The Wandering

After my husband died, the lost and lonely feelings were unbearable. I didn’t know what to do with myself. During the week I kept my grandson while my daughter and her husband worked. But, on the weekends, I had to leave the house before madness set in.

Kenny had his cardiac arrest in this house, in his sleep, lying next to me in our bed. Even though I was able to bring him back with the CPR I frantically performed on him, he died a day and a half later. As far as I’m concerned, he died in this house.

This house holds such a heavy, sad energy for me that I can’t shake off. It depresses me to be here. Kenny is everywhere in this house. I see him in every piece of furniture, every piece of art hanging on the wall, every dish in the cabinet. There’s nothing he hasn’t touched or used here.

I can’t sit in this house on the weekends and stare at these walls that have his name written all over them. I have to step away from here for my own mental health. I adopted a habit of walking around stores most Saturday’s and Sunday’s. I’m not really shopping, I’m just wasting time because I don’t want to go home. I walk slowly up and down the aisles, looking at everything and nothing all at the same time.

I run my hand over the material of the blankets and pillows as I pass by them. I like the soft minky blankets and velvet pillows the best. I don’t touch the rough ones. I wonder why I can never find turquoise velvet throw pillows anywhere. That was something I complained to Kenny about a lot over the last few years.

I look at all the different coffee mugs and wonder if Kenny would like using one of them instead of the Year of the Rabbit one I bought him years ago. He needed a coffee mug with a large handle so he could fit his overly large fingers through it.

I pick up different pieces of cookware and laugh to myself because Kenny would ask me why I was looking at them since I don’t really like to cook. He’d probably roll his eyes as he said it. He was right though. I don’t really like to cook that much.

I look at the men’s T-shirts to see if they carry his size. He had broad shoulders, a big chest and big arms, and most stores didn’t have any that would fit him. If I do find a shirt in his size I look to see if it has printing on the front or the back. He never liked T-shirts with printed fronts.

I walk by the men’s shoes to see if they have any size 12 extra wide’s like he wore. Usually they don’t. If they do, they’re usually neon colored ones for the basketball court and that’s not shoes he would have ever worn.

I know that a lot of people who’ve lost their spouse do this very same thing. They walk aimlessly around stores because they don’t know what else to do. A good friend of mine told me he used to go walk around the mall a lot after his marriage ended. Like me, he did this as a distraction. Even though he lost his spouse through divorce, and not through death like I did, his loneliness was still very palpable and I felt his pain so much when he was telling me this.

In talking to another friend of mine I told her of my habit of walking around stores on the weekends. She told me a story of someone she knew who had lost their partner and how they did the same thing. A woman walked up to her in a store and said “You’ve lost your partner, haven’t you”. The other woman was shocked and replied that yes she had, and asked her how she knew. The woman said “I could tell. You’re doing the wandering”.

The Wandering.

Yes, that’s exactly what it is. The Wandering.

When my friend told me this story it gave a name and a face to this unwelcome routine. The name sounds like some sad novel about a lonely, homeless soul. And really, that’s what I feel like myself most days.

I wonder how long it will feel this way. I wonder if it will ever get less lonely. I wonder if I’ll stop feeling lost and feel found instead. How long does it take for all this to subside? How long before The Wandering goes away and never returns? I don’t know the answers to these questions and I’m not sure anyone else does either. All I do know is that I wish I never met The Wandering. I wouldn’t wish for anyone else to meet it either.

For now though, The Wandering is my weekend companion. There will come a day that I won’t need it anymore. When that finally happens, I hope I’ll recognize the ones who are doing it themselves so I can send them prayers for healing of their grief. My eyes will meet theirs and I’ll silently tell them “I know exactly what you’re feeling. Just know that The Wandering won’t be with you forever.”