Who am I without you? I can’t be the only widowed person who finds this question sneaking into my consciousness from time to time. My late husband, Arnie Reisman, died suddenly in his sleep two and a half years ago. I live in our wonderful home that always seemed full of joy and laughter . . . then.

Now the silence often presses down on me. The following poem by Edward Lee, sent by a thoughtful friend, says it all: Oh, this silence, where you used to be, how very loud it is, so very loud.

Some days I am nothing but grateful for all that joy and laughter we lived for 40 years. And it buoys me, along with the company of wonderful friends and the many activities here that give me joy, like singing in the Island Community Chorus.

Normally, I am not a “fall apart” woman. I am mostly all right. My income will last, I will make it through. I am luckier than many and I know it.

But then the question again: who am I now? Logically, I am the same person I always was . . . yet am I? Am I less than, without him? More importantly, was that all there is? Must I face the rest of my life alone? Or is another relationship possible — at my age?

Is this where I should live? Or should I start fresh somewhere else? Would I even want to?

Arnie and I did not have children, so there are no “grands” to fuss over, nor could I move, as many do, to live near offspring. The future, if I let it, can look bleak. But then I share my feelings with others in the same boat and find I am not alone with these worries. This is just the challenge of this phase of life.

These worries have no obvious answers, at least not yet. I guess I just have to move forward, one step at a time, until the answers appear. Meanwhile, I bask in Arnie’s remembered smile and in his words, on cards and letters we exchanged and both saved, grateful that we left nothing unsaid. We told each other how we felt almost every day.

I am also lucky that Arnie took to poetry so completely and sometimes even wrote about me!

All would be dark without light from your eyes . . . . It signals love of another sunrise.

If only.

Paula Lyons lives in Vineyard Haven.