Whenever I go to write about loneliness, I stop myself. It just feels so sad, and I don’t want people to think of me as sad or – perish the thought – feel sorry for me.
But I’m processing some thoughts on loneliness at the moment and so, as usual, the best way for me to work them out is here, on the page.
Today I am meant to be at my friend, Wendy’s funeral. And I’m not. Why? Because I couldn’t bear the thought of going alone. That is the truth, though it doesn’t feel great to share it.
It’s a long way from where I am in the south of England, perhaps five or six hours drive, similar on the train, it felt like a really lonely journey to be taking. Plus, I’m no good at funerals, in fact, I’m helpless at them. I am really bad at goodbyes on a good day, let alone the greatest and most permanent goodbye of all.
I couldn’t bear the idea of driving there alone, attending the service alone, and driving home alone. And so I didn’t go. And that makes me sad too. I had wanted to be able to be th…