Dating: It’s Time To Cast Your Line and Come Up With A Keeper

Ooooo, golly. Another dating post. You know you love these. I just can’t help it. We’re all in such different places with this. Some who have moved on. Some who can’t. And some who “move on” several times a week thanks to internet dating and quarter pitchers.

I’m not judging. I’m just stating the facts.

This is directed more towards my friends who feel as though they can’t move on. Now…don’t get me wrong. I understand all of the stages I have listed above. But through all of these support sites, blogs, and what-have-yous, I have “met” some amazing people…who deserve to meet some amazing people. Because…and this is a shot in the dark…since you were married (or in a long-term relationship) before and you didn’t want to be alone then, there’s a big chance you really might not want to be alone now.

Hmmmm….

Don’t you think dating is kind of like standing on a ledge? You sweat, hoping that that bungee cord we call karma is gonna hold? Now, some of us aren’t afraid of heights and we’re ready to take the plunge. Some of us take one look at the view (which looks just fine without the addition of our innards splattered below, thank you very much) and step away. And some of us are standing on the ledge, with the cord on, but need a friendly push from a well-intentioned friend who we may be mad at while we’re swinging but once we’re on firm ground we’ll give them a big ol’ hug.

Push.

I don’t want anyone reading this post to think that I am insensitive to the fact that some people just aren’t ready. I know that and I completely respect it. But sometimes I just think that many people don’t think there are any other good fish in the sea.

So, let’s think of it like this: If you’ve cast your line before…what are the chances you caught the only good fish?

I won’t deny that during the dating process sometimes we just come up with that smelly boot. But every once in awhile, we hook on to a keeper. I understand that some people don’t want to put themselves out there, don’t want to invest themselves anymore. They don’t feel like there is anyone who will understand what they’ve been through and accept them for it. Shoot…I remember thinking, “What if I meet someone and we’re talking and I…start crying???”

Well, given the number of people in the world…what’re the chances of you dating that one person who has led a perfect life?

Being where we are…it’s been hurtful. We’ve all been through transitions with relationships in our lives. Our friendships have changed…how we interact with our families has changed. But I’m betting that most of these changes really haven’t been so bad. Oh sure, the transition from who you thought your friends were to who you really bond with was excruciating.

But now that you’ve been through it…isn’t it better?

You’ve found the people you can most be yourself with. You can let your “freak flag fly” as they say in The Family Stone (I love that movie). And because of that, even if your friendships are fewer, they’re more meaningful. They’re deeper. Those friends who have weathered the storm with you will always be there. Those friends who couldn’t…well…I hope you’ve come to the level of acceptance that that’s their problem, not your’s. And if (heaven forbid) anything catastrophic should happen in their lives, I’m sure they'll think back and realize that they should’ve been more “Oprah” with you and less “Jerry Springer.”

And those new friends you have made…they know who you really are and accept you for all of it. And they love you even though you’re yourself (sorry…there’s laughing in my head right now).

So…what makes you think it would be different in a new romantic (at least, we hope it is at least a few times a week) relationship? Who’s to say that the new you might find something even more meaningful and even deeper than what you had before? Because you’re there…that’s you now.

And if you hook something you don’t want…throw it back and cast again.

I hear so many people say that what they had was perfect. That they lost their soulmates and that they will never find that again. And you know what? I’m not going to argue with that. If that’s the relationship you had, you’re right. That’s rare. But it was rare before you found it. And you still found it.

Here’s a thought.

If that person was your soulmate then and now you’re a different person (I think most of us have agreed on that)…who’s to say you won’t find the soulmate for the person you’ve become?

I think that’s the closest to Algebra I’ve ever come in my adult life. I’ll let you digest that one for a minute.

The truth is, I’ve changed so much that even if my husband met me NOW I don’t know if he’d even ask me out. I’m more independent. I’m more direct. And my sense of humor has taken a downward turn into the land of Sick and Wrong.

