Alone

Suzanne Hawes
Volume 23, No. 4

The day after Christmas in 1993, my husband, Jim, a strong 60-year-old man, left for California.  Two weeks later, he came home as ashes in a friend's backpack.  Thus began my abrupt initiation into the world of widowhood.

We had been caring for Jim's invalid mother in our home when her house in California was partially destroyed by fire.  Jim flew out to see what could be salvaged.  A drunk driver killed him on his way to the airport to fly home.

I got the long-distance call in the middle of the night that lets you know a loved one is gone.  I don't remember the rest of that night very well.  I phoned my daughter Cindy and her husband Dave who live in town and my sons in Ohio and Massachusetts.  Cindy and Dave were here as soon as they could find a babysitter.  My branch president came, and he and Dave gave me a blessing.  After everyone left, I sat looking at our Christmas tree.  I knew the tree had to come down before the boys arrived home because I didn't want them to always connect their dadís death with Christmas.  So I set about taking down the tree.

My sons--one with his wife and the other with his fiancee--arrived the next day.  Friends from church and work came by and brought their love as well as food.  The family planned the funeral, which was held at our church even though Jim was not a member.  The services were lovely, and I felt supported by family, colleagues, church friends, and the Lord.  It was the first time that "Amazing Grace" and "We Shall Overcome" were heard in our New Orleans chapel.

The day before the boys had to leave, we had a spontaneous picnic at the park on a sparkling winter day.  As I watched my grandkids and their uncles run around in the winter sun, I realized that my life would go on and that it could be beautiful and meaningful.

The boys went home, and I was left to care for Jim's mother, Carolyn, and to continue on in my profession,  Carolyn suffered from emphysema and was at the stage no one talks about.  Her brain was not getting enough oxygen, and she didn't know who she was or what she was doing.  She had to be fed, dressed, and so forth.  I think she somehow did understand that her son was dead.  I was able to get daytime sitters for her, but she only lived two weeks more and passed away quietly in her sleep.

I was now living alone for the first time in my life.

During the first few months, I would start crying when I saw something of Jim's.  So I gave his clothes to my sons and grandsons and to Good Will.  Our children took what they needed from Jim's huge collection of tools, and I took enough for a toolkit for the mechanically challenged.  The rest I gave to Habitat for Humanity.  They were very touched to get the welding set; they had been praying for one for over a year.

Jim had run a bike repair/parts shop from our garage for about eighteen years.  Being a thrifty Yankee, he never threw anything away, and the garage and attic were crammed with used and new bike parts.  I put lots of used parts out on the street, hoping someone would "liberate" them.  No one in "the hood" was that hard up, so I hauled bunches of bike trash to the dump and gave many of the new bike parts away to a group that fixed childrenís bikes for Christmas presents.  It took about five months to get the business cleaned out of the house--all this while trying to work full time at my job at the Army Corps of Engineers.  I didn't have much time to feel lonely.

Finding friends as a single woman became difficult.  I had close friends at work, but they were all married, as were most of the folks at church.  When two single sisters came into the branch, we became friends, but never close ones.  Neither of them was interested in my feminist views.  So, Cindy and Dave have become my best friends.

The house Jim and I had lived in for twenty-eight years had been converted from a barn in 1885.  It had some structural problems--as do many houses in New Orleans since the city is built on wetland soils--and the floor of the laundry room had rotted out.  A couple of moonlighting engineers from work replaced the floor at a reasonable price, but I realized that the house wasn't in good shape and was way too big for me.  A year after Jim's death, the small house across the street from Cindy and Dave was going to be sold.  I made a deal with the owners before it was ever put on the market.  Then I gave a good price on my house to a black neighbor, and he was able to buy it.

I love the "new" house.  It was built in 1956, and it is in good shape, so I donít need to worry about fixing it up.  Being across the street from my daughter and her family has worked out very well both for me and for Cindy's family.  Her husband has adult-onset epilepsy, which has take four years to control enough so he could drive.  It was very handy to have another driver available.  I see a lot of my grandkids, too.

To avoid loneliness, I keep very busy.  For a workaholic, this is easy.  At the Corps, my work is never done; in fact, it is far too tempting to work nine or ten hours a day.  I try hard to avoid doing so.  I teach the temple preparation class at church and am Relief Society secretary and organist (the latter job consists of queuing up tapes of the hymns we will sing).

I know lots of good and dedicated folks in federal and state agencies due to my work in the Corps.  Most of us working to preserve Louisiana's wetlands feel that it is a calling and not just a job, which makes it a pleasure to fight the good fight with them. In my spare time, I am involved with the Audubon Society and Sierra Club, which I enjoy very much.  There is little time to feel sorry for myself.

Being alone is hard when you are sick.  I have fought oral cancer for three years.  Many evenings I would have appreciated some in-house support.  Cindy cooked meals and visited and the boys phoned often, but it was, and is, a lonely battle.

My Exponent II sisters have helped support me through widowhood and sickness. The Irish contingent led by Sue Booth-Forbes has prayed for me in the stone circle.  Cheryl Howard keeps sending me hysterical humor off the Net, and Mary Bradford wrote me a lorica (a poem that Celtic warriors wore on their breastplates).  This poem has helped me stand taller and be stronger.  The annual retreat in New Hampshire is a wonderful time for seeing old friends and making new, discussing Mormonism, singing, and canoeing.

This past year, some of my older single friends have been finding male companionship and rediscovering that they have hormones.  I have thought about looking for a male friend, but my first requirement, after thirty-eight years of marriage to a non-member, is that he be a devoted member of the church.   There just ain't any such guys in Louisiana.  So, for the time being, I am resigned to staying single.

And, after thinking about it, I realize that even though I miss the companionship of having a spouse (and, of course, sex), I do have nearly total freedom now to do what I want when I want.  There is something to be said for that.

My spirit is nurtured by being outside, so as I get stronger, I try to walk in beautiful places each day.  In the summer, my job "demands" my being in the marshes; I make sure that I get on all the field trips that I can.  I try hard to feed my soul.  This last year I have come to appreciate sacred music, especially Lisa Arrington's.  Some scripture study and prayer each day help keep me close to God.

Looking back at the last six years of my life, there have been both terribly hard times and moments of great joy.  I am certainly stronger now, mentally and spiritually.  My job is very rewarding and has helped keep my mind off my troubles.  Family, colleagues, the Branch, and Exponent sisters have raised my spirits through it all.  The Gospel, trips to the temple, and music have uplifted me.  And in my loneliest moments, I have felt the loving care of my Father in Heaven.

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