The Quiet Spaces: Holidays with a Close Family All While Holding Your Breath
The Holidays are a series of fun and festive conversations; they are loud, warm, and smell like my mother’s roast turkey. Next to me at the table, Liam is laughing at something his Uncle has said—that genuine, deep-bellied teenage laugh that I catch myself recording in my mind like a treasure. My sister drove two hours to be here, and the house is filled with the kind of comfortable chaos that most people dream of. I am surrounded by people who would drop everything for me, who loved my husband deeply, and who have been my bedrock since he passed away just over two years ago. By all accounts, I am safe. I am loved. And yet, beneath the table, I find myself twisting my wedding ring and realizing that I am holding my breath. There is a specific kind of loneliness that exists within a crowd of people who love you. It’s not the loneliness of being forgotten; it’s the loneliness of being known as a version of yourself you no longer fully inhabit. When you are a widow and a single mother to ...