This piece, longer than others, records three occasion when Gary shared his thinking with me about one aspect of becoming single following the death of his wife.

Gary speaks.

“ People ask me already, just six months since I lost Angela, if I’m going to move away, to live somewhere else.

Good grief.

Into something smaller. Or closer to my family. That surprises me. Not that they should ask – some friends ask you about anything, don’t they? They do. And believe me there’s no shortage of suggestions. Sometimes it’s even the other way round, like, they’re telling me, then not bothering to ask. I guess its wanting to be helpful. But I think it’s for themselves, you know what I mean? Well, not always.

No, what surprised me was so soon. Here they are, already making plans for me, or at least quizzing me if I’m planning  for myself. For me being single, as you like to call it, is so new. Look, I don’t know what it means other than knowing I’m alone. and don’t always like it and sometimes that surprises me.  You catch yourself by surprise, sometimes.”

Later, on another visit, Gary picked up on his earlier comments.

Gary speaks.

“About the staying or going, I’ve thought about it myself. Did I want to stay here, well, there, or to make a move. It’s a natural enough thing under the circumstances, but when others ask me it puts a bit of pressure on me. I don’t like that. But I’d never say anything, you know what I mean.

So, I’d just duck and cover, as we used to say; just say I’m thinking about it. A bit monotonous. But even that doesn’t get me off the hook with them, always. So, I’m starting to say, ‘ For now I’m staying.’ That seems to satisfy. At least it lets us move on to talk about other things, like am I going to travel. More questions. Oh, brother.

But it’s not as easy as that, is it? I mean, like how do I decide about where to live, now. The easy parts you’d think of right off. Like, I’m the only one I have to please. I come and go to suit myself. I eat at home or out whenever I want. Nice. Thankfully my children are easy about it. “Whatever you think best,” they say. And they mean it.

The new independence, well, I admit, that’s a mixed blessing. I do get lonely having been with Angela for so long and that’s a down side.

The house for another thing. You’ve seen it, far bigger than I need, even with the occasional friend or family coming for an overnight or a few days. And a few as they are I really don’t want more company, in the house, that is.

Four bedrooms, and more than once I’ve slept on the couch watching TV. Probably more TV than is good for me. But the place is familiar, and comfortable, and just the thought of moving, well, it probably confuses me because I just don’t know how to go about it. And, face it, there’s no need, is there, as long as I can manage the stairs. You faced that, didn’t you?

Anyway, about moving. I like the house and I like the neighborhood. I’ve been here for years. This place fits me. And I really like the independence and being alone even with occasional company.

Then I think of all the hassle of selling this house, and buying another. And the packing and moving. Those closets I haven’t looked at in ages. Scary! And then how long does it take to get used to a new place and new neighbors? Who knows what the neighbors may be like. How Long? Maybe a year or two, wouldn’t you think? Especially for a guy, alone. Maybe not.

I sound like a worry-wart? Well, I am, but no more than most.

Then there’s family. My children are grown and gone but I want easy visiting and that’s easy right now even though when I think about it we don’t visit that often, and I’m not likely to move to some remote village by the sea, even though that might be a fantasy sometimes. You know, the cottage by the sea or a small lot with a garden and the coffee shop nearby.

Yet as far as family I want to be like now, close enough for easy visits, and you know I value my independence, especially now that I’m alone and on my own for the first time in decades, it’s really nice in many ways.”

Some months later. I mention our earlier talk about his moving.

Gary speaks.

“Oh, yes. Let me fill you in on progress. Short story: it’s still not. Fact is, nothing has really changed in in my life or in my thinking, well, not in the move or not move direction.

What I’ve done is to find out as much as I can think of about staying or moving. Not just my own thinking. I’ve talked to real estate people about selling and renting, visiting around; talked with friends who have moved about cost of living, available health care options. All that kind of thing. There’s a lot to learn, believe me.

And movers. I have three estimates. I had to give them a destination, of course, so I invented one. Not a problem; I’m not headed for the south of France. One of them suggested  having everything put in storage for, say, six months, then shipped on. Expensive.

I talked to my financial adviser. He thinks cost wise I can manage, staying, that is. But whether I go or stay I’ll be eating into my sayings – Social Security and my pension just don’t cover it. He had me write up a budget divided into Needs and Wants – his idea. Very helpful. I tell my friends and they already know about that. No news to them but it was to me. Really. I tell you.

