My kids paired me up with a 72-year-old single man who wanted to go to the temple.  I was happy to have the company.  I met him at our predetermined meeting place, and we began the two-hour drive to Boise.  We exchanged pleasantries and introductions, and then he began to talk.  He asked how many children I had.  I told him “ten,” and started to tell him a story about one of my children.  He quickly saw where the story was going, interrupted me, finished the story for me, and that was the end of my contributions to the conversation.  He asked no more questions, and had a wonderful time telling about himself, his marriages, his jobs, his children, the places he’d lived, and the people he’d known.  None of it was offensive.  It kept me awake and alert as I drove, but 15 minutes into the trip I realized that I wouldn’t need to say anything more than to ask an occasional interested question.  The man lived alone, spent the days in silence, and had a need to talk.

On the way back home I made the comment that it must be hard to live alone.  He affirmed that observation, and apologized for talking so much.  It was a result, he said, of having no one to talk to and to interact with.

I recall making a courtesy call to a 60-plus-year-old woman who was the daughter of our long-time elderly neighbor.  I was a freshman college student at Oregon State University.  She was the house mother for a dormitory full of girls.  She was delighted to have me call on her.  I introduced myself with perhaps seven words, and was ushered into her living room and seated.  She began to talk.  For the next hour or two my prevailing thought was that when she paused to take a breath I would make this or that comment.  The opportunity never came.  She never took a breath that I could observe, and it wasn’t necessary for me to make any comments at all.  I finally blurted out that I needed to go, and left with her voice ringing in my ears.

It’s been 47 years since I had that memorable “conversation.”  I hadn’t realized until today that though the poor woman was ostensibly surrounded by people, she lived alone, and had a need to talk.  Her interactions with other people were limited, and people have a basic human need to interact with others.

At the very beginning of the Bible it says, “It is not good that the man should be alone.”  (Gen. 2:18).  I would add that it’s not good for a woman, either.

My son, Adam, once had an interesting conversation along these same lines.  He needed some signatures on some papers, so he knocked on the family’s door.  The woman of the house answered.  Her first words were, “Would you like a pizza?  Come on in, I’ll make you a pizza!”

Adam didn’t need a pizza, but the woman, her 70-plus-year-old husband, and their 40-something son each needed to talk.  They gleefully sat Adam down in the living room, and all three looked him right in the eye, and began talking on three different subjects.  It didn’t matter to any of them that the others were also talking.  It didn’t matter if Adam tried to focus on one of the others and try to make a comment.  They all just happily prattled on.  Adam looked from one to another in wonderment, and tried his best to follow all three lines of thought.  He finally got his signatures; and went away with no pizza, but with an ear-full of many, many, many jumbled words.

In this case the son was single.  The woman was a talker, and the dominant type.  The husband’s method of dealing with his wife’s dominance and talkativeness was to simply tune her out.  The son was unable to talk around her, either; so none of the three ever really had a chance to talk normally with one another or with anyone else in their lonely, farm environment.  Adam’s visit provided a welcome release for their pent-up needs to communicate.

It’s not good for a man or a woman to be alone.  Sometimes we can be alone while surrounded by other people.  A remedy for such aloneness can be found in doing things for others.

Today I worked in the temple with a man who had cards with his own family names.  The submitter was a woman with the same last name as his, so I asked if that was his wife.  He replied, “No, that’s my 94-year-old mother.  I’m one of 13 children, and she keeps us all busy doing temple work.”

I thought, “What a wonderful thing.  Here’s a widow, probably living alone, but who is as busy as she wants to be.  She’s surrounded by children, grandchildren, and a host of very interested and attentive departed loved ones.”  No one like that could possibly feel lonely, unloved or worthless.

As a side note I asked the man where he fit into the 13 children.  His reply was interesting.  “I’m the youngest son, but number five over-all.  I have eight younger sisters!”

How blessed that woman is.  What a blessing family is.  What a blessing a testimony of the gospel is.  What purpose the Church gives a person.  How glorious will be that woman’s reception into the world of spirits!  There will be little or no need for words from her as thousands meet her to thank her for her help.

Which reminds me of a story my talkative traveling companion told.  While on his mission, he and his companion tracted a 50-house subdivision of 5-acre lots.  They walked the entire neighborhood where they were spit upon, and where dogs were set on them.  At the next-to-last house a nice man answered the door and said that he wasn’t interested in their message, but he supposed that the people across the street would be.

The missionaries crossed the street to the last house in the subdivision and knocked on the door.  The woman who answered had just one question:  “Do you believe that anything can be done to help the dead?”

“Yes, we do,” came the reply.

The woman grabbed hold of the elder and said, “Come in!  I need to talk to you.”

She proceeded to tell of a recurring dream she had.  In the dream she saw her deceased son sitting alone on a hill.  He’d say to his mother, “Mom, you’re my only hope!”

The woman didn’t know what the dream meant, but the message was real, and she knew there was something she was supposed to do for her deceased son.  The elders spent that discussion teaching about work for the dead, and then gave the other discussions later.  The woman, her husband, and a son were baptized.

A year later my friend had the privilege of being proxy in the temple for the deceased son as he was sealed to his parents.  The next morning my friend got a call from the woman.  She told him that in the night her son had come to her.  He was surrounded by people.  He thanked her for what she’d done, and said that he was no longer alone, and could finally go to work.  He left with the group.

How sad it would be if in the next life we were to find ourselves among those who “cannot be enlarged, but remain separately and singly, without exaltation, in their saved condition, to all eternity.”  (D&C 132:17).

How sad it is to be alone.  How tragic it would be to spend eternity in that condition.