So…if I’m different…why would I expect to find the same relationship? Shouldn’t I expect to find someone who can handle the “new” me? Why would I want to find the exact same man, who was perfect for who I was, but may not fit the person I’ve become? And couldn’t that person just be floating out there…waiting for a hook?

Waiting…for me.


© Catherine Tidd 2010

Lost in the Widowhood

“I feel so lost.”

How many times have we felt that way? How many times have we heard that from other grievers? How many times have we just wanted to pull on a t-shirt that says it, so we just don’t have to explain anymore why we’re operating in such a daze?

We all go through these periods of feeling lost. Like we’re floating out there in the world with nothing to anchor us. We make the best effort we can to find that connection…the internet, support groups, counseling…something, anything to make us feel like we’re still part of the world.

For some of us, these periods last longer than for others. It’s discouraging and we feel like, when we see others who share a similar experience supposedly “getting on with it,” that we’re failing in some way. That we’re not living up to our grieving potential. That we’ll never get that promotion from “new widow” to “widow…once removed.”

But I have a different idea.

When we lose someone, our perspective changes. In a big way. The little things become just that…little (that is, until a little thing comes along and completely runs us off the road. That’s always fun). Our connection with the world and the people around us does a complete 180. Spiritually (not necessarily religiously) our connection deepens. We seek out those who feel the same awakening because that is who we suddenly feel a connection to. It’s baffling to many of us that who we find comfort in are not those people who have known us all of our lives, but complete strangers. When we see someone in pain, we can’t look at it in the same, detached way we could before. Because their pain was once our pain. And we feel it right to the core.

It’s frightening, this opening of the spirit. It leaves us vulnerable and insecure. And when we used to feel that way…scared and exposed…who did we turn to?

You guessed it. The person who’s not here anymore. Talk about your double-whammy.

Sometimes I think that the people who are having the hardest time, are sometimes doing the most soul-searching. We all feel loss very deeply, but I wonder if those people who can’t figure out what to do with certain areas of their lives – whether it’s professionally, romantically, or just what to wear in the morning – are actually taking the time to really figure themselves out. They’re not jumping into anything. Because jumping would imply that you have to land somewhere. And they’re just not ready to do that yet, damn it.

The problem is…everyone else around you is saying that you should be ready (mainly because the fact that you are still going through the grieving process makes them feel uncomfortable…it has nothing to do with you). They think you need to stop floating and join the real world once again. And it’s almost harder when you reach out to people who have shared a similar loss who seem to be “getting on with it” because in the back of your mind you think that you’re just not doing this right.

Sometimes I wonder if we are holding on so tightly to who we were, what we had, and what could have been…we focus all of our energy on that and let that take up so much space in our hearts that we don’t have room for the new person that’s waiting in the wings. It’s not denial…or if it is, it’s the sneakiest form. We know what’s happened. We are fully aware of what we have lost. What we don’t know is what happens next. And that’s when we start floating.

I feel like I’m making this sound more magical than it really is. This “evolution of spirit” doesn’t seem like it should come in the form of a ripped bathrobe and a bag of Oreos. When we wake up in the morning and feel like our entire body is made of lead, we don’t think, “Wow. I feel like crap this morning. I must really be doing some soul-searching.”

For me, I jumped into everything right after my husband died. It didn’t occur to me that I needed to figure out who I was, who I had evolved into, now that I was on my own. I wanted to get on with my life immediately. What I failed to recognize was that…my life was not the same anymore. That it was impossible to jump right back into my old life because my old life had taken a permanent vacation. The rules that I had followed before didn’t apply. This was a new game and in order to play it, I had to change. And change takes time.

And that’s really when I began to hurt.

I’ll never forget it. I was going about 100 miles an hour for 6 months after my husband died and then suddenly, I started to cry. And cry. And cry. I didn’t want to do anything. All of the decisions I had been so desperate to make a few months ago seemed as trivial as they were impossible. When I told my sister that I couldn’t figure out what in the hell was wrong with me she replied, “You’ve been moving too fast. And now you’re being forced to sit down and deal with what has happened.”

(Enter floating sensation and detachment.)