You can’t be sure of anything, of course. Like, my health for one. I’m good right now and have good insurance. But I’m getting older, high mileage, as you like to say, and you know what that can mean. So that’s a whole new thing to be thought through.

Like you said when we first talked, there’s a lot to learn. Anyway, for now, though, I’m staying put.”

 

This is Steve, mid-sixties, alone now for four years. He’s a manager, in business, membership in a service club and plays “less golf than I’d like to,” a not uncommon life-style.

 Steve says: 

“Learning to be single?  I must be a slow learner because it’s been four years now and I’m only now getting comfortable about a lot of things.  Maybe I’m not supposed to be comfortable; maybe you’re supposed to stay a bit off balance and call it remembering.  But what’s the gain in that.  Why live that way?

But, anyway.  My trouble was that after Teresa passed I just didn’t feel comfortable being away from home. For work, it was OK but other times I had the feeling that I really should be at home. It wasn’t just a thought, I worried, and hated to admit that to myself.   Anxiety, plain and simple.

I’d never felt that way before I lost Teresa.  I was often away at work, sometimes I’d travel for a week or more away, attending conferences or on business and never had anxiety about being away.  We’d always keep in touch by phone.  Was I missing Teresa? Of course, but I didn’t worry, then.

I really began to feel it and knew there was no good reason:  there was no one at home needing me as there had been for the last couple of years of Teresa’s life.  The house itself was okay. Neighbors keep good watch for me, in fact even when I am home they seem to know a lot that surprises me when we talk.

After a while, with this anxiety, I realized that if it went on I’d be worrying about worrying and you don’t want that. That kind of problem has a special name.

But what to do?  It’s all very well for friends to say to you ‘Don’t worry,’ or ‘Everything is okay, enjoy yourself,’ or ‘Get used to it’ or ‘It will pass.’

When people talk that way, for all their good intentions they are mainly reassuring themselves, because they don’t want for themselves what they are hearing.  And I suspect that they may see the same kind of thing happening to them at sometime, and they don’t want that either.

But I was anxious.  And I wasn’t ready for the Anxiety Depression Association of America but I’ll admit, I did go browsing on their website.  So, what to do?

Years earlier I had surprised myself by losing weight in a strange way. No, it wasn’t a diet, it was something else.  At a conference, I had heard about using something called affirmations and “self-talk” to help learn a new way of doing or thinking. To change habitual behavior. And to be honest when I heard about it I was more than skeptical to the point of disbelief, I wanted to prove that it was hokum and just would not work.

But, long story short, I used the technique and lost weight over a 6‑month period without doing anything more than reciting “affirmations.”

That’s what popped up in my mind as I tried to kick the anxiety that was really bugging me. Why not try affirmations to to lose my persistent worry? It was worth a try.

So, I reviewed the stuff about affirmations on line – as usual, it pops right up. You write affirmations in short sentences, make them personal, present tense and positive. Like, use the “I” pronoun, use a present tense verb and only positive.

I’d give it a try to get rid of the anxiety attacks bugging me about being away from home and feeling guilty about it, feeling that I should be home, I was needed there.

The first one I wrote was: ‘I’m confident that everything at home is OK.’

That was personal, present and positive. Should fill the bill.

Then, I wrote: ‘I take care of home business as it arrives.’

There were several more, but you get the idea, all the sentences written in the same way and giving the picture of the way I was, ideally. You get the idea, no? Try reading about it on line under ‘affirmations’.

I’m not one to go dragging among childhood memories or adolescent family events looking for the causes of what worries me now, or anything else for that matter.  I’m very here and now, the present, and doing something about that.  I love what Louis Armstrong is supposed to have said: ‘if you ain’t where you’re at, Baby, you ain’t nowhere.’  I like that.

What was the take-home for me?  I found, and still do, that  these affirmations, as they’re called – personal, positive, and present tense, help me learn new ways of adjusting to being single. Got rid of that anxiety in the process.”

Earl says:

“Now that I think about it, becoming single, that began for me like several months before Gladys died.  She had a big stroke, really the beginning of what ended six months later. I was with her every day, so I knew that she was slipping away much faster than the doctors thought. For me it was a cloud, hopelessness and gloom and doom – I remember saying that over and over to myself at the time.

