You wouldn’t think dating at my age is funny, but I promise you that it is. When I got married, I thought “hooray, I never have to date again; I’m off the market!” That proved to be true for 23 years. Then I was thrust right back into singlehood quite against my will.
I’ve done some research and talked to a great many widows and widowers since I joined their ranks. Quite a few of them are content to just live a productive and fulfilling life alone, with their memories intact to comfort them. And I hate to relay this, but there are also a few who, sadly, had unhappy marriages and don’t want to dip their toes into that pool again. They’re a little too gun shy.
When I was married, I fully believed that I wouldn’t date again if I ever lost Tony because I knew in my heart that I would never find love like that again. But a funny thing happens when you’ve been happily married. You miss it. You miss having your “person” to share the minutiae of your day with, and to hear about theirs. It’s a little inconsequential, yet conversely, very meaningful when it happens consistently. Someone is actually interested in hearing about how Sandy in accounting was nice to me today after giving me the chill since she was hired! (That never happened, but it’s an example of the stupid stuff I liked to share with him).
I’ve lived alone before, and I never minded it. I worked hard, and I had a busy social life, so coming home to my cat and my solitude was just fine. I could watch what I wanted on TV, eat dinner at my desired time, and go to bed when I was tired instead of coordinating my schedule and body clock to someone else’s. Then, I fell in love and fell HARD. I was completely shocked that the love songs and rom-coms were true! He seemed smitten as well, and we were committed to each other pretty fast. I never doubted it, I never had cold feet, and we couldn’t wait to get married.
After losing him, and grieving terribly, I realized I loved being married, and I wanted to find that special someone again. About a year after he died, I saw the little “Dating” Facebook icon and decided to create a profile. I had no idea what I was in for because at least half of the responses turned out to be scammers, and I developed the ability to spot them pretty quickly. But I did touch base with a few legitimate men and had dates that turned out to be a hodgepodge — some good, some not (one man showed up, sat down across from me and smiled, revealing two missing front teeth! You can’t make this up).
Dating as a widow is also a factor. I’ve talked to many other widows/widowers and they all say the same thing: If we date a divorcée, they don’t necessarily understand our position. We didn’t stop loving our spouses, we lost them. I will always love Tony, and I will need to talk about him from time to time as we shared so many memories while we spent our lives together. He’s not erased; his photos are still around. Someone who fell out of love and may even actively dislike their ex is going to have to get used to that, and if it’s a problem, then I can’t be with him.
I’ve also come to realize that I’m not going to change much at this point. My character is fully developed, and I know who I am. When I was first married, we both had some growing up yet to do, and luckily, we did it together. Now, the men I find are also set in their ways, so if they have habits or a lifestyle I’m not in sync with, then I should probably look elsewhere.
Now let’s talk about money! When Tony and I were just starting out, we brought an equal amount of money to the marriage (i.e., nothing). It was natural to have a joint bank account and joint everything else. Now, I have a house and investments and so would anyone I meet. There are likely grown children from a prior marriage, who wouldn’t want me coming in and taking their inheritance. I’d be glad to sign a pre-nup, and I would want a potential partner to sign one as well.
There’s a lot of freedom at this age. Those we choose to join our lives to are a complement, not a requirement. I don’t feel like I need to get married again, and it’s not out of a misplaced sense of loyalty (although now and again, the guilt with a capital G raises its head, and I tell it to shoo). We all deserve to be loved and to be happy, and I’m going to keep choosing to do that. I hope you do, too.
