©iStockphoto.com/Jalo Porkkala
My first holiday season
alone as a young widow was excruciatingly painful.
I wasn’t ready to date yet, but a part of me yearned
to spend some platonic non-threatening time with an
available man who was not my dad, my brother or my
bishop.
My first attempt had
failed miserably. I had run into Mark, an old friend
of mine, still unattached, who served in the bishopric
of a singles ward. When he found out I had lost my
husband, he had written down the information about
the ward and had invited me to visit some time. I
took him up on the offer a few weeks later.
He sat next to me in
Sunday school, helped entertain my little boy, and
on impulse, I invited him to help us get a Christmas
tree and decorate it. He responded by asking me if
I had home teachers. (Perhaps I hadn’t brushed up
on my flirting abilities enough so that he could tell
it was a social invitation.)
His response sent me
to an empty classroom in tears, angered at the fact
that he didn’t realize that I didn’t want or need
another opportunity to be the ward service project.
It was all I could do to sit through his closing announcement
in Sacrament Meeting. “The holidays are approaching,
so be sensitive to those around you who are lonely...”
I didn’t visit his singles’
ward again. I wasn’t going to bother my home teachers,
one of whom had a wife who seemed suspicious of my
motives in the occasional calls to her husband. Hurt
and humiliated by that, I was doing my best to handle
things on my own, short a major catastrophe.
I bought a little Charlie
Brown Christmas tree, small enough to fit in my car.
Little Scotty fell asleep while I was decorating it,
so I put him to bed and I finished decorating alone.
The television was on, mostly to have the sound of
voices in the room.
Done with the tree, I
had plopped down on the sofa and was watching whatever
was on. I knew I was beyond lonely because earlier
in the week while having dental work done, I had thought
about how nice it was to have a man touch my face.
Now that’s lonely!
I was startled from my
indentation in the sofa by the phone ringing. When
I picked up, I heard a deep masculine voice say, “Sorry
I’m running late. Turn down the lights, and put another
log on the fire. I’ve got a movie, a pizza, a bouquet
of flowers and I’m on the way over.”
I paused for just a moment
and then replied, “If I tell you you’ve got a wrong
number, does that mean you’re not coming over?”
In my book, Unfinished
Business, there is a scene where Beverly, the
young widow, tries to lure her neighbor, who is delivering
treats, inside for a visit. For those who know me
or even know of me, it is easy to see that there is
much of me in this character.
Beverly tries to invite
her in for a visit, but Sister Richter will not be
deterred from her appointed rounds. She is on the
fudge delivery circuit. “Neither hail nor snow nor
dead of night. The fudge must go through.”
“I can’t really come
in right now, but thanks for asking.”
Thanks for asking?
I wasn’t asking for you. I was asking for me.
Whenever I watch Mr.
Krueger’s Christmas, I always tear up a little
bit at the scene where he tries to lure the carolers
inside with hot chocolate, because I know how it feels
to be that lonely.
Imagine how lonely you
have to be to try to flirt with someone on the other
end of a wrong number.
Imagine what it feels
like to be the older single sibling at the family
gathering watching spouses nuzzle and give each other
gifts.
Imagine dropping off
the kids at your ex-husband’s home because it is his
year to have them and driving home to spend Christmas
alone.
Further imagine receiving
a sympathy invitation to enjoy Christmas dinner with
him and his new wife and your kids.
Imagine what it feels
like to be told you shouldn’t mind working on Thanksgiving
and Christmas because “you don’t have a family and
don’t really need the time off as much as those of
us who are married.”
Imagine watching your
engaged roommate go off to plan her wedding while
you sit home dateless yet another Friday night.
Imagine how it feels
to sit crying lignon-free tears (for all you scrapbookers
out there) onto a photo album visiting Christmases
Past after a beloved spouse has died.
Imagine buying yourself
a gift from your dog and putting it under the tree,
because you’re not sure anyone else will remember
you.
This is Your Life
Listening to free performances
on Friday evenings of Bosco’s One-Man Band on the
Kona Boardwalk was a popular date night stop for my
husband, Thom and his late wife, also Susan. A few
months after she died, he found himself wandering
along the waterfront and decided to sit down and listen
to Bosco for a few minutes.
As he drew closer, he
saw two elderly single brothers from church, each
sitting by himself in opposite corners at the rear
of the crowd. He later described how hard that observation
hit him. This is it, then? This is my future,
hanging out by myself every Friday night, watching
Bosco, tapping my feet, trying not to die of terminal
loneliness.
Doing it All
For a single parent,
the one-man band is an accurate description. With
a variety of instruments strapped to his body, he
juggles a job, household duties and maintenance, tackles
school issues, alternates between being the disciplinarian
and the understanding parent (hoping he — or she —
is being the right one at the right time), takes care
of finances, and performs a myriad of other tasks.
Horn in this hand, harmonica
in the other, stomp on the foot pedal to clap the
drums. Fall into bed exhausted at the end of the day
and rise in the morning to try and do it all over
again. “Divide and conquer” is no longer possible
and only applies when it is the children now playing
their parents one against the other.
Whether widowed, divorced
or never having been married, the holidays are a time
when families come together and a single person can
feel like “The Little Match Girl” with her face pressed
against the window of the home of The Happy Family,
watching from the cold, wondering what that warm fire
inside feels like.
A few years ago, a divorced
friend greeted me at a holiday singles party with,
“Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys.” The holidays
can be a difficult time, a time when people who are
alone are more prone to depression and discouragement.
I asked a few Meridian readers who are single to share
some of their experiences. I am grateful to those
who responded, and I share some of those here. I
found a common thread through these stories, a spirit
of resilience, and a sense of relying on the Lord
in a way they never had before. I share these stories
in hopes that we will all remember to look around
us for “the hands that hang down” (perhaps because
no one else is holding them), those who may need a
little extra love, some hugs, and some company that
does not come in the form of a blind date.
Feeling Uplifted instead
of Broken
A single sister shares
an experience that not only helped her, but also benefited
a ward:
