Disconnected

I reported for jury duty a couple weeks ago. It’s probably my tenth time in the past 45 years since I was first summoned in my early twenties. However, this was the first time I’ve served that we were allowed to bring cell phones into the courthouse. Quite a perk!

Other years, I was in no-contact status with the world while waiting in the holding room, so it was nice to be able to text others. Except, there wasn’t really anyone I wanted to bother with my trivial thoughts. I didn’t feel like interrupting people with boring status updates since my friends and family are so busy with lives of their own. But it did make me think back to a time when it was normal to text one significant other throughout my day.

That’s one thing I’m still not quite used to after all these years. Being completely alone in a world where I used to be connected to one special person. It used to be nice to be joined to someone, tethered to another person who cared.

But since Rick died, I’m out here in the world alone. And that morning waiting with all the other potential jurors who were quietly tapping away to significant others on their cell phone keyboards, I felt disconnected.

When Rick was alive (once mobile devices were invented a few years into our marriage), we were in nearly constant contact. Just little texts throughout the day, check-ins telling each other where we were or what we were up to. He’d ask me how work was going. I’d ask him to pick up something from the store. He’d ask about my lunch plans. I’d tell him if something odd or fun happened at work. We kept in touch all throughout the day.

In fact, when we were apart, we were rarely out of touch with each other until we were finally back together again.

I don’t notice this lack of a partner too often anymore, but in the boredom of that morning in the waiting room, with not much else to occupy my mind, the void was loud. There is no one who cares about the minutiae of my day any more. No one to ask me – Did you make it there okay? How was parking? No one for me to tell, Hey, they’re playing Shrek 2 again this year, or It’s almost break time.

I, alone, got excited when they called names and passed the “P’s” in the alphabetical list. I had no one connected on the other end to notify, and just before noon, I had no one to tell, Hey! I’m on my way home already! That was quick! See you soon.

It’s just me now.

Of course, no man (or woman) is an island. I have loved ones and friends I can text, and we keep in touch often within quite a few group text windows that contain some ongoing chatter, but most of the others in those chat windows have their own significant other or a nuclear family group. And, while I know they care about me, I don’t have that special someone I’m connected to, almost telepathically. That one person who cares about each step of my day, each little insignificant thought I care to share.

Most of my days are pretty full, and I don’t often notice how “single” I feel anymore. It’s just how life is and has been for quite a few years now. And other years on jury duty, when phones weren’t allowed, I had no way to contact Rick – but having the phone with me this year made me remember how odd that used to feel when we were unable to stay in contact for those few hours. It made me feel adrift in a way. Separated from my moorings. So this time, as I sat in the jury duty holding area, it was more noticeable that I had the ability to text him, but he wasn’t home waiting to hear from me.

The timing is funny. I’m on a six month dating hiatus because I decided I was tired of dating and that I’m happy on my own. I’ve been enjoying my independence, and I have so much going on in my life that I haven’t been tempted to “merge” with another. I was totally focused on publishing my recent book, and have been immersed in pursuing my own interests without the interruption dating brings to my routine.

But on that recent morning alone with my thoughts in that courthouse, I remembered how pleasant it was to be connected, and how much I miss having a special someone in my life. Maybe it’s time to get back out into the dating scene and attempt to get reconnected.

About Katherine Billings-Palmer

On August 13, 2017, I lost the love of my life. Rick Palmer and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary one month before he died at age 63 of complications from treatments for small cell lung cancer. He was my partner and soulmate, the love I had been looking for and finally found at age 40.

Rick was a talented writer and web designer and, in 2002, we began our own web and print design business. We worked together building the business and enjoyed traveling, writing, and playing together. Our dream was to spend our golden years together doing more of the same, but in the ten months from diagnosis to death, that dream shattered.

After Rick’s death, I quickly realized that the enormity of his loss was too much for me to handle on my own, so I began grief therapy. I also began writing through my grief in a journal of feelings, thoughts, memories, and poetry. As I navigate my new life alone, I share my journey and my efforts towards creating my “new normal” on my personal blog: The Writing Widow. I’m also on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

I recently published two books about my grief journey: my poetry book, I Wanted to Grow Old With You: A Widow's First Year of Grief in Poetry, and compilation of my blog posts A Widow's Words: Grief, Reflection, Prose, and Poetry - The First Year." Both books are available in print and Kindle versions on Amazon.com.