dating widowers

Different is Surprisingly Good


Ozzie Nelson

Ozzie and Harriet Nelson Image via Wikipedia

A widow friend of Rob’s posted a valid criticism of the phrase “Different is just different” today. In the beginning, and for a while after, comparing now and then is something you spend a lot of time doing. Then is a wonderful whitewashed place where you lived in Shangri-La like bliss with your late spouse. Everything was easy and more than a little like Lake Woebegone – above average. And we all do it because it is easier to pretend that we had the mythically perfect marriage than to admit it wasn’t or that what we had was a product of sweat and maybe tears and certainly would have made for better reality television than 1950’s family sitcom. It’s an effective strategy for preventing the inevitable forward momentum that takes hold of your life and moves you on – willing or not.

 

Comparisons to then and now. Then wins hands down in the beginning because there is little worse than grief when it is as fresh as a newly acquired paper cut.

 

My life has been different for a long time. Five years actually. It’s been five years. And if I am to be truthful, things were not perfect before that really. Will and I had a good marriage, but it took time and effort to make it so.

 

My life now is different from a year ago or even six months ago. In June it will be different again. And different is just different, but it is also pretty darn good. Not just because of Rob either. Finding love does not cure you of widowhood. That is one of the more annoying fallacies that many of my fellow widowed believe. That because I am engaged to be married this June, I am suddenly “okay” and that I no longer grieve. Not true. What I do have is a much better sense of who I am and what I want for myself, and my child, and that I am discovering more about myself and my strengths and limitations every day.

 

Rob’s older daughter worries that he and I might not be emotionally solid enough to know what we are doing. Marrying so soon. I can’t speak for him, but I am far more aware of the enormity of what I am doing now than I was back then. I know now what “in sickness and in health” is really asking of me and what “til death do you part” feels like. I know how important time spent with your husband is and why you can never say “I love you” often enough.

 

Could I have discovered a deeper sense of self with Will? It’s possible. Would I have the insight I have now into relationships and marriage? Perhaps. I know that way back then I was content and contentment isn’t the best soil for sustained growth.

 

My different is good. Very good. But it is just different. It wouldn’t be fair to then or now to compare.

The Basement


Basement Flooding

Image by CR Artist via Flickr

The biblical rains have ceased for the time being but have left their mark upon my basement. In the three and a half years we have lived in this house, the basement has never even gotten damp. Is this a side effect of putting a for sale sign in the yard? Related perhaps to the ant invasion in the master bathroom a week earlier? Signs? Tests? A bit of both I think.

Since last fall m emotions have ridden fairly close to the edge. As I told a coworker , I can still hit fast balls…..out of the park even, but curve balls are not my forte anymore. I don’t lament that fact. There was a time, a long time, when I was the go-to of nearly everyone I know. I haven’t the strength or frankly the interest in solving other people’s problems. My own life is challenging enough.

When I made the decision to let go of my problem-solver/rock status, the ripple effect, apart from confused family and friends, was that I would break down a bit more easily in the face of my own problems. I am not the type to cry in front of people. I don’t like people to know how I am feeling, but suddenly the smallest thing, if it was unexpected, could reduce me to a puddle. For I while, I didn’t care. It was cathartic. Now though it is past time to rein it in a bit and re-establish my personal load limit.

When the cable went out Easter weekend and five days and three missed or cancelled service appointments later the voice on the other end of the phone informed me it would be two more days, I just melted and pulled the “widow card”.  Not one of my finer moments and judging from Rob’s,

“You cried?”

response insinuating that perhaps I was overreacting, I realized that I needed some perspective. The ant invasion was the first test of this new resolve to take life’s spontaneous eruptions in stride. I met it. Barely.

The flooded basement arrived simultaneously with a realtor and a perspective buyer and not a clue of how to find a plumber when every plumber in the area was wading around in someone else’s basement. I hired the first one who called back and promised to come out before the day was over.

The basement was a test and a sign. God doesn’t not send gentle signs when you are procrastinating. He sends signs that are unmistakably tinted with annoyance or exasperation depending on the length of time you have been ignoring things. The sump pump failure did not approach Jonah and the whale status but it was a definite “Try to ignore this, kid” tone.

I took the hint. I am moving to be with Rob in 8 weeks and honestly haven’t really started packing and accomplished the most minimal sorting and tossing. The main reason is that I am tired of moving a light speed and even more tired of doing all the work required to maintain that level of velocity. But I get it. Nothing is going to get done unless I am doing it, for the most part on my own though Rob has arranged his schedule to be here again in May for a week to help.

I give a lot of advice these days but sometimes don’t pay as much attention to my own life and how what I am saying relates to me. I sent a PM recently to a widow  who wanted to know if two years out was too soon to consider dating. I replied to her by saying that there are no chances in life, only opportunities and we choose to make something of them or we don’t. I have been fortunate and Rob came into my life. We have the opportunity to  move forward together and share life, but it’s not a freebie. There is work involved and for me right now some of that work is cleaning and sorting and packing.

Got all this from a flooded basement. Just as good as tea leaves.

#500


Rob sent me email number 500 this afternoon. At number 499 he asked me if I wanted anything special included in the next one. I replied that I wanted “just you” because I haven’t seen him since he and his younger daughter, Mick, left for the airport very early on the Monday after Easter. Though that is only 18 days ago, there is no “only” when you are apart from the man you love. His reply, #500, was “short and sweet” and included a photo he had taken of himself with his cellphone camera in the parking lot of the plant where he works. He had taken my request literally. The photo was captioned “just me”.

500 emails. And those are just the ones he has sent to me. You might ask, “He counts the number of emails he sends you?” He’s an engineer but in his defense, I started it. The counting, I mean. I think I mentioned it in a post to the YWBB board in a futile attempt to explain, yet again, that it is possible to get to know someone via email/letters and as an example recounted the number of messages we had already sent each other. That will teach me to start a quantifying contest with someone who has a latent Dilbert streak in him.

I will be a little sad when the daily emails stop. They have become an integral part of my day. But I am ready to trade my morning greeting on the computer screen for strong arms around me, soft kisses and a fuzzy chest to lay my head.