Words Get in the Way

What constitutes cheating? A drunken snog? Going out on a date?

I vividly remember the first time I met someone after Matt had passed. I had reluctantly agreed to attend an 80’s themed club night with a friend and had full intentions of sloping off home early. However, as most memorable nights occur, it happened when I least expected it. We met by chance on the dance floor, and pretty soon Tom and I were dancing away like teenagers. While feeling elated that someone fancied me my insides were churning. Didn’t he know that I was a widow? Didn’t he know that I felt like I was cheating on Matt, my late husband. I’m not sure why he kept dancing with me, or exchanged numbers. Even in my inebriated state I remember thinking I have to drag him off to the bar to tell him I’m a widow. It seemed so important at the time. Thankfully the opportunity never arose and he was saved from me pouring my soul out to him, explaining that I was married but now I’m not.

We continued to text and agreed to meet up again, my first real date since Matt passed. You can’t imagine the angst I felt. Matt and I had been together for ten years, married for seven. I hadn’t had a first date in over ten years. A lot can happen in a decade. What if dating had changed in the past ten years and I made some naive faux pas? To make matters worse, the ten years with Matt meant that I was now in the nearly “forty” category. That was middle aged. I had no idea how old Tom was but I’m pretty sure he was younger.

Anyway, I was riddled with first date nerves. What if he asked about me? What would I say? Would I tell him? Worse still, would I end up crying? Embarrassing much? However I felt strongly that Matt was such a big part of who I am today. I still love him, he’ll always be a part of me, the third person in any future relationship. But how do you explain that to someone? Dam you Matt for leaving me, leaving me alone to sort my life out.

Luckily for Tom, but regrettably for me, Tom was spared me baring my soul to him. You see he “ghosted” me. After a couple weeks of texting, we agreed to meet. Suddenly the texts stopped coming. We never met up again. That’s how much dating has changed in ten years. People just stop communicating. No explanation, just nothing. To put it mildly, I was devastated. My first foray back into dating and I was burnt, or in the words of Love Island, “pied”.

I’d put myself out there, made myself vulnerable and had got myself hurt. Thankfully it was only a seriously bruised ego and a knock to the self esteem. However as a widow, I felt fragile and it only brought the feeling of loss out even more. With Matt it had been so easy. He knew me — the best and the worst of me. His strengths complimented my weaknesses. How was I ever going to find anyone like that again? Being forty you feel so much more vulnerable, exposing your true self to someone and hoping they will accept and love you for who you are.

While I may not have found what I’m looking for, I’ve learnt a valuable lesson. Being a widow felt like it defined me at the time, however I’ve learnt who I am. Matt will always be a part of me but he’s only a part of me. There’s more to me than being a widow. As Miami Sound Machine sang, “Words Get in the Way”. I no longer feel like I have to “disclose” the fact I’m a widow. Time has helped with that and also with the emotional guilt. Thankfully it no longer feels like I’m cheating when I’m with another guy. Despite coming to terms with being a widow and dating again it feels like the universe is conspiring against me with enforced social distancing. I’m praying the pandemic runs its course so I can get back out and start dating again!