in those days), seemingly for no apparent reason sometimes, that behaviour ceased in my early teens, and now that I’m 60, I cannot recall the last time I cried.

My mother died in the 1990s, and while we were very close in many ways, I never shed a tear then.

My father died in the 2000s, and I definitely didn’t cry then, mainly because we were never close and I never agreed with his beliefs or the way he treated people (or other animals).

Other family members have gone over the years, and I’ve lost a fair few pets along the way too, but not a single tear, ever.

This doesn’t mean I didn’t miss some of those who are no longer here, of course.

So when Rae died, I didn’t expect my behaviour to be any different.

There was no time to prepare for her death, because there was no warning, and in the shock of what happened, I thought that maybe I would grieve once I’d accepted what had happened.

But 12 months on, still nothing.

I wasn’t sure whether today would be a difficult day for me or not either – anniversaries of deaths usually aren’t, but this is the first time I’ve lost a partner, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if I did.

But, almost as expected, nothing.

Naturally, I miss her every single day – we had lived and worked together 24 x 7 for 13 years – but if I’m being honest, I’m not even sure what grief really means.

By not mourning or being visibly upset, it feels like some key element of what it means to be human is missing (and always has been), and while some may say that is not healthy, I find it to be a good way of coping with loss, which is good because it’s the only way I know how.

You could claim that I must not have loved her (or any of the other people I have lost during my 60 years) very much if I’m not upset by her death and not grieving – and who knows whether you’re right or not?

Or maybe what I’m feeling is grief – I really don’t know.

Besides which, I’m still not convinced I know what love is either.

I am on the low end of the autism spectrum, and I know I have had certain issues for most of my life, particularly in interacting with others, so maybe it’s related, or maybe it’s not. At this stage of my life, it seems like an academic question at best.

Responsibility

Every decision, regarding our domestic life, our pets, and our various online businesses, were always made together, however small or large they may have been.

Now that I’m by myself, I have to make all of those decisions myself.

Some, like letting one of our four dogs go (back to the rescue we got her from) were difficult, and I have no idea whether Rae would have approved or not, but I had my reasons, which seemed valid to me (and still do).

Others, like getting rid of Rae’s clothes and other paraphernalia, including much of the stuff we’d accumulated during those 13 years (because she was an even bigger hoarder than I am), was an easy decision, because I’m not the sentimental type.

And as for our businesses, I have had to decide to shut some of them down, and I have made decisions to start one or two new ones. Again, would she have agreed with those decisions?

Of course, it doesn’t truly matter whether she would or would not have – I’m by myself now, and I only need to think about myself and my three dogs.

On the other hand, I would not lightly make a choice that I know Rae violently opposed, but that’s largely because we thought along very similar lines anyway (which is why we never argued).

Daily Schedule

We used to live a very weird schedule, not going to bed until five or six or seven in the morning.

Rae and I had different sleep patterns – I tended to get mine from when we went to bed until about noon, but she was a very light sleeper and grabbed an hour or two when she could throughout the day.

I never liked being on that crazy schedule – it just didn’t feel right, and I was always more of a morning person when it came to work, and I didn’t like sleeping through my high productivity period.

Now that I’m alone, I have managed to restore a more normal schedule, getting to bed by 1:00 am at the latest, and starting work by 9:00 am again.

I’m also eating two or three meals every day now, something we rarely did.

Many days we only ate one meal, and that was super late – sometimes too late for me, so only Rae had dinner on those days.

Rae also had some severe dietary restrictions, owing to sensitivities and allergies she believed she had developed, so making food was always a challenge.

There were things I’d make for her one day that would cause problems the next day, so it was a constant hunt for foods she could eat without suffering an adverse reaction.

And most of what I cooked for her (because we usually ate different things) took quite a while, because it all had to be made from scratch in very specific ways, which was further reason for eating less than we should.

Now that I’m alone, I still eat primarily organic and GMO-free food, as we used to, but I have far fewer restrictions on what I can and cannot eat, and I tend to make food (still from scratch) that takes less time – or items that can last for three or four days, thus saving more time.

All of this (i.e. more and better sleep, and a better meal schedule) means I feel less tired – a lot less tired (although I still do take the occasional nap) – and I don’t have as many aches and pains (and no more migraines).

Motivation

This, and procrastination, have long been issues for me, but with Rae there, I had the impetus to do what needed to be done, especially with our businesses. In that respect, she acted as my accountability partner.

Since I’m alone (for the first time in my life), I find it more difficult to be motivated to do what I need to do.

I still work for large parts of the day – morning through to early to late afternoon most days – but nowhere near the long hours I used to (e.g. when we offered 24 x 7 phone support for one of our businesses).

And some days, I simply don’t feel like working at all – I have no mental energy to do anything.

But I still write an article for this site every single day, and I keep up with the admin activities of my other businesses (e.g. managing orders), but once I’ve done that, if I need to kick back and relax, I do, and I don’t feel guilty about it.

I also know that if I took an entire day off from working, it would be that much harder the next day to get back into the swing of things again.

And although I’ve worked with computers in some form or other for the vast majority of my life, I cannot wait for the day when I can down tools and use my computer(s) for purely personal reasons – but in the meantime, I cannot yet afford to stop working and shut all of my businesses down.

Purpose

I have never been what you’d call an ambitious person, but being with Rae did provide me with a purpose – looking after her and our dogs, and trying to do some good in the world (something I never felt when I worked for a major British bank).

We had plans, of sorts, and while I am not convinced we would have ever achieved them, it was still something to work towards.

