This Christmas was a bit different from Christmases past. My husband left for a senior care facility ten days before, so this is my first Christmas alone. He has a progressive neurological condition that makes it unsafe for him to remain at home. He’s weak, has lost coordination and balance, his speech is affected, as is his cognition. So, he’s where there are eyes on him 24/7, and his living space is designed for those with disabilities. He’s safe, but this house sure is empty. As was Christmas.

I didn’t decorate. There were only two presents from friends to open. There was no Christmas Eve celebration dinner with neighbors, no magical Christmas morning. Just deafening quiet. Dear friends invited me to spend Christmas Eve with them, and for Christmas dinner on the 25th. I am grateful, and my heart is full with their love and support. But Christmas, my favorite holiday, will never be the same.

My children are far away and have families and obligations to attend to. They are busy with their own lives. My brother has been put in a position by his wife where he’s had to choose between her and me, and I lost. Heartbreaking that she can’t find space in her heart to accept a relationship between my only sibling and me, the two survivors of our nuclear family – but she can’t. I miss him terribly.

So, on several fronts, this is a new normal, and right now it’s pretty uncomfortable – nothing fits as it once did. I’ll get used to this in time, and so will our dog, Anna, who loves her human daddy dearly. She looks for him; she paces; she asks me with her big brown eyes where he is, when is he coming home? My heart breaks for her. She’s spending a lot of time upstairs in our bedroom in her dog bed right next to his side of our bed. Waiting. Waiting for someone who will never again come home.

I know that – given time - I’ll learn the ropes of this new life, and already I’m beginning to make the house that was ours, mine. I’ve replaced some old and admittedly shabby furniture in the living room; I’ve cleaned out closets, drawers, the refrigerator, and two freezers. The shelves in the basement have been sorted through and organized. I’ve never thrown out so much useless stuff in my life, and it does feel good.

My husband never understood neatness, organization, or the delights of a sparkling clean home. He is a six-foot-tall ‘Pigpen,’ and I spent untold hours picking up after him, cleaning his messes, and trying to bring some sense to our shared space. It was a daily battle and one I’m admittedly glad is over. He’s a sedentary being who spends most of his time, day and night, sitting in his recliner with his laptop open, clicking, clicking, clicking endlessly. That drove me crazy. He has more of a relationship with that machine than any human being, and I never could understand why.

He does love good music, as do I, though our tastes are rather different. I’m a Mozart, Sibelius, Greig kind of girl with a smattering of Beach Boys and Motown. He likes rock – and really knows his rock as he played the drums in a band in college. He kindly made many concessions to my love of classical music, taking me to concerts in Philadelphia and once, an evening sitting right on stage about ten feet from my hero, Yo-Yo Ma. It was one of the best nights of my life.

My elder son, with his wife and boys, and knowledge of what makes his old mother tick,  gifted me a Sonos sound system for Christmas. Since I opened it last week when they visited, it has been on almost continuously and I’m loving it. Beautiful music that makes its way into every corner of this little house. I’m once again seated on stage with Yo-Yo Ma. No click, click, click to grate on my ears and heart.

He and his son also put up ‘Kentucky windows’ on the draftiest of the windows in my house to keep out the frigid winds of January. It works - my power company sent me an email saying that I’m using less power than I did last month. Hallelujah! Electricity usage equals money, and I have very little now. Every penny counts.

I will adjust. I can do this. I will get past this place where I pine for what, a long time ago, was. Once I can dry these damn tears, I’ll write again. This is my new normal, and I will make it truly mine. I will.