It’s amazing how quickly loneliness cuts in.
Years ago, when I lived alone as a student in Birmingham, I particularly hated early Sunday evenings, when everything was shut and I was bored with nothing to do. It was a horrible time, the worst time for loneliness.
All the time I was with you my darling, I never had that loneliness. Sundays were always busy. Either going out somewhere with you – into Central London, or to a pub, or going away for a weekend. Or even if we were just at home, lots of housework to do, food to cook, television to watch with you, conversations to have.
I always thought that that awful early Sunday evening time needed to be filled with people – society, busyness, conversation, sex maybe. So that it wasn’t that dreadful lonely time again.
But even in the hospital weeks, I suddenly found myself feeling it again. 5 or 6 pm on a Sunday, cold dark evening, no shops open, no darling husband to cuddle up to. Back so soon to that horrible Sunday loneliness again.