I don’t know what I’d do without him/her/them..

they say. The ‘him/her/them’ are of course the partner, the children, nephews, nieces, godchildren, grandchildren… the people we don’t have.

We don’t have them, and THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO ABOUT IT’.

Except feel the punch of pain when we hear how they make life easier for someone else.

Wouldn’t it be so nice to answer that?

This is what I’d love to say:

Well you’re NOT without him/her/them, and in effect what you’re saying is ‘I see you, alone, and I see your situation is so dreadful, I find it unthinkable for myself. I cannot contemplate it except as the worst, most unimaginable, unbearable situation that I could not even SURVIVE. That’s what you’re saying about me. You are describing, referring to, pointing out, highlighting something that for you is only a fantasy – a waking nightmare, actually. For me, it’s a fucking daily, monthly, possibly never-ending reality,

So don’t expect any sympathy or support from me. Don’t expect any empathy for your worst fears, because all my energy goes on living them, I am done with digging down deep to find something comforting to tell you that might help dissipate your dread that this might ever happen to you. I’m done with that.

If – maybe when – it happens to you, I’ll do my best to support you. I might even think ‘now you know what it’s like, and now you may well be on the receiving end of those comments of horror and pity yourself.’ But I won’t say it. However tempting it is, I will not say those bitterly satisfying words ‘welcome to my world’.

I don’t know how you do it!

they say. It’s supposed to be an expression of admiration. How do you deal with all that ‘stuff’ and still do all the other things you do that are so impressive?

Oh, you mean how do we fit in having a life?

A short and polite answer might be – no, we don’t know either how we do it, and we wish we didn’t have to.

A longer, more satisfying answer might be:

Mmm. I don’t know either. I wonder…?

Well … maybe it’s because I LIKE shouldering all the responsibility for every decision in my life, from what to have for tea, to whether that strange mark on my back has got any bigger, to whether it’s safe to take a flight in these Covid times, to how to write my will.

Maybe it’s because I LOVE coming home to an empty house when someone’s been rude or cold or unhelpful or made me feel bad in any of the myriad possible ways people can, during the course of a day. Maybe I like making my own cup of tea or pouring my own glass of wine, far preferable to putting my feet up and having it brought to me.

Maybe it’s because I love being alone on Bank Holidays and always having to wonder if I’ll get through Christmas this time without those awful feelings of missing out, sadness, longing and envy of those who belong somewhere, as of right. Because I love always having to think out a schedule for my time instead of being able to spend the time just relaxing, ‘doing nothing’. Doing nothing with someone.

Maybe it’s because I love being asked by a friend’s grandchild or son or daughter to contribute a video greeting or something similarly creative and special for their mother’s or grandmother’s birthday. I love finding it within me to do that with warmth, love and good grace even though I’m full of longing to have someone do that for me and fear they never will. Never, or never again.

Maybe it’s that I love being told about the special theatre trip, dinner, weekend away that someone’s partner has secretly planned for a significant birthday or anniversary.

Of course, I’d hate to have anyone do anything like that for me. And to be able to create a gift like that for a beloved partner – oh no, I wouldn’t like the chance to do that at all.

Maybe it’s that I love paying over the odds in hotels to have a decent bed or even a rubbish single bed in a tiny room. Maybe I love not being able to have a spontaneous trip out to walk in the hills in company. Or go in to a bar or a restaurant and relax rather than feel self-conscious.

And maybe during the lockdown, I loved going out on the terrace at the nightly applause only to find that of the few others I saw, not one was alone. Maybe I loved not being asked by one person in my building if I was OK, the only person living alone, the only foreigner, and the oldest occupant besides ( I don’t usually play the age card, but with Covid, it could be a factor)

Maybe I loved having to go out and do my own shopping because there was no one else to do it for me. Stand in endless queues with people coughing and shouting. Even spitting. No one to give any reassurance – or to receive it from me. No one at hand to share the worries of the daily news – and fake news. No one to wonder when it would be possible to leave the city, let alone the country.

Friends, some family, of course, to discuss this with. But no one actually sharing the problem, in there together.

But maybe I preferred it that way.

Maybe I hate a loving touch.

Maybe it’s because I have no need of closeness, physical intimacy. The touch of another’s skin, the scent of their body, the soothing of their hand stroking my back. Who needs all that?

Maybe that’s how I do it. Maybe that’s why I’m so marvellous and capable and independent and self-reliant and good with money…. Maybe I’ve so loved the process of gaining all those wonderful skills.

Maybe we love the loneliness of being one in the world, not part of a pair who stand together.

Or maybe WE JUST HAVE NO FUCKING CHOICE.

Anon.