Losing a spouse is always a most difficult time for the surviving spouse. I know different survivors experience different emotions, but I also believe there are a lot of similarities. I can really only speak accurately about my own feelings, so I’ll stick to those.

For me, after sixty-one years of a loving marriage, every minute without her is a trial. But I’m finding that late afternoon, after I come home from a few hours of “gophering,” is the hardest part of the day. You know. Go for this. Go for that. Groceries and such.

When I used to walk in the door, I would always say a loud “Hello.” I always got a pleasant “Hi there” from milady. Today, I got silence. Ouch.

I would usually follow that with commentary. Traffic. Weather. People. Something about my shopping experience. There was always an empathetic give and take. Today, again, silence. Dammit, that’s hard.

Our conversations would usually continue through the evening. Usually, I was the one who ran his mouth the most. Marjorie was a much better listener than me.

Friends tell me, “Oh, you can call someone.” Who??

My kids? I’m supposed to be the family member comforting them. Besides, the last thing I need is a “You should” from any of them.

Friends? Hell, when I thought I was close to my end a few years back, I couldn’t even come up with six friends to be my pall bearers. Who really wants to hear me bitch about my day by myself in Charleston?

I usually come up with a goose egg when I try to think of someone who would just love to hear me complain about the quiet. My kids know I’m not good at asking for help. Marjorie knew that best of all. With her, I never had to ask.

So I turn on the TV. The news pisses me off. The crime shows are repetitive and dark. So music it is. And maybe writing a little something for the blog.

Here’s something I didn’t fully understand before. When friends or relatives lost their spouses and seemed to withdraw a bit, or said afternoons were especially hard, I didn’t really get it. I do now. There are certain times of day when the loss sneaks up on you. When the routines you’ve lived with for decades suddenly turn on you and remind you what’s missing.

I miss her all the time. But that moment in the late afternoon, walking into a quiet house, really stands out.

Did I convince anyone to text or call me some afternoon? I hope so. If this sounds familiar to you, you’re not alone. And if you know someone who might be walking into a quiet house today, maybe give them a call. Even a short one.

Just a short post today.

Now I think I’ll get me a tiny drink of something.

Enuf.