I’m 69, and six months ago my husband passed away. We were married for forty-two years, just the two…

Im 69 years old, and six months ago my wife passed away and found peace among the angels. We were married for forty-two years. We never had any children. It was always just the two of usour work, our routines, our simple joys, the small world we built together.

It all began so unremarkablyjust a bit of tiredness, aches and pains that would come and go, the sort of complaints one thinks little of. Then came the doctors appointments that didnt seem urgent at first. But after a while, there were blood tests, consultations at the hospital, and the endless cycle of treatments. I was by her side through every bit of it.

I learnt the timings of her medicines by heart. I remembered all the foods she shouldnt eat any more. I figured out how to tell, just by looking at her, when the pain grew too much and she couldnt sleep. On those nights, I sat by her bed, holding her hand, knowing sometimes thats all one can doto simply be there.

Id wake before her, so I could bring her breakfast in bed.
When she no longer had the strength, I helped her wash.
I would chatter to her about the little things, just to stop her thinkingand there were times shed say nothing back. Not because she didnt want to, but because her body was beginning to give up.

The day she left, she was lying in bed, holding my hand.
There were no grand speeches, no drama. She just went. One moment she was there and the next, she wasnt.

I called 999.
But it was far too late.

The day of the service felt surreal.
People I hadnt seen in years turned up, offered their condolences, and said things that barely made sense to me: She was a wonderful woman, Shes at peace now, You must stay strong. I just nodded, not sure I even knew what I was agreeing to.

Then everyone left.
And the house… it became enormous.
Not because its a big place, but because theres no life left in it.

The nights are the hardest.
I go to bed early because I cant stand the silence. We always watched the news together. Shed make some comment, make me laugh, and then ask if I fancied a cup of tea.
Now I leave the TV on for company. Just to fill the emptiness.

I have no children to phone.
No grandchildren.
Theres no one I can tell if my back aches today, or if the doctors put me on a new tablet, or if I was frightened when I nearly fainted and there was no one to bring me a glass of water.

Sundays weigh the heaviest.
We used to walk in the park. Wed buy a loaf and amble home, as if we had all the time in the world. She always walked a bit slower than me, and Id tease her about dragging her feet, and shed only laugh.

Now I walk alone.
People look at me with pityor dont look at me at all. In the shop I pick up just the bare essentials, because Ive forgotten how to cook for more than one.

There are whole days when I speak to no one.
Not a soul.
Sometimes Im even surprised when a neighbour greets me, because my own voice sounds strange to my earslike its not been used in ages.

I dont regret not having children.
But only now do I understand what it really means to grow old alone.
Everything is slower, heavier, quieter.
No one is waiting for me.
No one asks if I got home all right.
No one wonders if Ive taken my pills.

Im still herebecause, really, what else is there to do?
I get up, do what must be done, and then go to bed again. Im not asking for sympathy. I dont want anyones pity.

I just needed to say it out loud:
When you lose the person youve spent your whole life with, youre left standing in a place where nothing else makes sense anymore.