Readiness

I have learned so much as I have gotten more comfortable with my role as widowed parent in the last 15 months. I see in myself many changes, and am pleased with a lot of them. I know, for example, that I do not want to be the widow who, in five or ten years, says "I don't think I'll ever remarry". I DO want to remarry, and a life without another partner to share it with is inconceivable to me. In that vein, I am finally ready to declare myself 'out there'.

It's a peculiar thing, really. I know it's a question that most widowed people are faced with at some point or another along the grief journey, and it seems as though the widowed soul can't win. You're either dating too soon, not dating early enough, or dating the wrong people. You're either too reserved when dating, or rushing into a new relationship too quickly. You're either living your own life on your own terms, or dishonoring your late spouse by trying to move past your loss and find something new.

I'm not concerned with many of these. By some standards, 15 months is a lengthy grieving process. To others, 15 months is an extremely short amount of time. To me, 15 months is the only experience I have. In my previous half-hearted forays into the online dating world, I knew I wasn't ready. At 2 months out, I was desperately seeking to fill the void Ammon had left behind. I wanted a replacement for him, a carbon copy. I wasn't ready, but was lucky enough to come out of the experience unscathed. At 9 months, I tried again. At that point I was lonely, and seeking to fill the void in my own life. I was no longer seeking a carbon copy of Ammon, but tried too hard to make somebody else fit into my life. Again, luckily, I came out unscathed. I went on one actual date, then deleted my profile and canceled my membership to the site. Again a few months later, around the one year mark, I tried the dating site. I met another nice individual--but at this point, I recognized the signs of not being ready clearly. I backed away before the relationship could progress, and since then I have immersed myself in schoolwork, my family, and self-examination.

What is the common thread to all of these failed attempts?

I was simply not ready.

I knew, each time, in my heart that I wasn't. I purposely and intentionally chose men that lived too far away from me to make a real relationship work. I chose men that I knew weren't appropriate for one reason or another, and only gave them part of my attention. I shied away from anything resembling romance, or declaration of affection. I prepared myself for the backing away that I knew I would eventually engage in.

This time is different. I have little interest in the dating sites, because invariably the interested parties live too far apart to pursue any actual relationship. I know that I'm ready because I actually want to meet somebody that lives near me. I want to actually date somebody, not just exchange email and talk on the phone occasionally. I want to get to know somebody enough that they can meet my kids, and I want to feel romance again. It's not loneliness this time that has led me to seeking out a relationship--it is simply the desire to share myself and my family with another human being. I want to fall in love, and make time for somebody else in my life. I do it not to fulfill my life, but to enrich it. In these small differences, I know are the distinctions that matter. My love for Ammon hasn't faded. I wrote here previously that I would always be Ammon's widow--and I will be. I think, though, that I'm ready to tuck my love for him in a special compartment of my heart, to be taken out and held when I need to feel it's warmth. It's a portion of my heart that shall not belong to somebody else, but I'm not afraid to let him see it. To feel the texture of the love that I have for Ammon, this man who gave me my children and I will spend eternity with. My love for him hasn't changed--and yet it has. It's become more powerful, more pure, and more easily tucked away. And I feel that somewhere, he's pleased about this.

Through it all, though, I know that this too will be a journey. Perhaps it holds pain. Perhaps it holds another series of stepping back and re-assessing--and that's okay. I've experienced what I believe is the worst pain a human being can endure and still continue breathing, and have come through it stronger, more sure of myself, and confident. I'm grateful for the challenges that the last 15 months have presented to our family, and I look forward to whatever lies ahead. I'm hoping it includes somebody tall, handsome, and playful.

So, would-be-matchmakers-this is your assignment: your cute brother, your neighbor, your co-worker. The charming bachelor who sits a few rows in front of you during sacrament meeting--set us up. Put him in touch with me, or set up a blind date. I'm going with the rule of 15 here: he must be at least 15 years younger than my father, and at least 15 years older than my son.

I have faith that somewhere, somebody is being prepared to love me and my family. I hope he's nearing ready, because I'm ready to meet him. Here's to Chapter 2.