“he looks buried in his thoughts,” one of my neighbours said one day as he shuffled by, head down, oblivious to anything around him. i thought he was buried in his grief.
i had gotten into the habit of walking the dogs by his house. sometimes he would come out and give them wordless pets. other times, i could see the flash of his television screen in his front room, the outline of his head in the blue light. i hoped he wasn’t too lonely.
on one of these walks, just over a month since he lost his beloved, the sidewalk in front of his house was blocked by three cars. the first was a long, white station wagon. the sign on the dashboard read: coroner — the lights of the police cruisers flashing behind it. from across the street, i could see that the news was on the television and two people with police written on their backs were kneeling on the floor.
“he died of loneliness,” said the elderly lady sitting on her porch nearby, her english barely perceptible under her greek accent. “this virus … it’s awful. even my kids can’t come see me.”
two days later, i had heard that her daughter visited after she didn’t answer her phone to find her mother lifeless in her bed.
can loneliness kill you?
there have been countless
studies
on the effects of loneliness, especially in light of a pandemic that has forced us into isolation for months. and while there is debate about whether or not one can die as a direct result of isolation and “aloneness,” what we do know for sure is this: loneliness is bad, both for our bodies and our minds.