As it has not even been a month since my husband died, this title may come across as a tad bit provocative. Nothing could be further from the truth. I write this post because, as this is a public document, it is an excellent venue to state things that you wish to be known.
I have been married twice. I am not going to get married again. I have dear friends, some of Ron’s and my best friends, who have urged me not to shut that door. But friends can disagree and still be friends. So, let me reiterate. I am not going to get married again. You may think that since I am so recently widowed, it is in poor taste to even discuss such a subject. But sometimes I find that it is good to clear the air.
Being widowed, I am facing some issues in my life that never (or rarely) have been a problem before. In some cases, they have been very unsettling. It has been many years since I last slept alone, and I am having trouble sleeping now. I generally keep late hours before there is even a ghost of a chance that I can get some sleep.
I miss my husband, Ron, terribly. We were nearly inseparable. We were happiest together, and there was very little that we didn’t discuss. The better question might be, what topic didn’t we cover? I can’t think of any subject that was off-limits. I miss that. I miss having such a friend and confidant. But specifically, I miss Ron.
Years ago, I had a dear friend who lived with her husband in a retirement community in Columbia, SC. I used to visit them, and after her husband’s death, I continued visiting with her. We had the best conversations. She told me how, after her husband had died, she had friends of long-standing suddenly showing a romantic interest in her. My own mother had this happen within weeks of my father’s death. My South Carolina friend said that the widows in that retirement community had a name for the phenomenon. They said that such men were looking for “A Nurse With a Purse.” I had it happen to me very shortly after I was divorced from my first husband.
I have three brothers, all of them available for conversation, all of them willing, if need be, to do battle for their sister. But sometimes it is easier to talk about concerns with someone who is not in my family, with someone who is just a friend. Let me reiterate that with a stronger accent: just a friend. I am leery of talking to some men because I fear them as being too needy. On the other hand, I have some male friends who seem to be leery of me, perhaps fearing that I am too needy. So. To clear the air. I am not looking for a replacement for Ron.
Sometimes, it just helps to have a friend to talk with. Period. End of statement.