Does solitude always mean being alone?

When some people hear the word solitude, I think the mind automatically thinks lonely and/or alone. At least my mind does. But recently I have had 2 experiences where one could say I was all alone, but in reality I was not. There was no talking, no conversation to be had. Just the quietness of the moment. Complete solitude.


Lunch at Perkins this week started out rough. I knew something was off when I pulled up next to my mom and my dad was not in the car. My mom explained that dad was having a rough day and was angry with her for whatever reason and had decided to go into the restaurant. I made my way in, looking around for him and found him in a booth, seated directly at a window that was facing my mom. Not sure if it was a coincidence or not, but there were several other available seating options.


I think I scared my dad and his thoughts because when I bent down to hug him, he jumped. I asked him how he was doing and he said "not good".  And that was it. I tried to engage a few other times about the boys but he seemed so distracted by whatever it was he was thinking. So I left it alone and ate in silence. As did he. I remember sitting there and wondering if I should bring up something to try and talk about like the weather, why he was upset, or even how the food tasted? But then I realized it is ok to just sit in the moment. Sometimes those are the best of times.


The second time was over the weekend while visiting my parents. While everyone (brother, sister-in-law, nieces, and the boys) were all in the back family room, I found my dad all alone in the front living room. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting in his recliner with his hands tucked under his legs. He looked like he was in deep thought, so I didn't bother him. I sat down in the recliner and watched him. I wondered what he was thinking, if anything at all. I wondered if he was listening to the commotion in the other room and wondering what was going on. I wonder if he was trying to remember who all the people were in the house. I wondered if he was thinking about the upcoming basketball games (March Madness!!!) I was trying so hard to figure out what it was he could be thinking that I lost the importance of the moment. I got my phone out and snapped a picture of my dad. I have looked at it several times over the last week and it makes me teary. My dad may be feeling alone with this disease. Not knowing who the people surrounding you are has to be scary and lonely. Not knowing what the future holds can be scary for all, but I imagine losing your memory has to be the loneliness of all.
In that moment of solitude, I was at peace. Knowing my dad was right there with me, safe and protected was all I needed at that moment. And that solitude was fine with me. (silver lining.)