I have just made it through a four-day weekend of basic "alone-ness." Except for church I did not venture out this past Labor Day weekend and opted to stay home glued to my TV. This self-imposed solitude reminded of another holiday not so long ago . . .
One Is the Loneliest Number
There had been other holidays since he died. In our house we observe them all—pagan and Christian. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s and Easter had all marched by, and I had been sad. But there had been so many details to take care of that the sadness had to be pushed aside somewhat.
There were finances, decisions about whether or not I wanted to stay in our house or move, and then the identity theft. (That one act upset me most of all as I handled the details of reporting it.) I am honest, and being preyed upon at the time of a loved one's death made me so much more tormented. I felt as if I had almost earned degrees in banking, general business and now I was working on learning the law. I had filed papers in the probate court and was waiting for the decisions and actions that would allow me to assume all the responsibility.
But, things were being done in a linear fashion, and right now for the first time since last August all the lids were on the pots and nothing was “overflowing.” That was when the calendar rolled to Memorial Day. It was spring, the sun was out, and it was a time for going to the lake, or the pool, or cooking out. But after church that Sunday I went home to an empty house and for the first time was wounded by the stillness and overwhelmed with a loneliness I could not shake.
Yes, this had been a favorite holiday for me and my husband as it always brought a remembrance of the men and women who had taken part in wars and conflicts on our behalf. His father was older when my husband was born, so he was a father who had served in World War I in France. My father had been to Normandy, was one in the push at the Battle of the Bulge, and earned a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. It was almost a ritual for us to watch the constant parade of war movies that were shown this time of year. But today I had to watch John Wayne alone. I would almost turn to share a fact or ask a question, only to find my husband was not there. And today was just Sunday. The actual holiday was tomorrow, so I had a while to go yet before the business of daily living would start again after this brief suspension.
To make matters worse, I woke early on the actual holiday (at 4:30 a.m.) and that makes for a very long day. I have never been one to nap much, so the whole Monday stretched before me like a huge abyss. And, like one of the Wallenda family, I had no choice but to string out the tightrope and balance my way to the other side.
I found that eating does not fill the loneliness, nor does reading. (Finishing four books this week had been proof of that.) Somehow the war movies didn’t seem the same since there was no one to share them with me. There was no one to talk to about patriotism and “what this country is coming to.” Yes, just yesterday I had watched Van Johnson in “The Men of the Fighting Lady” talk down his blind buddy after a mid-air accident with a plane. That’s what I needed, my “wing man,” and he was gone. Forever.
There was a line quoted from the movie "The Longest Day" (uttered, of course, by John Wayne) that summed it up for me. When the unit he commanded found themselves in St. Mare Eglise, John Wayne’s character was hurt. He was counseled that he should be on sick report, or at the very least have someone other than a corpsman look at what was thought to be a broken ankle. But, this was D-Day, the everlasting jumping off place, and there was no way he was leaving his outfit. So, Wayne, the quintessential war hero, made the comment that I started to use in my life. Here’s the conversation from the script between Wayne’s character and the corpsman:
Are you positive that ankle's broken?
Compound fracture, sir.
Well, put the boot back on
and lace it up... ...tight.*
As far as I could remember it had started with some bantering between me and my good work friend, Henry. Henry knew what a Wayne fan I was, and one day during a particularly hard schedule I bemoaned the fact that there was no rest for the weary. Henry (knowing that I was not one to give up before the job was done) commented that it was like John Wayne hitting that beach at Normandy—we just had to “lace that boot up tighter.”
So, I would have to do just that today—“lace it up.” I also thought that there should be days when one just sits and lets the loneliness wash over them, just like the waves hitting that shore at Normandy. Just hunker down, keep your wits about you—don’t forget what’s important; just keep yourself alive and complete your mission.
“Lace it up—tight.”
*screenplay text found at: https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/movie_script.php?movie=longest-day-the