Solitude is one thing, loneliness, a different beast altogether.

I am used to solitude; I have been all my life. I was a solitary child, a reader of books and a contented day dreamer.  All the years Larry and I were married, the Navy and his work as a driver meant days apart. I was always good knowing he would return.  He was in my heart if not my arms.  I kept house, I did the laundry, made the meals, organized the finances, cuddled the cats.  Home was ready and waiting for him.  When he was home, we'd run errands together, a commissary run was a date, we'd go to lunch or brunch, we'd run up the canyon now and then.  When he'd work in the yard, I could hear his radio and his clatter, and he'd come in to drag me out to see his latest projects, often meant for my pleasure or convenience. Sunday evenings were often fire practice, and we'd chat or listen to music on the drive.  We would honeymoon two or three times a year to make up for those first two years apart.  We were friends.

And now, the house is big and quiet.  I still have cats to cuddle and feed.  I still clean, but it doesn't seem to matter as much and there is no deadline.  I cook, but only for myself.  I am slowly unearthing items in the freezer meant for hearty meals he enjoyed.  There's a damn turkey too.  Right now I am eating the ham he got at Carl's SuperSaver for some ridiculous price and sliced up to make sandwiches for his lunch.  Thick slices, one is a meal for me, and there's two packs he made up.  I weep.  I am on the very last jar of the jam he made.

I do laundry, but there's no rush.  I take out the trash, right now the cans fill quickly because I am sorting out a ton of crap, but that will slow to a trickle.  I am using only the top rack of the dishwasher.  I still hang two towels on the the towel rack.  I am dismayed at the amount of paper plates and bowls he had on the truck.  Whatever shall I do?  Have picnics?

I browse Amazon, wondering if the higher prices are worth not having to ask or pay for rides.  People want to help me, but sharing the shopping experience is hard. Desi takes me to the commissary, and she knows how to give me my space, and how to be present when I need her to be.  She is not Larry though.  I pretty much have quit clipping coupons; I eat different things when left to my own devices.  I skipped this Friday's free download from Smith's; Hormel Compleats were entirely his thing.

You'd think nights would be worst, but no, it is the middle of the day, when his presence lingers in every room. In the morning, when I only make two cups of coffee instead of a full pot.  When the mail comes in, addressed to him.  The Tandy Leather flyer, reminding me I probably won't ever go there again.  The cans of sparkling water and weird sodas in the fridge from the BDO, another shopping destination which was on the "errands date" rotation.  The Rumbi Grill two for one ads; we went to Rumbi's a lot.  The No Frills Diner punch card.

When I want to pick up the phone and tell him how stupid hard the paperwork is, how frustrated I am, how the guy came and sprayed the yellow jacket ground nests and gave me a military discount.

Being alone never bothered me, it is that no matter how much company I have, or help from friends I get, I will ultimately never stop being alone when all is said and done.  Being alone forever is much lonelier than being alone for hours, or days, or weeks.  I know in an abstract way that it will get better, but being without Larry is not what I consider better in the slightest.