With Rae gone, my sense of purpose has greatly diminished – it more or less boils down to looking after my dogs and being able to pay the bills.

I was seriously suicidal for a long time during my five- to ten-year severe depression back in England (which I have written about, in part, here), until shortly before moving to the US to be with Rae, and while I wouldn’t consider myself suicidal these days, I do feel that (dogs aside), if I went to sleep one night knowing with certainty that I would never wake up again, that wouldn’t bother me at all.

That is not something I ever felt when Rae was here.

Anxiety

I was a nervy child, and anything that went wrong (or even the possibility of something going wrong, including potential confrontation), when straight to my stomach.

After moving to the USA and being with Rae, that more or less stopped.

It wasn’t that everything went 100% well, of course, but she provided me with the emotional support I needed which resulted in far fewer nervous stomach upsets.

These issues have returned during this past year, particularly when I have technology problems.

I have worked with and around computers since 1979 or so, but mainly on the software and analytic / strategy side of things.

Rae, on the other hand, was also computer-literate, but she was our hardware expert.

So, when I have computer issues (and there have been a few during this year, including my laptop giving up the ghost about two days after her death), it goes straight to my stomach again.

It’s not that I am incapable of solving the problems I’ve encountered – it’s my initial reaction to the situation that is just like it used to be in the old days.

Also, in terms of the house, it’s not that well-built, it’s at least 20 years old, and it’s extremely exposed on top of a mountain where it’s usually windy all the time.

Since Rae has died, the extreme winds worry me greatly (way more than they used to be when she was here), to the point where I get so anxious I can no longer focus on my work.

We had always talked about moving elsewhere (out of the country), but those ideas never came to fruition.

I am still looking to move, but while I have my dogs, because I would never subject them to the stress of international travel, I am considering alternative accommodation on the property (because there is lots of space). This is in part also due to other issues that I won’t go into here.

But that, of course, is a large and potentially expensive decision, which brings me back to the responsibility issue.

Solitude

We lived a life that would not suit most people – the house is on 20 acres in the middle of nowhere, with no real neighbours to speak of.

And even in the early days, around 2006 or so, we only went out once every three months, to do our shopping.

In early 2007, we decided to go 100% online, and in March, we took out last trip out into town.

Since then, we stayed at home, and while it was an unusual lifestyle, it worked well for us, neither one being social animals.

Now it’s just me, I still live in the same house in the same place, and the only people I see face to face are two friends (both of whom also deliver my mail).

One of them does some grocery shopping for me once a week, and the other, his daughter, brings my packages on the other days of the week.

While it’s nice to chat to them when I can, I am still happy being here by myself.

But what I miss are the conversations Rae and I had.

We discussed our businesses (a lot), our plans for the future, our dogs, the shows and movies we watched, and much more (e.g. philosophical discussions, health).

We liked to critique everything we watched, pointing out plot holes, stupid mistakes made by characters, logic errors, and continuity issues for example – because we were both analytical types.

And while I watch television now, I can almost hear her say what I am thinking – that doesn’t makes sense, or why did he do that, etc.

But I’d rather have that conversation with her, for real.

I have music playing most of the day, for background noise, when I’m not watching a show or sleeping, and that helps a bit with the quiet, even though it may not help me concentrate on my work as much as I should, but it’s not the same at all as being able to talk to her.

And, of course, my dogs help keep me sane (or as sane as I ever was). I have always talked to them, but more so now. Even if I’m not actually asking them to do something, I still give them a running commentary of what I’m doing, because I can pretend it’s a conversation.

Paranoia

Over the months since Rae died, I have noticed myself becoming a lot more aware of all the things that might go wrong.

Some of these are, I think, normal and healthy reactions to my situation. For example, I take more care than I used to regarding my own health and safety, because my dogs rely on me.

But there are issues that concern me now, which never used to, and which are probably less healthy.

Here’s one example that springs to mind, but there are others.

As you know, America is, to a large degree, obsessed with guns, and when you combine that with the fact that a large percentage of the population are on multiple prescription drugs (including anti-psychotics), then I am glad that I don’t go out in public.

But I’ve noticed recently that when I’m out in the backyard at night, I am consciously checking my body for signs of the red dot from a night-vision sniper scope.

I know, it’s unlikely anybody is out there with intent to kill, but this behaviour of mine only started during this past year.

Conclusion

The good news is that I have never minded my own company, but it does feel very quiet, with the lack of conversation being the biggest problem.

In some ways, my life has become simpler (e.g. a more normal daily schedule of eating and sleeping, only one person, with no weird dietary restrictions, to cook for, one fewer dog to manage, and a more relaxed attitude to getting my work done). I have also found time to read again, something I used to do a lot of, which I’m glad about.

But in other ways, there is additional stress, caused, for example, by having to make all the decisions, having to be ultra-careful about my health (and my dogs’ health), and the worry that the house will finally succumb to the violent winds we get up here.

And while I still miss her, and suspect I always will, neither of us were believers in any deities or religions, and while Rae tended to think there was something more, it certainly didn’t include the Heaven and Hell of Christianity, or any sort of afterlife.

But there are occasions when I almost feel like she is watching over me, not for protection but judging whether I’m making the same choices she would have done.

And then I remember that she is gone, and lives on only in my memory (and that of anybody else who knew her), so I just keep moving forwards.

Finally, for those who may be interested, here is a book I put together in her memory that features 100 of my favourite love poems, all illustrated, that I wrote for her when we were still dating (online), and during the first few years of our marriage:

A Rae Of Sunshine