It’s a strange thing to lose your sense of purpose in the world, especially at the hands of grief. For nearly 18 years my primary purpose was that of caring for my profoundly disabled son, Brendan Bjørn, as well as being a single mother to my younger son, Declan. When Brendan Bjørn died in 2022, I was left adrift in an ocean, holding onto the life raft that was my only surviving son as I searched for the shoreline to land upon; a shoreline that could be our port from the storm. Our future.
Three and a half years on and I’m more adrift now than before.
I’ve had a growing realisation over this past year, 2025, that…and how do I put this…I am no one’s priority. I say that not as a slight to anyone. It’s just the way it is. Years of isolation as a lone parent and 24/7 nursing-level carer lends itself to seeing old friends drop by the wayside and new friendships being terribly difficult to form, especially when living in a rural village.
I turned 60 years of age a couple of weeks ago. My heart’s desire would have been to have so many friends that they would have organised a big surprise party for this milestone birthday. Being realistic and knowing I don’t have that many friends, I decided to throw a party for myself. You know, be bold and brave and take the initiative. I invited old friends and new friends actually never met but with whom I had many great conversations on social media over recent years. The excitement built over the approaching months. I was finally reaching out, as many have suggested I do, with intent to form connections.
I invited 23 people estimating about only half would be able to attend due to some having to travel from other counties and, let’s face it, having a birthday just 12 days before Christmas sometimes doesn’t make it easy.
On the day, two people came:
One came from another country in Europe.
One came from the next county over.
If it wasn’t for these two wonderful people who took the time and effort to share that afternoon with me, I would have been at home with Declan once again celebrating (but not really celebrating) my 60th birthday. I can’t express the depth of my appreciation and joy felt at their sharing their time with me that day. It means so very, very much.
In the days leading up to my birthday, as more and more invitations were declined, it hit home how, in the loss of my sense of purpose, in that increasing isolation from being a carer for all those years, it has left me to be no one’s priority. I’m no one’s love or best friend. I don’t think I’m even considered among anyone’s top 5 closest friends, if there was to be such a list.
And that’s no one’s fault, not even mine.
It’s just the way life has gone.
I am no one’s priority.
Does that hurt? Yes, desperately so. And before anyone suggests counseling or just thinking positively, trust me when I say I’ve tried it all. (and I was going to a counselor for a time this year but can’t afford it any more.) As well, I have a Masters in Counseling. I know all the tools to use. I also know how difficult it can be when floating adrift on that ocean to search for purpose, for reason, for meaning, while waves of grief and depression try to knock loose your grip on the life raft.
Alas, here I sit, scribbling down my thoughts at 60. I contemplate how my mother died at 60 years of age. I ponder how many more years will I be blessed with as my own chronic health conditions challenge my days – challenges which keep me from being able to work full time and drastically limit my ability to find suitable part time work, resulting in me struggling to hold on financially.
I think if I knew that I had another 20 or 25 years to live this adventurous gift of life, I would likely be more encouraged to look ahead, to plan, and indeed to fight for future possibilities…
To allow myself to believe I could one day again become a priority to friends or family who would hold me as such in their heart.
It truly is a stark and lonely place to be, not being anyone’s priority in the world. I’m no one’s “number one person” anymore. Once upon a time, I was.
