Wendy died a year ago today. in retrospect, I can see that for at least 5-6 months, my mourning and grieving were indistinguishable from a rather severe clinical depression. Joining a couple of groups, a Tai Chi class and Ottawa Independent Writers to widen and deepen my acquaintance networks, was my self-prescribed treatment to help lift me out of this state of mind, and to some extent these worked. But nothing I've yet found can overcome the terrible loneliness which I often feel. My children are very good to me. Rebecca and Richard provide at least one and sometimes two meals every week either at their place or mine. If at their place, Jonathan drives me out to their home in Britannia. David phones me almost every evening to talk about matters great and small, world affairs or the latest events in his department at the Royal Military College in Kingston. Last weekend, Jonathan drove us both to Kingston to visit briefly with David and Desre, and to attend Doug Gibson's book launch - he was the senior editor of a major Canadian publishing house and in retirement he has written a splendid book of anecdotes about the personal quirks of some of the distinguished authors whose work he edited and published.
My conversational skills have never been strong, and one of the consequences of my solitary life nowadays is that I am becoming almost inarticulate in the company of others. I think I can hold my own on paper as well as ever. I've just finished preparing a paper by invitation for the Public Health Agency of Canada and both I and my handlers in PHAC are satisfied that this is up to my usual standard. But in conversation, I'm sure I have fallen off sadly.
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