One Is The Loneliest Number

On a Sunday morning about a month or so before Austin left us, I walk alone into the school gymnasium where my church holds its services. Husband is home taking care of Austin for whatever reason: sickness, weather, or we started too late to get Austin ready. 

The greeters greet. I briefly smile, but barely make eye contact, looking past them rather than at them. 

Eye contact is intimate. It means I know you or want to know you. It means I should remember your name.

I have a hard time remembering peoples names. Even those I’ve spent time with and have known in the past, very familiar faces. I recognize them, yet can’t recall a name when put on the spot. So I just find it easier to avoid people, if possible.

This became even more of a necessity or habit as I gradually dropped out of attending church functions and serving in ministries. 

I used Austin as my excuse. I either felt guilty leaving husband home alone to care for Austin; felt guilty spending time preparing for or working on church projects at home (since I tend to immerse and not come up for air until done, leaving Austin on the back burner); felt guilty for leaving Austin with a nurse or family member when I left him all day at school already, or felt guilty that I never could completely commit to “homework” or show up to every meeting. 

That’s a lot of guilt.

It was easier just to let most activities go, church or otherwise, in the name of Austin.

I take a bulletin that lists all the groups and events that are going on this winter and scan the room for family. At least I could remember my family’s names.

I see my dad. Thank goodness; a buoy in the ocean . I go stand near him. We hug and make small talk. I ask if he is staying for the next service. He says no; he just plans on counting and leaving, having already sat through the first service.

I scan the room again and see my sister-in-law. In a state of relief, I make a bee line for her. However, she is speaking with someone else, and as I get near, I can tell I would be interrupting so I u-turn it back to safe harbor next to dad. 

At this point, I’m overwhelmed with the realization that I am a stranger of my own doing in my own church. Church suddenly becomes the loneliest place on earth.

And you know what’s coming. Without warning, I begin to cry as waves of loneliness crash over me. Lots of snotty tears…in public.

Of course, dad is concerned and looks super uncomfortable. So I blubber about how lonely I feel here; that I have no friends; that family is all I have and I don't see anyone available to sit with; and that I’m probably going to leave. . .

Dad then declares he is staying, and that I will sit with him. My sister-in-law ends up sitting with me too. I can tell she’s aware something is wrong but is treading lightly about asking since I am still sniffly and teary-eyed.

I do my best to just stare straight ahead or at the ceiling for the entire service (the best place to stare when you are trying to get tears to stay in your eyes rather going down your cheeks); thoughts roiling through my head as I analyze how I’ve ended up in this state of aloneness.

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Over the next couple weeks, I have periods of uncontrollable lamenting at home while taking care of Austin by myself; husband may have been at work or traveling on those days. All I know is I try to only allow myself to openly go deep into feelings when he’s gone; to get it all out so I don’t bother him with it on normal days. 

But I’m not afraid of letting feelings wash over me in front of Austin. It’s cathartic and my therapy. And he isn’t going to tell anyone, right? Usually he just laughs and giggles at all my sobbing and wailing as I uninhibitedly pour out my soul to whomever might be listening in the aether.

But was he as unaware as I thought? I mean, once we got the Talker, we began to realize how much he understood. And while exciting to think he knew more than we gave him credit for, I now realize he may have known (and internalized?) so much more about my ongoing struggles with being a caregiver, periodic bouts of unhappiness, and now, my intense loneliness since I’ve never shied away from expressing myself when I thought “no one on this side of the veil will hear me” (just maybe my neighbors).

But was he listening? Did he feel responsible for my “plight”? 

Did he choose to exit this life at his next opportunity because he worried about me? 

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I sit in the Women’s Bible Study as we go around the table doing introductions. We are supposed to give a little history about ourselves and why we are interested in studying the Book of Isaiah (the topic of the 7 week study).

I’m dreading my turn. My answer is not to know more about the Bible or God. My answer is way less holy than that. 

Fortunately, I’m almost last and everyone has set the pattern of what to say. Our history is translated into how you ended up in this community.

It’s easy to tell how I ended up here. I follow their pattern…28-ish years in the Texas/Arkansas/Oklahoma area, 15-ish years in Montana, and the last 10+ years here because I have a medically-complex child, and the melding of extended family and a children’s hospital close by are were necessities. 

Of course, as I mention my medically-complex child, I have to mention, in case anyone is living under a rock, that he happened to pass away at the end of November this past year. And of course, I have to choke this info out in between tears.

Then I’m supposed to say why I’m interested in studying Isaiah so I, more or less, say that it isn’t WHAT we are studying that I am interested in, although, I end up declaring "I DON'T KNOW WHY I’m here."

But the truth is, I do know why. 

Based on my feelings that were brewing up to the day Austin left, I’ve been wondering if one of the reasons he left me is so that I wouldn’t have an excuse to be lonely anymore. 

He left me alone so that I won’t be alone.

That is why I was sitting in that room. 

Last Sunday at church, I had told myself that I would sign up for the next Women’s Bible Study, no matter what is was, so that I can re-make friends and not be lonely in church.

I’m doing it for Austin.