Coming Home To An Empty House

                                                                              

For 25 years I have been coming home to an empty house. It is not always easy, especially in these anxious times, but it is a great deal easier than it used to be.

At some point in our lives most of us will live for a time on our own. Whatever the circumstances, the challenge remains the same: You are alone for the first time in many years, struggling with wrenching loss and loneliness.  Some of this brings you to your knees. Nonetheless here you are and it’s not going to change. This is your new life and you know that you are going to have to learn how to live it, even to live it well. Some of us adapt more easily than others, but all of us need to adapt.

       I was married, then divorced. My kids went to college and suddenly—or so it seemed—I was living alone. 

       Memories of those early years by myself remain sharp as tacks. I remember the harsh scrape of my solitary dinner fork against the plate. I remember wishbones that grew brittle and white on the windowsill, the howl of wind and thunderstorms that drove me under the covers wishing for a hand to hold.

       In the winter of that first year alone, on a bitter, blustery morning, barefoot, wearing only my bathrobe, I went out on the porch of my newly rented house to get the paper. The wind caught the front door and slammed it shut locking me out. Assaulted by wind, my feet freezing, I raced along the road to the one house I knew was inhabited. I was living, then, in a summertime place only sparsely peopled in winter. My neighbor, also in her bathrobe, let me in and gave me coffee. Her husband phoned the locksmith. Since that day I have kept a duplicate front door key hidden outside my house.

In those first few years I developed a routine for my return home from a trip. I would check my answering machine hoping for a friendly voice welcoming me home then I would “circle” the downstairs, checking it out, much in the way a dog sniffs out an area in ever decreasing circumference until the central spot seems right and the dog plops down.

Sounds bizarre? Maybe so, but here’s the point: We need to notice what makes us comfortable so that we can take care of ourselves. Whatever we do, however we create it, especially if we are on our own, we need to feel that our empty house is a comforting nest, and a sanctuary.

 Our home alone needs a welcoming interior.  For me that means softness: soft chairs, soft colors, pillows and a throw blanket on the couch. This may be the time that your favorite bright poster gets a terrific frame and center stage in the room where you hang out. Surrounding myself with family in the way that I can, I have pictures of my children and grandchildren in almost every room. For many of us music is essential, not just the radio droning on, making sound to fill silence, but music we have chosen because we love it.

What surround provides  healing and comfort for you?

Most of us understand about creating physical safety for ourselves: locks that have bolts, alarm systems that include fire alarms, outdoor sensor lights. Physical safety is easier to arrange if you live in a condominium or an apartment. Do you have a lamp that is on a timer so that you don’t have to enter a completely empty and dark house? Not only is that a good safety measure, but also it is welcoming to come home to a house that is lit.

          We need neighbors who know us and who are aware of our comings and goings. Many of us are shy about getting to know our neighbors, to say nothing of asking them to keep an eye on us. We need to just do it! When the power goes out in my neighborhood I have a neighbor who unfailingly calls to see that I am all right. He has my gratitude forever.

        Who remembers exactly when anyone, even members of our family are doing anything? I know I don’t. No longer leaving it to chance, I make sure my friend, Margaret, who is also on her own, knows when I am returning from a trip. She leaves a message on my tape welcoming me home and I do the same for her.

Over many years, my house—now a condominium--has become entirely my own, not a place that is missing someone else. It takes some time and thought to discover what makes us feel safe and comfortable, but our empty house, however large or small, should be a snug, safe harbor that welcomes us home.

                                        ***

I wrote the original of this piece in 2005--a long time ago. As I see what is happening in my age group now--so much loss!-- I think the piece is more relevant than ever.