Monday, 12 September 2016

I'm Not Alone All The Time

I was alone at home all day yesterday, without human interaction. I did post notes on Facebook and Twitter. Plus I called my Mom and spoke to Kate on the phone yesterday, but I don't count electronic communication as a form of human interaction. My first thoughts about a day like this revolved around how I was lonely; certainly losing Katherine has made a hole in my life. Then I stopped for a moment to think about how rude and unkind I was being to the many people who work very hard to make sure I am not alone, nor lonely.

Just the day before, Mike invited me out to a dinner theatre event. This was not free for him, not even close. These tickets cost money and yet he asked for nothing from me but that I enjoy myself. I did, terrifically. He even sat me with someone I worked with at the CBE, someone with whom I have socialized over the years, and years it is. Loralei and I met in May of 2010, when I first started my first project with the CBE. This seating arrangement guaranteed I had someone with me who could talk about our past, her present, and anything but ALS.

To complain about being lonely and all alone is to insult friends like Bobbi and Dion, who are regularly in touch with me, dropping by often just to make sure I am all right. In fact the other night Bobbi came here on her way from from another social event just to help me put the fitted sheet onto by bed. Dion regularly comes by to check up on me or help me fix things around the house. David came over just last Monday, a week ago now but still not in the distant past, and spent his afternoon cleaning my spare room.

To complain about being lonely and all alone is to deny the great gifts of friends who ask me out, who take me out, like Anna who checks to see if I want to go for a beer at Milestones in the mall across the street, or Dan and Emily who arrange movie tickets and take me to the movies, or Emma who invites me to dinner at her place just to be sure I am eating vegetables.

To complain about being lonely and all alone is to deny the many others who make themselves an active part of my life, people who are always here when I call, people like Anne and Tonny and Andrea and Elizabeth and Dan and Anisa and, and, and, and. Then there is Kate, without whom I would simply be lost.

I admit it. I need attention. I need someone around me a lot of the time. I get to feeling lonely and alone very easily. It's a function of both my personality and this damned disease. When I am alone, I think about things, never a good idea with ALS, unless you can think about positive things, something difficult for me when I am alone. When I am alone, I miss the physical human contact of someone curled up next to me on the couch while we watch a movie. I miss the intimate conversation, the quiet company, the helping hand.

I don't like being alone. Thankfully it happens a lot less that I let on.

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