I knew for two years — from the moment I saw images from his colonoscopy scans — that my husband Rich was going to die. So 10 months after we buried him, it’s the silence that has surprised me more than the loss.
I expected the house to be quiet. I knew I would no longer hear him shuffle into the kitchen to make his tea in the morning, or keep me company with stories about the latest book he was reading. That silence, I had prepared for. The silence I didn’t expect was from other people.
I can count on two hands the number of phone calls I’ve received in the past year — roughly one a month. That level of loneliness is unbearable. To be fair, I’ve received hundreds of texts over the last 2 years and 10 months, from Rich’s initial diagnosis to his death. But when I receive a text message asking, “How are you?” I never know how to answer.
It is an impossible question when your person has died. How could I possibly express my broken heart and loneliness with my texting thumbs?
I regularly hear the ding of a text that says, “Thinking of you.” And then… nothing. No way to hear the care or concern in someone’s voice. No space to feel accompanied.
