When Does We Become Me

Moving from a world of two to one has its challenges — some surprises, too.

In our marriage, Mike and I shared a lot but we had our independent paths, too: career-wise, hobbies, etc. Still, at the end of the day we always came together to support each other and, in many aspects of our lives — parenting, our businesses — we were a team. It’s all so different now. As I make my way on my own I often wonder what he would think of some of my decisions. I even ask him for guidance if he can somehow offer it.

Sometimes it’s almost like he’s still here. Sort of like an amputee still “feels” the missing limb. Maybe that’s the way it will always be. I feel his presence at times, but life goes on. I must craft my way alone. I move from we to me; ours to mine.

I remember a conversation I had with Mike’s mother shortly after we were married. She was divorced at the time and had made the move to California with her then young third son, Mike’s youngest brother. She remarked, not in a condescending way, that I had never lived alone. Of course she was right. I never had. I’d lived with my parents until I went to college where there were roommates. I married Mike the day after I graduated from college, and now 50+ years later I’m finally living alone.

Not that any of that is unusual. Millions of people live the solo life. But for those of us new to that environment, it can have its challenges — especially if it involves grieving the loss of whom we’d been living with.

Sometimes it’s just little things as incidental as the names on my checking account. I’d continued to use the checks that had both our names on them. But when it came time to order new ones, they arrived with just my name. My community bank had seen to that. Same with utility bills and other accounts. All reminders that the buck stops with me.

Then there’s ‘our home’ that I now reluctantly refer to as ‘my’ home, and how I’ve transformed a few things to reflect that. However, some areas need some help. Like the one I always chose to ignore — the garage. That was Mike’s place. I parked my car there but not much else, leaving the organizing and cleaning to him. But now that responsibility falls on me. Do I really need a dozen screwdrivers? And all those gas-powered tools — leaf blower, power washer — I can’t start those things. I’m on a quest to clean out, sell and shop for battery-powered tools.

Little decisions can come easy; major ones can be different — like the Minnesota cabin where we vacationed for over 40 years. The memories are overwhelming when I go there. If Mike were here, we’d spend the entire summer at the cabin. Somehow that’s not for me. So I made the decision to put it on short term rental which I’ve learned is quite a process. At least if one wants it done right.

So I formed an LLC, hired a management company and, with the help of my daughter, made the property “guest-ready” which meant removing personal items like pictures and generally getting the mind set of letting someone else live in my space. I hope Mike would agree with my decision.

Life is full of transitions, and I’m in the middle of a big one. It’s hard to believe it will soon be the second anniversary. I think I’m living a pretty full life, but it’s still a struggle at times. This past weekend was Memorial Day, and last night as I watched the special on PBS I wept — for the stories of the fallen soldiers and the loss of my dear husband.

I stumble through getting accustomed to this solo life, making my home, my life really mine. And, surprisingly, sometimes it’s actually quite nice. Five years ago Mike purchased something that I’d wanted for so long — a baby grand piano. It’s absolutely wonderful, and I play it everyday. If Mike were here, he’d never discourage me from playing, but I know I wouldn’t play it nearly so much because it’s in a room adjacent to the tv room.

But it’s time to move on — from we to me. And I think Mike would say, “Play on, Kate, play on.”