DEAR DR. NERDLOVE: I have recently been widowed. My husband was/is the love of my life, and as you might imagine, the loss of him is utterly devastating in a way that words will never fully articulate. It isn’t fair, having to work towards a future I never wanted, and have to do it without him.��I’m relatively young. I’m only in my early 40’s, and when I think about what comes next, there are two options that it seems I have to “look forward” to:��A) My husband was it. He’s the One, and the only One I get. So the decades to follow, I will be alone.��B) I find someone else, and fall in love with him. But he isn’t my husband.��I know the wound is raw, and I know time will change the grief. However, at the moment, both of those options feel horrible right now. If nothing else, I don’t even know how to begin trying to date again. Any advice on how to move forward without disrespecting our past?��Single, But Not By Choice
DEAR SINGLE BUT NOT BY CHOICE: I am so, so sorry for your loss, SBNC; that’s one of the hardest things that someone can go through and you have my sympathies.
I’ve never lost someone I’ve been in a relationship with, but I have lost a parent and some very close friends, so I understand a little of what you’re going through. And I can tell you that what you’re feeling is entirely normal and natural. It’s not just that the wound is so raw, though it is. It’s that your world has, in a very real way, been destroyed and you’re still dealing with that realization.
None of it is right. None of it is fair. The unfairness of it is so profound that it hurts us to our bones, and the worst part about it is that there is nothing we can do but accept it. And even in accepting it, it can feel like we’re doing something wrong, rather than raging against it for all time. But no fire can burn forever and keeping that particular fire going requires that we burn more and more of ourselves until there’s almost nothing left for the fire to consume, and that’s not something that our loved ones would want for us. Instead, what they would want is for us to live. To continue on. To be happy again.
But it’s just so goddamn hard. So, so f--king hard.
One of the things we never think about when we’re in a long-term relationship is how our lives change and merge. This is especially true when we’re talking about a romantic partner, someone we have brought into our world and who brought us into theirs. It’s not just that we have this other person in our lives, but how we’ve changed our lives to accommodate and work with that person’s presence. It changes not just in the way that we’re sharing physical space with them but in the way we become a new person. You’re not just you, you’re part of a new gestalt being, formed of you and your partner, and the way you think of yourself is often as much about “we” as it is about “me”.
And the ways that we incorporate those changes can be so incredibly subtle that we never really think about it. There’s the obvious things, sure – the way you divide the housekeeping and daily chores, the way you factor in their interests and desires and restrictions when you’re both planning meals for the week or taking their schedule into consideration when you’re figuring out what your day looks like. But there’s also the little things that are so mundane, so banal, that you almost take them for granted: the impulse to text them a weird thought or humorous experience, the way the room sounds at night with their breathing and the little noises they make in their sleep. The subtle signs of someone else being around – dishes or the remote being moved just so, the way they used to stack books they were reading or where they would put the mail – things so small that we just never think about them but are thunderously huge in their absence. It’s not just that they’re gone, but there is a hole in the world where they used to be; the negative space that they used to occupy haunts us more than ghosts. Ghosts, at least, would be a presence, instead of an absence, a void, a lacuna in the world.
So you, in a very real way, are having to process that your world – the one you built around yourselves with your husband – is gone, and gone in one of the most devastating ways possible. The idea that you should be looking down the road to getting back on the dating market isn’t putting the cart before the horse, you don’t have a cart and the horse hasn’t even been foaled yet. You are still sitting around in the wreckage of the world around you – if you’ll forgive the very nerdy reference – like Kefka blew everything up and you’re still realizing just how extensive, how complete the damage is. You are having to learn to exist in this new world, one where you see shards of the familiar in the ruins, but where everything is so different and horrible and strange.
More than that though, you have to relearn who you are. You’ve been part of this gestalt whole and now fully half of you is just gone. Like someone who suddenly loses a limb or their sight or hearing, you’re having to relearn how to simply exist in a way you haven’t before. All these little things that you used to rely on without realizing it are gone and now you have to figure out not just what they were, but how you’re going to make them work by yourself.
And of course, there’s simply the echoing, horrible, wrenching loss of it all. The grief of someone so important to you that it seems absurd that the world exists without them and yet the world stubbornly insists on continuing to turn, as though the keystone hasn’t been taken away. It feels almost obscene that the world doesn’t stop to acknowledge this loss, that people don’t pay heed to the way that this vital part of it is just gone.
You are dealing with all of that, and processing this and all the grief and all the pain and the unfairness of it all and that bone deep desire to grab God by the shoulder and just scream at him.
There are times when I don’t think I’ve ever related to anything more than Ray Stevenson saying “Sometimes, I’d like to get my hands on God.”
So for right now, the best thing you can do is just live. Grieve your loss because it deserves to be grieved. Learn how to live in this new and different and strange world. Discover who you are, now that you have this massive line delineating the time before and time after your loss.
In time, when the negative space is smaller – it will never be fully gone, but it will shrink – and the pain has dulled, there will come a time when you realize that your heart is ready again. Nobody can tell you when that will be, not really; you’ll know when you know, and it will be the right time because it’ll be your time, not anyone else’s. When that time comes and the right person comes, you won’t be disrespecting your past. Your husband was your husband, not some Pharaoh of old, entombing his wife and servants to take them into death with him. Your husband wouldn’t want you lonely, to live in constant misery. He loved you and would want you to be happy again. To smile, to look forward to tomorrow, to hope and dream and yes, to love again.
The day when your heart is available to love again is a day that you will be honoring your past, in part because your past is what makes you who you are. It shapes every part of you and directs your future. Opening yourself up to the sweet agony of love again is possibly the most honest and sincere way of honoring what you and he had. It doesn’t lessen what came before, it highlights it and brings it forward.
You don’t need to try to work towards that day or fear that it’ll never come. Your path of healing is your own and it will take however long it takes. In the meantime, there are many loves that you should be leaning on – philia, the love of friends and companions, storge, the love of family, not just of blood but of choice, and more. Those loves won’t replace the eros or pragma that has been lost, but they aren’t meant to. They simply are a reminder that while this love has been lost, love still exists in the world and wants to wrap you in its arms and reassure you that things will be better.
But for now, your only duty to yourself is to grieve, to live and to heal and to rebuild. The rest can wait. Live in your present for now; the future will take care of itself.
And while I know the pain is still so very fresh and those days feel so very far away – and they are �– there’s something to remember: there is no One. Or rather, there are many Ones, people who are our Ones because of who we were at the time. As we grow and change, we become different people and so what makes someone our One will change too. We have many soul mates, because our souls aren’t small things; they are vast, vibrant and glowing and capable of holding so very much. To think we could have only one soul mate is to reduce our souls to something so petty small that it beggars belief.
I know the world is a cold and dark place right now; a great love, like a light, has gone out. But even the blackest night will end and the bright day will return. Hope always burns bright.
You’ll be ok. I promise.
All will be well.
Please send your questions to Dr. NerdLove at his website (www.doctornerdlove.com/contact); or to his email, doc@doctornerdlove.com