The Sins of a Troglodyte, or…, “How I Learned That the Sun Doesn’t Shine On a Cave Dweller”
Recently, like many of the widowed, I struggled through the gray days of winter spending a great deal of time inside my house. I like to pretend (lie) that the reasons for doing so are mostly because of the lousy weather and that I was too busy working on the house to bother with outdoor activities. Also, all of the chronically disease infested rug-rats in my neighborhood strain my already challenged immune system (and my patience) so I thought it best to mostly avoid them. Or more accurately, for them to avoid me since I’ve been known to bite when aggravated.
But that’s not really the truth about why I stayed home so much — except the kids thing, that’s kind of real…, lol.
No, the truth is I just didn’t feel like spending much time with people. Call it seasonal depression, the blues, melancholia, whatever, but it’s really just the widowed thing getting the best of me. I did spend some quality time with a few people, art galleries and some dinners with one good friend (she’s a good friend, me not so much), visited with my local family a bit, and of course did the minimum activities needed to survive. Grocery stores on Friday nights are my thing since they’re largely empty at the time. Still, when the Widowed Blues hit me hard this winter, I just needed quiet time…, a lot of quiet time.
And as the author and psychotherapist Megan Devine says ‘It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay’ (Amazon, $11.52 paperback — I’m a fan). In my case what that means is that if I’m not feeling all that great about hanging out with anyone, it’s okay if I decide not to. Grief does screwy things to our heads and often we just need our own space to really work things out. Better that than subjecting someone to my oddities of the moment. For the widowed, having someone insist that we ‘just get out of the house and talk to someone’ isn’t always a solution for what ails us. Oh, it might actually make us feel a little better for a while, but more likely we’re just kicking our grief down the road a bit. Soon enough we’ll come upon it again — or it comes back to us on its own accord.
So, I learned a long time ago that when I’m ‘in a dark place’ I just need to allow myself to be there without self-punishment for being a shut-in. Instead, I’ll retreat to only engaging with people on a carefully selected basis employing a complicated set of arcane and esoteric rules known only to me and subject to the whims and desires of whatever emotions are dominated by the stars and planets and weather.
This amounts to: If I feel like it, okay, maybe. We’ll see…, probably not.
There are exceptions of course. First and foremost is any medical or other therapist I’m seeing. Mental, physical, chiropractor, spiritual, masseuse, Yoga instructor, neurosurgeon, acupuncturist, Zen master…, whatever. Those are appointments and I keep my appointments. Besides, my shrink (yes, I know, they hate that) lets me ramble on about anything while also giving me some unbiased feedback — always a good thing. Still, those appointments aren’t very often so it’s relatively easy to pull myself together long enough to get poked or prodded by someone not trying to solve my grief issues. Although deep tissue massages make me cry…, kidding but not much. She’s great but brutal, ferocious even. Oddly, most of my therapist are women. I find it interesting that therapy is the only time I have a woman touch me intimately these days…, physically or mentally, lol.
Of course, there are the everyday people I encounter regardless of how much I try not to. The grocery store clerk, the auto mechanic, the dry-cleaning lady, the postal carrier. These are also people who pose no threat to me. They’re not engaged with my grief, and they have no interest in doing so. Heck, they barely know me and only as a customer. I find mild enjoyment in those brief conversations, always ending with ‘Have a nice day!’. The fact that I may not be having a nice day is irrelevant to them, they’re still going to say it. I know it’s meaningless, but that’s the point. It’s harmless, and it allows me to engage in human contact without fear of me becoming a complete asshole — or having some other type of meltdown. I take it as a small victory each time I run an errand and have a normal, healthy but inconsequential interaction with another human being.
Of course, I’m far enough along in my grief process (4 years last month) that I always look and sound normal to non-widowed people (“Norms”). That’s largely because of the skills I’ve learned about how to ‘carry’ my grief…, and my exceptional acting abilities. Broadway and Hollywood actors are high school amateurs compared to the widow who is going about her life seemingly oblivious to pain and suffering. If you want to see an Oscar level performance, watch a veteran widowed person during a large gathering of old friends and family. They smile and laugh and joke, they engage and chat and talk. And they’re always eager to help. Meanwhile, in the back of their mind there’s a little voice saying ‘God, just let me get through this’. Skills…, we’ve got skills.