Even as she got weaker I think I was already grieving, so already it was like you say, becoming single, you might say. But it took me a long time after that before I’d sort out my feelings and get a focus on the life that I had with Gladys for thirty-three years and what I’d do going forward.  I had taken so much for granted, like we all do.”

This is Earl’s story.  He is a marriage and family counsellor in one of those really big church congregations. He speaks about his work as “a ministry,” for which he was “called,” and his conversation sometimes seems to come from the pulpit.

“When she died and into the next month I was a basket case.  Oh, I thought brave words about comfort in Jesus and sustaining grace, and I share them with my clients but there was misery and doubt, the tears, and only a “perhaps” about the hope of life eternal.  I hit the bottom myself in grief and in the doubts, I began to have about some of the things I’d believed and taught for years.  And I was beyond tears in mild depression, certainly lethargy and inertia about my ministry and home life – you name it. I seemed to think only about how I’d do without our relationship, and especially our intimacy.

The loneliness went on, the weeping and remembering, and especially yearning for the physical closeness.  So strong. That was a desire that just wouldn’t go away; I wondered about re‑marriage, guilty that it was so soon, and well aware of the danger of passions.

We must be guarded, you know.  We are warned, you know, about our passions, admonished to recognize them for what they are.  I warned myself over and over to go very slowly, and I have, too, but I am going ahead with that, you understand.

Then God spoke to me. Out of the blue.  No, not about my strong passions, but about the bigger picture, what I was to do with my life, what the way ahead was to be. For me it was as clear as a voice, not out loud, but a clear understanding as if I’d just been told. I understood what it was even though there was no voice speaking.

Here’s what happened. God gave me direction: I was not to feel undecided, in the woods so to speak, like the poem says, but to move on, put away the grief and indecision. The same kind of guidance had happened once before, just as clear, when I gave up preaching and pastoring a congregation to become a therapist, though that happened completely without grief and my dear wife and her loving care had sustained me.

Now, I was to get on, back to the road that Frost talks about and that makes all the difference in lives.  I was to make a difference in the lives of couples and families who needed the guidance that I could give them as a ministering therapist.  That was my ministry, my life.  I was not to be grieving for Gladys, yearning for intimacy with her or to have a blurred and foggy vision for what I was to do. Not at all.

Nothing had ever been clearer to me, and it had come so quickly, just six weeks after her death. So, for me the becoming single was more like a rededication to my ministry. But it didn’t resolve my longings for renewed intimacy. That was as strong as ever.

Everyone’s different, of course, so I can’t prescribe.  But on the matter of one’s mission, my calling, we can be sure that God will lead.  I tell this to my clients also. God will lead.

As to the urgings for closeness and intimacy, that did not go away, thank God.  I’m convinced it’s to be shared and, without going into detail, that’s what I’m doing.

What I will say is that I am sharing my ministry with the loving and intimate support of another.  That much is clear and has been clear to me almost like the voice speaking out to me about my ministry. So, in that department learning to be single has been defined again, hasn’t it? “

“I was home while the boys were growing up, then working as an editor in a little print shop, well not so little, I guess. I was busy – in fact we did several books for local authors, along with a lot of the usual stuff. Art interests me. He wasn’t interested but would go with me sometimes to local galleries or in the city. But I don’t think he enjoyed it much.”

This is Liz, sixty-eight, mother of three adult children all living away from home. She’s energetic, living alone when we talked ten months since the death of her husband Albert, after forty-one years of marriage.

 “He had his interests in work and his photography and reading. Forever reading. All those books! And the photography stuff. I still have all of it and don’t know what’s to become of any of it. It’s for the boys but you know they haven’t said a word one way or another but it has to be, doesn’t it, their legacy from their father. All of it. Ugh.

I felt left out of his life a lot but I had my own interests and we did know lots of couples and he was a good father to the boys. I sometimes think he married me for my money. Or was it sex? Well, it’s true my father left a trust that I share it with my sister. I’m taking a cruise through the Panama Canal in a month. But the sex turned out to be no big deal. He had only his college degree and our lives were so separate.

Now that he’s gone, I think I’m doing much the same as when he was here. But there’s all the paperwork to sort out, and he would have done that without me. The house is full of piles of paper; you wouldn’t believe it, but it doesn’t bother me, I’m used to a desk with stacks of stuff on it but I do have to move them when the grandkids come, especially for the little one who’s into everything. I’m not doing a thing with those stacks of books, or the pictures and photography stuff.

