I found myself deeply moved by a friend's comment to my blog post, my small town america. She wrote:
the contrast to my city "neighborhood" where all the children on the block go to different private schools—chauffeured each morning in (too many) cars.
barely a wave as we pass headed to our educational philosophy of choice. the homework piled on the kids who don't go to our school keeps them indoors after school. it's either that or video games, neither of which mine had until high school.
I write a note to each new family that moves in—three this year—all with kids. I introduce myself, my kids, their ages and extend and invitation to tea. I have gotten NO response. 0 for 3.
it's monday. i had the same feeling of relief this morning dropping Lydia off as you did when you saw the school bus.
but instead of a walk to exchange greetings and friendship with neighbors, I am back in my house, hunched over this computer where true friends seem to live, most of whom i have never met, face to face.
I have 3 real life friends post epilepsy apocalypse.
i used to have so many friends that my husband called it my hobby.
it turned out that it was just that, MY hobby. As soon as I no longer had the time to tend to my hobby, I realized that I was the only person in the friendship doing any work.
I might shower today. Might not.
I should go for a walk—listening to music for lack of company...but I am too depressed today.
this isolation crushes my will and need for fresh air.
i day dream about getting stoned. probably good that i stopped long ago
i even think about smoking cigarettes form time to time.
loneliness is something I never would have imagined would plague me in my late 40's. i imagined myself surrounded by friends and family.
My daughter Sophie, who turned eighteen yesterday, was born and diagnosed with infantile spasms at three months in New York City. I remember so vividly the encroaching isolation and despair and loneliness those first few years, and we had no computer, no internet. I don't know how I did it, but I did. I am sorry to hear of your own isolation, Lydia's mom and of your Lydia's seizures. I am your friend, out here. I think, after so many years of "doing this," that the loneliness, while never going completely away, becomes bearable. It becomes a part of who you are, strengthens you in ways that you can't imagine.
ReplyDeleteWhat an empathetic and helpful response! Bless you.
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