My grandmother, who has lost groups of friends each decade, is not afraid of being alone in the frivolous "I don't want to break up with my boyfriend before my birthday" sense that I was. Instead, she faces being mostly by herself and increasingly scared, every day until she dies.
A friend and I once made a conscious effort to stop referring to her flirtatious colleague as White Guy ("God, why do I call him that? You know I'd die if he were referring to me as Black Girl," she kept fretting).