 

My daughter-in-law loads three grandkids on me at least three days each week, more if they want to stay over. I love to have them. So, you could say that’s something I’ve learned as a single, caring for the grandkids! They’re company, and she needs the break and to get to her work. Otherwise she’d have to hire help, and it’s her problem when I travel, but for now it works.

I see less of my friends than I used to when I was working. Even just for coffee or just to talk. Yes, I know that’s crazy, stuck here in a way, with the grandkids and wanting to get away from it all.

It’s a carry-over I know – he was so dependent on me, even though we weren’t close. I did everything for him up until the last week when hospice came, and never a word of thanks to me or to them, and often never a word at all. But I couldn’t leave him, could I? I didn’t want to anyway.

Oh, about friends. Last week a man friend called, we’ve known him for years, invited me to have to coffee but I turned him down with a “perhaps later.” I really wanted to, he’s a nice guy I’ve known for years, but I have all this paperwork to do, and the taxes from year end and would just love to get away from all that, and taking care of the grandkids now that they are on holiday. Do I sound confused? I suppose I am in some ways. I mean, paperwork instead of coffee and a chat with an old friend? Why not? As I tell you about it, it sounds like a dumb excuse.

In a way, I’m less independent than before, don’t you think? I ‘ve thought about that several times and I’m not sure I like it. I hadn’t stopped to think about this, becoming single, I mean learning to become single, as you put it, and am not sure about that either. We’ll see.”

Alice Says:

“Some people just don’t get it; they just don’t know what to say to you after you’ve lost someone. Oh, I know, almost everyone says something bland and kind, and that’s what you expect and it’s probably all that’s needed. I suppose they want to be helpful and give support but some people. Really. They just don’t get it. Just don’t get it. That’s where they are but it makes you wonder. But it can hurt.”

Alice had been living single for six years when we talked. She was between appointments so our conversation was brief although she wanted to share, promising a return visit.

“For instance, at bridge I was greeted with ‘I’m surprised to see you back so soon after the funeral.’ What kind of comment is that, or what? What was I supposed to say?

And there were other comments just like that, about being back at my volunteering, even about being seen at the theater soon after my husband passed.

In fact, there were enough comments like that that I thought a lot about it, because, you know, that stopped me cold: I couldn’t think of a word to say, and for me that’s rare.

But there’s more than that when you think about it. Saying things like that is, in a way, a kind of a rebuke, a way of telling me I wasn’t the way I was supposed to be, as a widow and single.

So, I thought about it, and how it had left me speechless, and my resentment – not a good attitude when you’re out having fun!

I decided I’d settle for a plain ‘Thank you.’ Nothing more. Just ’Thank you’, and move on or change the subject. And you know, it works beautifully. We’re both off the hook. Saying only two words is new for me, but it works. So why not?

Well, let’s talk some more. I’m sure there’s more.”

 

“I’ve been single, as you put it, for three years now, and I’ve    learned a lot, among other things, to listen carefully to what my kids were saying. We always listen, of course, but now, with their mother gone, it’s changed. I’ve sensed that they know it’s different for me, perhaps in ways they don’t understand, as well as what it means for them. And they don’t always come right out with it, you know, in detail.”

This is Alex, father of two adult children, both professionals.

“For instance, something they commented on was that at first I stayed at home a lot. That’s true: I was comfortable doing that, but soon I heard about it from the children. “You’ve got to get out.” Not just once but over and over. “And not just to have breakfast with your friend Eric once a week, either. New places, new people.”

That was typical.  They clearly had a concern even though they didn’t spell out what they thought staying at home a lot might do to me, or to them. They didn’t always say it the same way but the message was clear enough, at least about not staying home so much.

I joked with my doctor about it when she asked about how I was doing, and she took it seriously. She agreed, complete with facts and figures about my mental health and all.

I already felt that I wanted to get out more and not just keep busy at home though, heaven knows, there was plenty to do and I enjoyed most of it. I’m retired and I’d had plenty of going out when I was working, heaven knows. And with Esther we had plenty of friends to visit. I’d only retired a year before she passed. But now that I was alone I had to have something other than just going out, something in mind. A reason of some kind.

