THE NEW ALONE

It’s not about grief but the new ‘Alone’. You ache for the one who was your dearest friend. Someone to talk to – sometimes a simple, single word. The human warmth just never far away, a touch if needed, the gentle, loving, strong and clever hands. A breathing next to you in bed.

We wonder how our lives will end. Warren certainly did. Well now we know about his ending and so does he, I hope. The layers of a life and its relationships are built on a multitude of experiences. A couple is a singular noun whose definition is ‘two people’. As couples we gather friends, friends who are couples. What happens when one of you dies? Are you half a couple? I actually think you are for a while, but now I must become a whole single person – adequate enough to fill the place in society where the couple was. Like a spoon of thick cream taken out of the pot, the indentation will gradually smooth over. But not in my quiet moments of missing him – in a song whose lyrics rip your heart open, in picking up his riding gloves that still have the shape of his hands in them, the socks tucked into his shoes from his last mountain bike ride. Going through papers in the office and coming across his rainfall chart filled in with the diligence only a farmer has for such a thing. Rummaging through the linen press for a pair of single bed sheets when planning a weekend away.

It’s comfortable having a partner – especially one you’ve had for 54 years. Someone to do the driving. He was never happier than when behind the wheel. I was more than content as passenger, navigator, photographer. Now it’s me who checks the oil, water, tyre pressure, washes the car. I felt safe with him in the outback, secure in the knowledge that if something went wrong with the car he could fix it.

He taught me courage. I thought I’d done everything I needed courage for, thought the rest of my life would be cruising. But here I am managing our business alone, driving into the hills alone, preparing campsites for our Youcamp guests alone, coffee in cafes alone, friends in alone, friends out alone. Millions of people are single, I know, but for now it’s like losing a limb, and more of course.

Animals can bring on raw emotions. His dogs miss him terribly. You wonder if they understand. Someone suggested taking them to his grave and explaining it to them there. Our two kelpies would get it then I reckon. I’m going to do it. I’ll let you know.

Music as always is my saviour. Having Dylan playing all day is like having a friend in the house. He was so familiar to both of us. Listening to him is like reading poetry on the go – as dear and comforting as it gets. Every now and then a song pops up and wrenches your heart out with its pathos. Today it was ‘Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise,’ by the Modern Jazz Quartet.

Now it’s time to get on with my life. Keeping my calendar full is vital for my sanity. It would be easy to be really alone, but people are like gold – each one intricate, interesting. And for a writer the source of countless, wondrous stories.

I took two of my girlfriends on a day trip to the Seven Hills Winery and Jesuit monastery a few days ago. It had been on my list of places to visit for a while. My next writing foray will be into fiction. Still waiting for inspiration but something has been nagging about a setting such as this – a spiritual place of old stone, with secret caches and corridors – a place of worship, and chanting voices ringing to the rafters. Young monks actually trained here at Seven Hills. Lived in. What stories within the walls of their dorms? A place without women. What characters would I conjure? I’d need a female. Perhaps a widow working her neighbouring farm. I know about this.

Jazz is a music genre that has always been dear to my heart. Growing up with it in the fifties was where it began. I don’t remember hearing it on the radio, and we didn’t have a radiogram or records, but in our house, the jazz was home-made. My father played saxophone and my mother sang – all the popular jazz standards of the day. My parents were romantics and their music was so beautiful. The music conjures up images of two people in love, candle light, an open fire. Recently I organised with my sister and her partner to go to the Goolwa Jazz Festival. We booked a holiday house near the sea and on the Saturday afternoon and evening were treated to the music of several different jazz bands. It wasn’t polished or perfect. It felt like sitting in on private jam sessions. I was enthralled with seeing and hearing how the music was made and tweaked as the musicians talked amongst themselves about the sound as they went. No sound desk or checks before starting. Pretty organic, and totally enthralling.

I will share with you more of my life moving forward and how it impacts on my writing. I have been so grateful for the feed back from those of you who have read my memoir ‘So Big The Land’. And your asking when the next book is coming out keeps me on my toes. Not that I need whipping. Writing is my happy place. I was delighted to learn that the Kindle version of the memoir has been on Amazon’s best seller list recently.

It’s been amazingly time consuming getting used to my new life, so many things to do that Warren used to. But until I begin my next serious literary work, the blogs keep my hand in. Thanks for reading. Talk soon.

Sue

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Warren tending sheep during dry summer. My job now.