And so it continues, to sleep if you can, to wake if you must. The pattern of life is routine. There are variations on the theme, but the hours go by for all of us. Last night as I was talking on the phone, I began speaking of the seduction of silence. I have no idea where this term came from original or not, but then I began to think on it. Since I’ve only just begun the silence of living alone, I realized that seduction does take place. Slowly at first, never overwhelming but in its own way insidious. Firstly, when it overtakes you, you want to shake it off like a dog that has just come in from the rain.

But it’s not about to go away. It has moved into your life, and your home. Silence has now become a member of your family. First thing is to run away from it and eventually you begin to make your peace with it. It hasn’t happened yet, but at times, I almost feel happy in its presence. It allows me time to think, to reminisce, to feel emotions that perhaps I’ve felt before, but not in their entirety.

The loneliness of silence, the becoming aware is akin to the beginning of a love affair. It contains the unknown, the mystery, and the tantalizing prospect of something more interesting that will be revealed in time. It is also maddening in its reclusive silence.

It is necessary to not fight the inevitably of the outcome. I have a tendency to grit my teeth and clench my fists and try and ignore this new presence that has entered my life. Whether it becomes my friend or enemy, I know depends entirely on me. But at this point, I am not ready to make a commitment.

I find myself walking through the halls of a hospital. I go in and out of the rooms. I am looking for my husband. I can’t find him.

I take the elevator to another floor and begin my search again. I am in the middle of a dream. My husband died last month. I finally think I see him in a large room.

He sees me and comes over. He looks so handsome, healthy and calm.

He says, "Its okay. Death is not so bad, really it’s all right."

We walk the halls and talk. He’s gentle and soft-spoken.

"Please don’t be upset, it’s all right; being dead is not what I thought, but I must go now."

I tell him I miss him and he misses me too. He says to take care of myself, but he must go. He walks toward a wall (like we’ve seen in the movies) and bumps his head.

"I just haven’t gotten the hang of it yet!" he says laughing. Then he walks toward the wall again and this time looks back at me smiling and goes through.

I just haven’t gotten the hang of it myself. How do I spend the rest of my life without him?

I miss him terribly.

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I was gazing out the window. It’s a beautiful cool morning with streaking bands of clouds as the sun rises. I feel free, I feel liberated. How ironic, that it takes a death to feel free. Not good, not happy, just free!

I did not realize during all the years of illness, pain, doctor visits and more pain that I would eventually move into the free zone. Our calendar is filled with dates; dates with doctors, labs, dentists, hospitals and on it goes. Pharmacies, back and forth, medicines, more pills for pain, the back and forth of illness.

Now death has liberated me. My husband is liberated, too. Death took away his pain. Death took away the endless days of worry and anxiety he endured. The days of continual suffering; he didn’t complain, but just said, "I hope you never have to live this way, it would be better to be dead."

At which I would get angry and say, "Okay, if that’s what you want."

He said, "Of course, that’s not what I want. I want to be with you but not this way".

He got his wish, but I didn’t get mine. I would want him here with me forever.

But I’m free. To go to sleep when I’m sleepy, to eat when I’m hungry at anytime. No schedules, no guidelines. I’m a little drunk on this freedom, like a prisoner-of-war released after years of imprisonment. I’m giddy on this freedom. I don’t really know how to deal with it. I can come and go freely. No one needs me, no one.

At times, I’m breathless, too much fresh air after being interned. Did I feel like I was imprisoned? No, never – when you are with the one you love, there is no confinement, only companionship. How do you deal with this newfound freedom? Slowly, I’m doing whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it. I buy whatever I want to buy. I go wherever I want to go.

If only my heart would quit aching, if only I could feel as joyful as I’m acting. I’m laughing and joining the human race. I’m not really part of the scene but at times, I seem to melt into the big picture. I am alive and I’m free and I’m liberated. I guess that’s the sum of it. One way or the other, we both are free.