But even the best of us, the ones seen as ‘doing well’ or at least okay…, we have our moments. The holiday season usually kicks it off for many of us. Trigger events all the damn time. Shopping, planning family get togethers, seeing other happy couples. From Halloween to Valentine’s Day it’s just one constant reminder that we’re widowed. In that same 4 month window I throw in my wife’s birthday (November 2) and the day she passed (February 6). And of course, during all of that there’s less sunlight, longer cold nights, and more cloudy days. My dosage of Vitamin D (the ‘sunshine vitamin’) goes up considerably during the winter months.
For me just getting through the season without getting seriously ill is a major accomplishment. I did have a cold in early/mid December but it wasn’t so bad. Since then, nothing. I attribute that to avoiding people — and daily showers…, with soap. Hey, whatever works. I’m not ‘dating’ in any formal sense, so there’s no danger of exchanging intimate body fluids with someone. I don’t have any pets, so Bird Flu or distemper is unlikely. Of course, there are downsides to all of that. My ‘cave dweller’ syndrome emerges and then dominates my behavior. I’ve always had a little bit of cave dweller in me. I’m perfectly fine spending an entire weekend indoors — it’s a skill long perfected from my days in the military. Back then it was ‘decompression’ time spent as ‘barracks rats’ which we needed before being exposed to civilians again. In the widowed world, ‘Norms’ are ‘civilians’. They are not widowed/combat veterans, so they really don’t understand.
Too much cave dwelling, however, can be detrimental to our health. The trick is to notice the signs and symptoms of ‘too much alone time’. If you’re legs are feeling a little numb even though all you’ve done is sit around watching TV or surf the internet instead of going to the gym…, then you’ve spent too much time indoors doing nothing. If you’re an old white guy like me and your skin is now a sick shade of pale green even on your face…, yeah, you’ve spent too much time indoors. If you’ve called the cops because you saw a stranger next door only to discover the neighbors moved out two months ago…, then you’ve disengaged a bit too much. If you’ve discovered your car won’t start because the battery died after several weeks of not being driven…, then you’ve got to stop using home delivery as an option for everything you buy — including food. And if you find that you’ve finished binge watching every decent Netflix/HBO/PBS series and are now subjecting yourself to episodes of “Cavemen, Season 1” (really, just don’t)…, you’ve been alone too much.
It’s okay to be alone now and then. We often need alone time to get our head together, to work something out without contamination from the biases of other people, maybe even to touch a part of our minds that we prefer to stay away from. That’s all okay. But…, ah, you knew there was a ‘but’ coming along here…, it’s also okay to decide not to be alone. Even trolls and ogre’s come out from under the bridge and engage the public now and then…, so you can too. Since we’re not monsters (despite often feeling like that) doing so as a cave dweller is a piece of cake. All you have to do is remember two simple rules:
1. Full engagement with other humans is not actually required.
2. If engagement occurs, be civilized. If this is not possible, return to rule 1.
In other words…, just keep it simple.
And now it’s March. Spring is just around the corner. St. Patrick’s Day is about to be celebrated…, vigorously and with green beer. Bagpipe music is soon to be heard throughout the land. The sun is up a little earlier, the cold is tapering off a little bit, the worst of winter is behind us (yeah, most of us, Alaska and the northern tier states have a ways to go but still…). Soon there will be birds singing, flowers blooming, and bee’s buzzing. So, go outside a little bit, it won’t hurt. Look up at the sun (not directly, don’t be an idiot). Take a short walk. Don’t worry…, the cave is still there…, and you can go back in soon if you want. But try being outside for a little bit. Remember, you can do anything for 10 minutes. Keep telling yourself that. Just get through 10 minutes outside. Sometimes it’s amazing how long 10 minutes can last…
Good Luck,
The Merry Widower
