When I was nine I fell ice skating and broke my wrist. It was at a busy public rink a mile from my house, but I told no one, somehow got my skates off, and walked home.

My dad took a look at my lumpy wrist, bones clearly askew, and said to my mom, “We’d better get her to the hospital.” On hearing the word ‘hospital’, my little brother fainted, thereby giving me a story I never got tired of telling on my brother.

It was January 23, a date that became a kind of milestone in each year, a day that I privately noted without fail. That broken wrist healed predictably in a few weeks, helped along in the beginning with chicken noodle soup and me swaddled in blankets on the couch, the things mothers do for their injured pups.

It turns out that broken wrist was the trauma of my childhood. Knowing the terrible things that many children suffer, mine seems embarrassingly insignificant. Yet, it’s mine, and as I’ve learned so starkly over the past two years, people respond to trauma differently. I can only say how it is for me.

So somehow it’s fitting that Wally died in January, the 29th to be exact, exactly two years ago. It’s laid another pall over the month, given a character to this time of year the way the promise of a fragrant April day sets me dancing, or the smell of burning leaves in October conjures up high school football games. My January now ends in a cliff, an abyss that there’s no stepping back from.

The dreaded anniversary. Those of us in this club – oh yes, that’s what it is, a club of the widowed – know what I’m talking about. This annual revisiting of the worst days of our lives. And yes, everyone does this in their own way, some relentlessly reliving those days, frozen memories that become the story they tell themselves over and over, while others, out of self-preservation I suspect, have only a hazy memory of how it all played out. They purposely don’t go there. I’m one of those.

So what’s it like after two years? I thought about that in the beginning, wondered if I’d ever feel normal again, be myself again.

No and no. Normal has gone away, if that means the rhythm of our days, the pleasant give and take of an old marriage. We knew each other’s tender spots, the places not to go. Where he was needy, I gave; where I was, he did. Sleeping spoon-like, when one was ready to turn over the other obliged, neither of us waking.

Nothing needed explanation. The most obscure reference to an event, to a person, a joke, a sadness even from years ago, and the other got it. We’d lived every day of our lives in tandem since the morning in 1967 when we met over coffee at my kitchen table in St. George, dodging the seeds my canary kicked out.

Be myself again? She’s gone, that self that was half of us. She curled up and died too that night, went right out the window with Wally, the window we’d left open for his soul to depart.

But all is not, was not lost. And that’s the hard work of grieving. Building a new self, a person who has to learn how to live alone, to spend whole days and nights in her own company is every bit as challenging as building the original relationship, almost as hard as the work of marriage.

And in some ways, just as much fun.

Strictly speaking, I don’t live alone. A lively family of five occupy the upstairs of my house, and that means occasional early morning visits from a grandson or a glass of wine with a D-I-L after work. A wood fairy must be somewhere in that mix because my woodboxes seem to fill up automatically. But even on the days when we don’t cross paths, I hear their footsteps, come home after dark to a lighted upstairs. We live so close that when my son upstairs orders Alexa to play a song, my Alexa responds.

But loneliness has little to do with whether you have human bodies around you. When half of you has departed, it seems that no one else can fill that void. A roomful of people, even your own family, don’t touch the loneliness.

Hardest are the days that come unbidden when the bottom drops out. I’m told it can go on for years, the days when you wake up empty, when the day looms ahead with no sign of respite. The choice is between staying under the covers or slogging through the hours. I always choose to slog; the tears that I thought I was done with come back, and nothing seems appealing.

Building – maybe developing is a better word ­– that new self doesn’t mean becoming a solitary soul. Along the way many of us in the club (remember the club?) learn how to make room for another relationship, to let someone else in. They’re taken by surprise that such a thing could happen in the midst of mourning. But it does, more often than you’d think.

And if, as sometimes happens, you’ve found another member of the club, then you’re both in the same spot. Learning how to live contentedly, enjoying each other, even without that lifetime partner who was the love of your life.

Note: The 52 columns written in the year after Wally’s death are now collected in a book, Half of Every Couple: when death ends marriage. It’s available online as either a print book or an ebook. I also have copies at Sleepy Hollow, 217 Beach Road.

Town

David Kinney, our town administrator, writes via the LBB that that the Northport Village Association is seeking a part-time Office Manager.The Northport Village Corporation is seeking a self-motivated individual to serve as our office manager. The office location is in the Town of Northport, in the Village of Bayside. If interested contact them; the deadline for applications is no later than February 8, 2019.

Lincolnville Central School

An Eighth Grade Course Registration Informational Meeting with the High School Guidance Director, Jeremy Marks, will be held on Tuesday, January 29 from 5:30-7 p.m. in the Walsh Common here at LCS. Before the meeting, at 5:30, a meal will be provided for students and their family members. The informational session will begin promptly at 6.

Save the Date for the PTO Pizza fund-raising night, Tuesday, February 5 at Flatbread Pizza in Rockport. Part of the proceeds of that night’s sales will go to the LCS Parent Teacher Organization.

School Secretary Marie Pierce needs mittens and gloves for kids to borrow while at school. If you have extras lying around bring them out to the school and drop them off with Marie in the office.

Library

Sheila Polson has started opening the Library on some Monday mornings for anyone looking for a nice quiet place to work for a few hours. That includes this Monday, between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m. 

“We’re offering this time when the library is not usually open so that there will not be any distractions. Our computers will be available to use or you may bring your own and take advantage of our free high-speed internet service. And it’s fine to come for part or all of the time. 

“Feel free to email with any questions. The library is an especially bright and comfortable place to be on these winter days!”

Librarian Elizabeth Eudy writes: “January has a BONUS TUESDAY! The Knitting & Needlework Group will be taking advantage of this extra opportunity to gather from 4-6 on Tuesday, January 29. They welcome newcomers to the table and all needle crafts are encouraged—crochet, felting, needlepoint. Bring your project, we provide the hot tea and the laughter.

“On Friday, February 1 we welcome Jessica Day to lead Family Music Time at 11:00. Children (infants to 5 years of age) and their families are invited to sing, dance and play simple instruments at this fun and lively event. This free program is offered at our library every first Friday of the month.

“PREVIEW!!! MARK YOUR CALENDARS! We have two Wednesday night programs scheduled for February: On Wednesday, February 6, Sandie Sabaka of Hope will share her experiences and photos of a trip to the Azores and Canary Islands. And on Wednesday, February 13, Lincolnville’s own Diane O’Brien will be talking about her recent publication Half of Every Couple. More details about these presentations will follow.”

Red Cross Blood Drive

The Red Cross will be at the Community Building, 18 Searsmont Road, on Monday, February 11, 10 a.m.–3 p.m. for a blood drive. To schedule an appointment call 800-733-2767 or visit their website redcrossblood.org and enter Lincolnville CB. Walk-ins are welcome too!