December 22, 2021:
I would hear her, late nights, when the cat jumped into bed. "Are you lonesome?", she would mumble, in a groggy voice, saying more about herself than ever about the cat.
She was lonely from habit, from defeat, from surrender, from lack of skills, from mistrust of herself and of the world.
She was lonely from real damage, from her childhood, her marriage, from men, from work.
She was lonely more and more, as she aged, as her fantasy family members died, leaving her without support. Apart from me, of course, where I could not have been more useless.