A little wine, a little moo shu, a little lovin'

I wasn't always alone . . .

It was Dec. 17, 1983, a day that changed everything and set the course for the rest of my life.

I had recently quit my reporter job at the Pacifica Tribune to tour the United States as a singer with a country music show. It seemed like a great opportunity, but the show went belly up after a few months.

At 31, I was divorced, unemployed, broke, and back at my parents’ house because I had nowhere else to go. My last post-divorce relationship had also blown up. I was sure I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

Then I met Fred at my brother’s Christmas party. He was handsome, well-employed, smart, funny, loving, and newly single. Unlike the other men I had dated, he was not abusive, on drugs, or crazy, and we clicked immediately. We went on our first date on Dec. 17. Chinese food and a movie, followed by making out in front of his fireplace. We fell in love and were married a year and a half later.

You can read the whole story in my memoir No Way out of This. I’m not bent on plugging my book; it’s just too much to tell here.

Fred and I always celebrated this date, just like our wedding anniversary. We’d remember and laugh about how nervous we both were and at how things turned out. We’d drink to the sweet memories.

Without Fred, I might have met someone else and had children. But more likely, I would be on my own. I have never met anyone else I wanted to spend my life with. I had no idea our time would be cut short by Alzheimer’s Disease, but I wouldn’t have changed anything if I had known.

If I hadn’t married Fred, I would not have moved to Oregon. I would not have had the money and time to write and publish so many books, and I would probably still be working at some newspaper or media job in my 70s because I wouldn’t have Fred’s pension and benefits to support me. I would never have been able to buy this house on the kind of wages I was earning.

I didn’t marry Fred for his money, but it was a huge relief to put our two incomes together and finally stop struggling to pay the bills. I know too many single people, especially women, struggling to get by in a world that is not kind to those who remain alone.

Fred died in 2011. Like so many widows I know, I don’t want to marry again. I don’t need to be married just to keep from being alone. I like my freedom too much.

I’d rather bask in the memories of having been loved well. We traveled the world, had years of wonderful experiences, laughed and sang together, and had so many friends the funeral home chapel was full when Fred died. He gave me a beautiful life. Yes, the last bit with Alzheimer’s was terrible, but the love was still there.

Marrying Fred meant giving up the possibility of having my own children. He had three already, plus a vasectomy, and did not want to start a new family. That was a big loss, bigger than I realized at the time.

But I was already headed in the childless direction anyway.

Do I wish I had children and grandchildren to share the memories? Absolutely. Do I wish I had someone around to help with things around the house and mail those Christmas packages I grinched about in my last post? Yep. Do I want someone to exchange gifts with on Christmas morning and to kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve. You bet. Do I miss being physically intimate with a warm loving partner? So much.

But I think I’m meant to be alone now. Is it difficult? Often. But it’s also liberating. I am free to pursue my dual vocations of writing and music. This morning, I got up early, turned on the Christmas lights I hung by myself, poured some orange juice, and started writing this post. I don’t have to worry about anyone else, nor do I have to get dressed and go to an outside job. I can look up at the big photo of Fred in the bedroom and just say thank you.

When I met Fred, he was newly divorced. The small house he was renting in Willow Glen was not a messy bachelor pad but a well-organized home. Fred didn’t like being alone. But he could do it, and he did it well.

If we hadn’t met, he would have met and married someone else. I would have found another newspaper job and continued singing nights and weekends. I would have adapted to the changing media world as newspapers shrank and online journalism grew. With no family to worry about, I might have published books sooner. I would still be active in the Catholic Church. I would still have spent years caregiving for my father.

Coupled or alone, I would still be me, a quiet writer who prefers a good book or time at the piano to commotion and crowds.

Could I have done it alone? Of course. And I am. My twenty-eight years with Fred were a beautiful interlude that showed me how to love and care for someone else and left me with the tools to resume my solo life.

Frederick Allan Lick, I miss you. I miss your love, your laughs, and your big furry body. But can I do it alone? I can. You know I can.

I had a practical advice-based post queued up for today, but I woke up needing to share this. Now, I want to ask you: How did you come to be by yourself? Would you trade it for a new relationship that would upend your life but ensure you weren’t alone?

Photo: Fred and I in Faial, the Portuguese Azores island from which my mother’s family emigrated in the late 1800s.

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I participated in a Dec. 15 Childless Elderwomen panel discussion on “Solo Elderhood.” It was a great session. You can watch the recording here. There are so many issues we just barely touched on, but I think you will identify with a lot of what was said. Thank you, Jody Day, for hosting this and bringing out the issues we face when we’re alone.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.