“Sing a song … for a land where the horses run free
And you and me are free to be, you and me…. “
The refrain from the Marlo Thomas song I played for my kids many years ago replays itself in my head often these days. When I heard it back then, I hoped that my children would understand that, no matter how insecure they felt, they could take control of their life the way they wanted to.
Today, after the death of my husband, I am free to be. That should be a liberating thought. But it is frightening to me even with the experience I have of many years of shaping the life I have wanted. It is a lonely life without my partner whom I could consult when I needed advice and encouragement. Now there is no one to second-guess the wiseness of my decisions. The best I can do is try to imagine what his advice would have been.
I have kept the structure of my days the same as always. The order of knowing what I will be doing each day gives me security that, in spite of my emotional trauma, my life will go on as usual. I will take tours at the Kennedy Center on Monday, rehearse with two bands in the evenings, go to dance classes and swim when I have no deadlines.
But lately I have been musing that, other than some volunteer commitments and taking care of Lucy, my four-legged companion, I can do what I want each day. I have nothing exotic in mind, but can run errands, have lunch with friends, visit Old Town, take walks along the parkway without worrying about a schedule that is related to my life at my home address. I can stay up until any hour I choose at night watching television, reading, writing and emailing my sleeping friends.
I can look at my monthly calendar and plan trips that accommodate only my schedule. I don’t have to worry about matching up my dates with any one else’s. And there is no reason not to make travel plans one month after another. My friends will say, “You travel a lot!” And I can smile with pleasure and not feel guilty because somebody is waiting for me at home.
Yet this scenario is poignant as I return to my empty apartment. Previously my arrival home was always highlighted by the first moments when I could excitedly describe the details of my day, or my trip, to my husband who was waiting to greet me. Now that I am on my own, I search for a way to fill in the emptiness of those solitary moments.
Perhaps the daily photos I take and share with friends or the frequent emails I send along with the essays I continue to write, will sustain me as I adapt to my new freedom.
Yes, I am free and in control. What remains for me to discover is just how I will be.
©2014 Adrienne G. Cannon for SeniorWomen.com
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