I guess my point is…when you’re feeling that lost feeling, try to look at it in a different way: That your damaged spirit is actually trying to take care of you while you figure out who you are. For some people this takes longer than others. For some, we’ll float back and forth between who we think we “should” be…and who we are actually evolving into. Because sometimes…that’s two different people.

And just remember…the reason we feel lost is because we’re hoping to be found.


© Catherine Tidd 2010

Trying to Beat the Birthday Blues

I hesitate to write this blog, because for some people…this little issue may not have occurred to them yet. And if that’s the case…I apologize ahead of time if it has you popping open a box of wine after you read it.

My birthday is coming up next week. I’ve never really had a problem with birthdays. I’m not really all that concerned with getting older. Maybe because I’ve always been the “baby” of the bunch (by about 4 months…but younger is younger). I don’t panic about wrinkles, gray hair, or sagging (although that muffin top is DEFINITELY not my friend). I guess one could say I’m able to embrace who I am and just go with it.

For me, losing my husband only strengthened this attitude. I feel lucky to be here and I don’t take anything for granted. To me, the signs of aging are like a badge of honor and signify the fact that I’m making it. I don’t really care if the “badges” come in the form of stretch marks and age spots. I’ll take it. It’s better than the alternative.

The only time getting older really bothers me is when I make the mistake of going out downtown with friends about once a year and I wonder how all of those 12 year olds got into the bar. And why does that music have to be so damn loud???? And why can’t I bounce back the next morning like I did when I was 21??

I feel like I got over the hump of age anxiety early. When I was 16, my best friend got a job as a lifeguard at our neighborhood pool. I just remember looking at her in amazement and saying, “How could you get that job? All of those people are so old!” And then it started to sink in that we were that old.

After that, I’ve pretty much accepted the aging process. That is…until this year.

This year I will be turning 34. And for those of you who are now rolling your eyes because you’re a few years older than me, keep reading. There’s a perfectly good reason why this is causing me to have a minor meltdown.

My husband was 34 years old when he died.

I remember even during the raw grief I felt, shortly after he passed away, thinking, “I bet 34 is going to be a hard year for me.” I don’t know if it’s difficult now because I thought that and have been anticipating it all of these years, or if it would have been hard anyway. The truth is, I kind of forgot about it until a friend of mine and I were discussing what I wanted to do for my birthday. Somehow, talking about it, sent me into a tailspin that had me tearing up just about every 5 minutes for no apparent reason.

I know that some of us experience a loss due to illness. We knew it was coming. We knew for awhile that our spouse would probably be a certain age when they died. I don’t mean that that makes it any easier…loss is sudden no matter how much notice you have.

But my husband’s death was in no way expected. So I had no clue that he wouldn’t see 35. Not that knowing would have made it any easier. But I have this image of him kissing me goodbye in the morning. And then everything stopped for him. And kept moving for me.

All I keep thinking is…this was it for him. Thirty-four. What would it be like if life stopped for me right now? What if this was all I was going to see, all I was going to do? Because the truth is…I feel so young. I don’t feel ready to be gone. And I can’t imagine that he did either.

His revenge is that he will always remain 34 to me. As I grow older and have to tuck my boobs into the waistband of my pants because gravity has taken over, he’ll still remain youthful and energetic. As my knees start to creak and my eyesight starts to go, he’ll always be ready for an adventure in my memory. As time moves on for me, he will have tapped into the mythical fountain of youth in my mind.

As I posted on the Widow Chick Facebook page yesterday: “Do you find the anticipation of a "milestone" day harder than the actual day...or the other way around?” For me it’s always the anticipation. Because the meltdown I felt last week and took out on unsuspecting strangers and friends has subsided. I feel almost ready to meet this birthday head-on and beat it into submission. But I’ll be thinking of my husband all day (as I often do) and hope that if I see him again someday, he’ll remember me as that 31 year old wife who kissed him goodbye.

Until then…I guess the best that I can do at this point is live each day as if it’s the last I’ll ever see.

For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2010