Death of spouse dating
They hadn't, but I still felt comfortable discussing it with him.
A chaplain led me by the hand to her office, and I sank to the floor, crying, deeply sad--and guilt-ridden--that I had not been with him at the very end.Maybe it's because so many guys have called me "courageous," but as soon as I utter the word "widow," I sense I'm being seen as a living saint and that my marriage was flawless, which of course isn't true."You must have really loved him," a few men have said in awe.Well, yes, of course I loved him, but our marriage was like most: It had highs and lows.In the year before Frank got sick, we'd gone through marriage counseling and even a trial separation, but there was never any question that I'd be there during his illness.I asked questions in oncologists' offices and took notes.
I cried on the phone to impassive health insurance bureaucrats.
And this, the only appropriate designation, felt hard-earned.
Frank's sickness and death belonged to him, but they had changed my life, too, making demands and requiring sacrifices.
Other men, once they learned of my history, avoided me altogether.
As soon as I'd get comfortable enough with them to talk about it, usually after a few dates, they'd pull away--no more e-mails or calls.
Although I decided to wear my wedding ring for a year after his death (as a respectful gesture to Frank and to keep unwanted male attention at bay), six months in, I felt ready to date.