Yes. I would reply to the King crooner. Yes, I am lonesome.

Last Friday, my father would have celebrated his 60th birthday. This weekend we should have all been celebrating to the soundtrack of Rocky at his surprise party.

Yes, my mother, my sister and I are lonesome. My mother especially who lost not only a husband, but her best friend and life companion.

Eight months on we are still heartbroken but yet, in a funny, almost absurd sort of way, we are serene; in the sense that we feel my father's presence hovering over us in a guardian angel sort of way - we can't help believing that we are keeping him very busy up on the clouds engineering, overseeing and chuckling.

And although I feel lonesome, I am not alone. For the past long eight months we have been blessed by family and friends who weave in and out of our lives making each passing day a soulful experience.

Which is why, perhaps, I have been following with great sadness the story of Stephania Carabott, referred to as the 'Simshar widow'. It's not her plight of impending homelessness which gets to me - although of course that is tragic in itself - but the extreme loneliness which comes through the lines of each article penned about her.

She lost her husband, so her heartbroken grief is unquestioned. But her loneliness cuts deep. And that is why I feel such sadness for Stephania - still in her late twenties. For whichever reason, she has been given the cold shoulder by her husband's family. And this can't be doing anything for her healing - they are his flesh and blood and he is somewhat alive in them. When I read about her I always wonder whether she has other family or friends who could cushion the blow of the tragedy?

I've been thinking about this all week. And it has made me reflect on the importance, and perhaps the beauty, of relationships. Over summer and autumn, I went through very dark months of the soul during which I deliberately shut out everyone. Why bother relating, I reasoned, when it will all end in pain?

But then, slowly, my resistance thawed. I started realising how allowing people to share my life takes away the pointlessness of it. Christopher McCandless - who travels alone to Alaska to experience its nature first hand and whose tragic life story has been turned to a film, Into the Wild - wrote: You don't need human relationships to be happy, God has placed it all around us. But after months on end on his own in the wilderness of Alaska he started to feel the pain of solitude and he realises that "happiness is not happiness unless it's shared".

We are not all born castaways. The problem is, I think society is moving towards a more individualistic direction, which can't be healthy. We are constantly bombarded by the words 'sacrifice' and 'hard work' in the same lines as 'relationships'.

Now, I don't believe 'sacrifice is necessary'. If you love someone - parent, sibling, cousins, friends - you wouldn't consider anything as a sacrifice (as in the act of losing or surrendering something). My father loved us unconditionally - whatever he did for us, although it might not have been easy, was never a sacrifice for him.

Some time ago I interviewed Olivia Dow, who runs the Russian Ballet School in Malta. When speaking of her late husband, she gave the most inspiring answer: "When you love you never feel you have to sacrifice anything."

Of course, compromises have to be reached; disappointments will be felt because that's part of communication. But people who make it evident they are sacrificing something for you should be discarded. Human relationships are not a business deal.

I think we should all celebrate our families and the handful of good friends and live our lives, to quote Elvis again, like It's Now or Never.

Happy 60th birthday, pa.