So, off I went, line of least resistance, to the Senior Center for the Tuesday movie because I like movies, well, some movies. The place was small, room for about twenty, so chatting a bit before and after was almost a necessity. Almost impossible not to meet new people there and talk. And the guy doing the showings loved to talk about the film; that helped, right there in the room. And I didn’t really care if being there didn’t spark any new social interests, that was fine. I was out and about again.

My kids liked that, liked the idea that I was seeing movies, talking about films with the projectionist, even seemed to like that a couple of the other chats after the movie led to coffee dates at Starbucks with one of the ladies there. Nothing much, mostly more movie talk.

Then, the cautions began to come from the children: “Dad, be careful. Ha, Ha. You never know what she wants, and you know the joke, looking for a purse or a nurse.” That kind of thing. And, you know, I do hear that same thing among my friends whenever one of them has a new friend. I don’t like it.

I listened and just laughed it off.  Later I thought about it. I’d heard others, like me, say the same kind of thing – the encouragement to get out then the cautions when I began to do anything that looked like dating.

I can see that the children would be wondering, and what it meant for them. Too many changes, all at once, that’s part of it, don’t you think? Especially changing feelings about mom and dad, the couple they knew best from day one, even though they knew that it was different now.

So, the comments about getting out of the house rather than being at home probably took on more meanings for them, about new friendships that I might make, and how that would play with them. Maybe even more.

So, I’m listening better than I used to, and you might say, at different levels. I think it helps. It certainly helps me feel better, even though sometimes it gets a bit tiresome, the feeling that I have to organize myself to fit their expectations.

“I had this feeling after Linda passed that there was something missing. Well, that’s dumb, Yes, she was, but that’s not what I mean. I had a feeling that I was not all there, dis-oriented, losing it, not all the pieces in place.”

This is Oscar, seventy-seven, single now for six years. He talked about what he remembered as a part of his first grief, his first feelings of singleness – how the absence of another affected his sense of self, and what he did to, in fact, unlearn feelings that he felt were unhelpful.

“Oh, I knew that my world had been changed in a big way – we all know something about the changes, from watching others and from what friends share with us. And I had heard enough about the grieving process, what Kubler-Ross says about it, and how I was living it, and could check myself off on the list of stages, though I didn’t follow them in a neat order – I don’t think anyone does, do you? But that’s only part of it.  I’m talking about a persistent feeling I had of a weird kind.  Something different.

The feeling came and went; stronger some times than others; sort of like when I remember that I’ve forgotten something important and can’t remember what it was.

But I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that bothered me and I became a bit worried that I didn’t know what to do about it. So, I just made up of an explanation. I just invented something. I do that kind of thing quite often – just invent a starting point and use it to see how it works for solving a problem or organizing something. It’s a bit messy sometimes but it gets me going, off the dead center.

I said to myself, maybe with being married all those years I’ve, sort of, come to see myself as a couple, that’s my picture of myself. After all I’ve been married for forty-seven years defined as much by Linda as myself.  There she was, completing my world, defining me and the way I saw myself. That was my imagined explanation of what was going on and was causing my worry: my picture of me no longer fitted the new reality, and I knew it, and didn’t know what to do.

But with that in mind I said to myself: ‘Paint a new picture.” Funny, No?       picture of myself.

It’s hard to explain. The feeling that there is someone part of your life even though you’re not together at that moment. I felt that way even with Linda, when we were still together, and now that she’s gone – for six years, I still remember that. Even though we were often apart there was always the sense of her, a sense of another. That’s what I decided my subconscious was telling me, that I was still that way, somehow. But the tension came because  at the time, like I said, I had plenty of reality around me to tell me I was a single.

And I think now that when I gave myself an explanation I began to feel better about the whole thing. At one level of talking to myself I said things like, ‘As a single in this group ….’ Or, ‘Now that I’m single again I could….’ Or, ‘Singles at my age are doing this….’ Ignored the ‘married’ or the ‘widower’ bit as much as I could. The new picture gave me starting points and generated great things, some activities I’d not thought about before, and certainly new friendships.

I mean the feeling didn’t bother me so much, wasn’t so mysterious, and it slowly went away. The picture just faded away, and I’ve come to think of myself as single. Sort of Biblical – ‘As a man thinketh. . . .’ In fact, I went to a Meet-Up group of ‘Widows and Widowers’ and felt odd about the name. I’ve come to think of myself as a single more than the coupleness that’s implied in ‘widower.’

