It’s Okay to Eat by Yourself

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Advice from a Widower 

A few days after shivah ended for my wife Esther, a”h, I was back working at my home office desk. My children and siblings had returned to their homes. I sat alone and looked out the window and listened to the birds singing. The death of a spouse is strange and disorienting, like getting shot out of a cannon and landing on a distant planet. Esther’s health had declined over the past years, and the end came, as Hemingway once said, “gradually, then suddenly.” Episodic cognitive decline, then total dementia in the last few months, and finally, pneumonia. When she passed away, I went instantly from 24/7 caregiver to independence.  

A thought crossed my mind: I could get in my car now and go to a movie, or to the Black Hills of South Dakota, or anywhere, and nobody would know. 

After forty years of marriage, the freedom was at times exhilarating, but when I came home, nobody was waiting for me. The house was as quiet as snow. I wasn’t prepared for this—how could I be?  

Looking back a year and a half later, heading to Los Angeles for my son’s wedding, and mindful of the two granddaughters Esther never met, I’m gathering my thoughts.  

Silence was a relief when shivah ended, but wandering past empty bedrooms where my siblings and children slept the week before, I felt like I was seeing ghosts in the house. Our family had shared memories, and an awareness that life was moving forward in mysterious ways.  

I returned to work part time, but I didn’t have the energy or enthusiasm to return to my Torah-learning routine. The following week I forced myself to start learning again. I sat across the table from my chavruta in shul feeling like he was in the normal world and I was in an alternate reality. I trusted that my old habits would anchor me going forward. Don’t wait too long to resume old habits. The longer you wait, the harder it will be. Expect that it will be difficult at first.  

After forty years of marriage, the freedom was at times exhilarating, but when I came home, nobody was waiting for me. The house was as quiet as snow. I wasn’t prepared for this—how could I be?  

Back in my college years, I had wandered through Europe and Africa on my own and loved the solitude of new settings or staring out of a train at the passing countryside. But now I wasn’t used to a long Sunday afternoon by myself, eating alone and watching families passing by outside. Waves of loneliness I’d never experienced overcame me. A friend’s mother told me that when her mother had died in middle age, her father was so lonely that he’d go to the library every day, just to be around people. I started doing that, and it helped. Even the company of complete strangers, with zero interaction, eased my loneliness. I kept telling myself that this is normal. I’ll make it through this. And I did. I came to empathize with all the lonely people in the world. Expect to feel lonely. To break the feeling of isolation, don’t hesitate to go to a store, the library, the mall, anywhere, especially if you work from home. 

A therapist friend gave me good advice: keep talking. I’m not the kind of person who talks about himself. But I made an exception. I told my friends and family when I was sad, or lonely, or grateful that Esther’s (and my) suffering didn’t linger on. I spoke to a therapist every week for a while, even when I didn’t feel like it or think I needed it. Putting vague thoughts and feelings into words helps to transform the amorphous into the tangible. Thanks to all who listened. Keep talking. 

I’d often heard that yamim tovim are the hardest time for widows and widowers. The Jewish holidays are milestones, with memories layered on from year to year. Sadness sets in, a longing for what was. I went to my brother and sister-in-law for every yom tov, even though local families offered to host me. This was like comfort food for the soul. Consider spending yamim tovim with family. 

I’m inclined to go to extremes. Without anyone observing my habits, I could descend into a nightly Häagen-Dazs ritual and end up weighing 300 pounds. Nobody would be around to make me feel foolish. And while I had already become the shopper and the meal planner, once Esther was no longer capable, the easiest way would be to buy prepared food and mindlessly eat in front of the computer. So I threw all the processed food out of the house and ate only primary foods, and I took walks in the park every day. I saw it as essential for my mental and physical health. I hadn’t walked much for months, and at first I tired easily, but I stuck with it and even lost twenty pounds. Proactively make healthy lifestyle changes. 

“You can’t be by yourself!” I was told by someone who invited me for Shabbat meals. The year after Esther died, I accepted invites for every meal. I thought it was healthy to get out and mingle. But sometimes I just wanted to be home. After a year, I started turning down invitations occasionally and eating alone. I didn’t even bother to cook; I ate matzot with cream cheese and lox and took a nap. Don’t let people tell you what to do. It’s okay to eat by yourself. 

“Wipe that smile off your face,” a community member told me as I sat shivah. “You’re disrespecting your wife’s memory.” 

I had confided to this person that I felt conflicting emotions, both despair and relief, at Esther’s passing. My face must have reflected this ambivalence. After his comment, I wondered: had my mourning veered off track? But I concluded that I needed to express what and how I really felt. Expect a range of emotions. Don’t worry about others’ definition of proper emotional decorum.  

I didn’t want to be pitied as a “widower.” I’ll admit that sometimes I secretly resented people inviting me, although I appreciated their generosity. I wanted to be anonymous. I wished things would go back to the way they were. I also felt guilty that I was in the world and Esther was not. I tried to practice acceptance. G-d has a plan. Accept what cannot be changed. 

I recently learned that in Parashat Vayechi, after Yaakov Avinu was reunited with Yosef in Mitzrayim, his final seventeen years were the best years of his life. Something resonated. Every stage of life, even profound loss, has its beauty. If anything, Esther’s demise taught me to appreciate life even more. Try to believe that the days ahead are full of possibilities. 

Efraim Jaffe is an independent certified financial planner. He recently remarried and splits his time between Passaic, New Jersey, and Great Neck, New York.