Alone

Dear March

At the beginning of March someone said something to me that I have thought about a lot.  It doesn't seem profound unless you are a mom.  This innocent person mentioned something about me being alone.  The thought was so ludicrous to me.  Me?  Alone?  I could write a Dr Suess-esk poem about how unalone I am.

I am not alone in the kitchen, or the hall,
I am not alone in the bathroom, or bouncing a ball.
I am not alone when I am on the phone,
I am not alone when I scream and moan.
I am not alone when I walk or run,
I am not alone when I sit on my bum.
I cannot think the last time I was alone,
in my life this sets a tone.
The company I keep is younger,
for their mom they hunger.
Grown ups are rarely seen,
by this mom who can be mean.
Never alone, never alone,
This mom is never alone.

There.  My poem.  I was telling my brother what I would do if I could.  I would go to lunch by myself.  Not a friend or foe to talk too.  The only person I would say words too would be the waitress and it would be as few as possible.  It would be hours long.  Then maybe I would go to the movies.  Alone.  I would definitely go to the bathroom just because I could be alone.  I would want to shop at a clothing store just to experience it without utter humiliation. I would also shower and revel in the aloneness, the sacred aloneness.