In fact, I haven’t thought about it much until now that I’m telling you, with the passage of time, so now, when I talk about that it’s just a memory that I’ve called up for the occasion. Maybe it’s a useful example to share, it’s one way I learned to become single, to slowly lose the old picture, the uncertainty I had, and have a current picture of my self, the ‘now’ me.”

Violet is speaking:

“It’s been years now, of course, but I remember how angry I was at first that Arthur was gone. I was angry at everyone and everything and made no secret of it. I was just mad. Childish, I know now. That he should die. He was so young and so talented and so successful in our both our businesses.

We had everything you’d wish for, money as our businesses grew, and our son, and we’d built the house where I still live – everything. I was so mad. We’d had lots of friends but I was even mad at them, I think. I must not have scared them all away because there were men friends inviting me to dates. But they wanted to run my life.

When I thought I was over my anger – well, the worst of it, I accepted a date. He was a nice guy we had known for years in business. I thought the date would go well – you know – common interests and we knew lots of the same people so it would be a great gossip time, and I really needed some man company. I knew I was tense and worried and I thought I wanted to relax a bit, but as I look back there were signals with him, even on the first date that I completely missed. Little things like for instance, at the restaurant he went right ahead and ordered for both of us, pretty much without asking me what I wanted. OK, I thought, he’s a take charge person, wanting to treat me well, and I really did want to be taken care of, at least treated well. I was used to that with Arthur, and I hadn’t been out like that for a while, on a date, I mean.

On our next date, we went to a movie, nice, but a surprise to me. He hadn’t said anything about where we were going or did I want to go or asked what did I want to see.

About by then I began to get the message, especially after the show as we talked about it: his opinions were the ones we’d have. He thought for me, with plenty of suggestions: ‘You have to understand this movie this way. . ..’ And so on.

And in other ways, too. This taking charge of my life! I’d talked about some little things that needed doing around the house, and he was, like: ‘You should call so-and-so.’ And another thing: I like news magazines and talking about what I read.  He told me not to waste my money on magazines, just to watch TV.

So, each time it got to be something like I’d say something and he’d tell me what to do. Then I had to explain to him why what he said didn’t solve the problem or suit me. It was back and forth – he’d tell me what to do and I had to tell him that it just wouldn’t work for me or that I’d done it already.

Talk about control. I got so mad, all over again! At him, I mean. What business was it of his how many magazines I read, or why should I think the same way about a movie as he did? All that advice about what I should and shouldn’t do. Oh, brother!

For me, that was the end of him. I’d had enough. Believe me, he wanted to run my life and that turned me off him and, anyway, he didn’t come up with anything that I thought would work. It only took two dates for me to learn that, and that I wasn’t looking for someone to run my life for me.

Maybe I was very needy and attracted that kind of advice. Whatever. I certainly got it. So, I stuck to my women friends, married and single, and they had advice for me too, but somehow it was different, more sympathetic, at least from the single friends.

I’ve also come to admit to myself, at least, that I am almost as controlling as he tried to be. I’m the one in our group who arranges the parties, and sees to it that the bridge group gets called to remind them, and helps the beginners to play the right way. I’m good at all that.

And so, with him, for instance, I was often ahead of him. I could tell him what I knew with, ‘Yes, but I’ve tried that,’ or ‘Yes, but that just won’t work for me.’  It got to be like a game of tennis, back and forth across the net.

I like men’s company and don’t want to be alone and lonely, but that was a disaster. I’d picked just the person who, as I think of it now, had the same issues I had, wanting to be in the driver’s seat.

That’s all been years ago, and the story didn’t end there, but that’s another story and I’ll tell you about it sometime. And as I look back now I can see that I was adjusting to being single, as you put it, learning, as you say. I knew I didn’t want to be angry all over again particularly with men and knew I wanted their company, even though I hadn’t figured out just how. So, I learned that the ‘take charge’ part of me was pretty strong, and began to show. Short term, I knew he had to go. Too bad – we didn’t even get to cuddle!

I hadn’t thought about it like this, I mean to tell it like a story. It’s been interesting.”

“We all get through it, the grieving, I mean, with the help of friends and, for me, learning to be single they were probably just as important. And you know, they seem to learn also, but it’s a mixed bag.”

Here are Victor’s reflections.

“Friends really did reach out to me with lots of sympathy, calling, wanting to know “How are you managing?” Most of them had learned that I am pretty self-reliant and that, along with hospice in the last months, I’d managed alone. But still, they were concerned now that I really was alone. And it showed and I really was appreciative. Still am.

My daughter told me to accept every invitation; if I didn’t, she said, pretty soon there wouldn’t be any. So I did, and they kept inviting. The invitations and the company were really great. I’m sure, as I look back, that I wasn’t the best company, not too with it, as we say, but the suppers and even the coffee meets helped so much, gave me a break. There can be lonely days and nights without them.

Yet I had the feeling sometimes, when I accepted an invitation that I was an extra, an add on.

Sometimes I got matched, forewarned or not, with a single woman. Even then there is this uncomfortable feeling, of a patched-up arrangement. I have this feeling still, even when it is just me, or even just me and another.

I sometimes secretly wished that we, the two of us put together by our hosts for the occasion, could go off somewhere to talk, alone, and skip the dinner.  I think you’d understand why I felt this way.

But what I want to say is how important the support from friends was, especially in the early stages. They knew that it wasn’t like old times, and of course I knew that, but it was support, and I think that’s what made it so helpful.

“As I started dating again — this was more than a year or so after Susan died, I began to get anxious. As I thought about it I linked the two things together – new close relationships after so many years with only one and feelings of guilt, that was a no-brainer. I was out of my comfort zone.  Not surprising: I’d been married and faithful for thirty-one years. I knew that, in my head, I mean, but didn’t feel it.

Help needed, said I. So, I had friend suggest a couple of therapists, called, made appointments and went with the second one after a couple of trial sessions that just didn’t feel right for me with another.”

This is Evan, early sixties, still active in his professional practice and living alone since the loss of his wife Susan three years earlier. Three adult children all living independently. We had talked briefly earlier; this is a return visit.

 “Short story: between a couple of sessions, and at the suggestion of the therapist, I put together a free-wheeling list of why I might be anxious. We talked about the list and that helped more, but the big help, I think, was putting the list together.

I had nibbled away at doing it, adding here and there one day or another, just letting my mind work on it between times. I seem to remember reading somewhere that thinking begins when a problem is defined, and that was what happened for me: I was beginning to define the problem as I wrote down my thoughts about why I was anxious. The list was just that kind of kick-start for me.

Here’s my list, to share it with you because when we talked before I’d forgotten some of the details, you’ll remember. Here’s my list. I’ll read it to you.

I am feeling anxious about dating

• because as the new friendships grow they may push out memories I want to keep.
• because getting close now challenges my long monogamous marriage thinking.
• because I might get close and the relationship might go sour. Fear of failure.
• because getting close might get really close, and am I ready to get naked again? I know one thing can lead to another and I haven’t thought about boundaries.
• being mildly anxious is good because mild anxiety keeps me cautious, and I’m cautious by nature.
• because I sometimes do get off on the wrong foot with people, so I should take care.
• closer relationships are give and take, and that threatens my new independence, which I like. Stay safe; paddle my own canoe.
• I heard that mild anxiety may be a random brain event. (That’s sure a convenient way to explain it all!).
• the world is a dangerous place. I’d be maladjusted if I was not at least mildly anxious.
• Psych 101 taught me that mild tension is an automatic, or is it autonomic, motivational response to incomplete tasks. This is helpful, because I’ve got plenty incomplete now that I’m single again.
• I really don’t know what my dates are looking for, and everyone has heard the ‘nurse or purse’ quip about older romances.

So where do I come out? We went through the list, bit by bit, and quite apart from this it made me feel better, like, more in control, just to let it all hang out to a listening ear.

Of course, I knew that I was the one, not the therapist, who had to do the work and make changes, whatever they turned out to be and if I wanted to.

And, I think that seeing so many reasons why I should be anxious made me feel better, like, why worry too much, this may be healthy after all. Some of the things on the list were realistic concerns, like accepting the fact that memories of the married years do fade. Or, the need to be cautious and considerate of what the dates needed and wanted, they might be as much on pins and needles as I am.

I didn’t get too analytical, I rarely do much of that at any given time. So, in a way it was making the list and to talk it over with the therapist that helped a lot.”