My partner has far superior genetics compared to my own. His family boasts a lineage with minimal health issues and two robust parents. Meanwhile, my clan, though resilient warriors in life, is a mixed bag riddled with various ailments. They tend to enjoy life, but not for as long. Our family gatherings often include wakes filled with laughter and drinks.
I’m not one of those 40-something individuals with a collection of elderly grandmas in Florida who outlived their spouses by decades, spending more time as widows than as wives. Thankfully, I suspect I won’t face a similar fate of extensive widowhood because, well, I’ll be long gone.
While I find comfort in knowing I’ll depart this world well before my partner, it leaves me pondering what will happen to him once I’m no longer around. I don’t want him to feel lonely, but the idea of him with another woman is hard to fathom.
The answer emerged during one of our visits to a cemetery. My partner and I share a fondness for exploring graveyards. As writers and storytellers, we are drawn to the rich tapestry of lives that have come and gone, filled with mystery, love, and loss.
Recently, while standing over a poignant family plot, I made a promise to my partner: if he were to remarry after my passing, I would haunt him. I think I said something like, “Sweetheart, if you get lonely and decide to cozy up with some widow in capris, I will make your life a living nightmare.” He responded with a mix of laughter and seriousness, “Oh, I know. I KNOW you will.” It seemed to fill him with a strange pride.
He then began to poetically express that he has never loved anyone but me and never would (trust me on that), that life without me would be unimaginable (which is true; it would be awful), and that I needn’t worry about haunting him because he’d simply fade away alone after I’m gone (a sad image, but perhaps that’s how it must be). Gazing into the distance for dramatic effect, he channeled a romantic hero, declaring, “I shall never love again.”
Delighted, I replied, “Perfect! Because otherwise, I’ll rattle my chains next to you for eternity and cause all sorts of mayhem.”
I must confess, the thought of haunting my beloved should he find companionship with a lady from a support group is rather morbid. I envision him at therapy sessions, sipping coffee and munching on plain donuts. (With his attractive wife gone, he might decide to let himself go, and his desire for romance would vanish.)
I recognize that this reveals some serious flaws in my character. My parents would likely be appalled by my selfish and narcissistic threats. I know I’m supposed to wish for him to find love and companionship with someone who cherishes him. I’ve learned all about compassion from films, books, and my schooling.
Yet, as we stood among those ancient stones, the thought of him holding hands and falling asleep with another woman nearly crushed me. For instance, I have dry skin—what if, as he reaches for Martha’s hand from the support group, he suddenly realizes, “Wow, I’ve been holding a lobster claw for 40 years, and now look at Martha and me with our incredibly soft, intertwined hands! Things worked out beautifully. It was just Renee’s time.” Clearly, my haunting would be necessary.
As we continued our stroll, we discussed how he might fill his days and nights after my headstone is placed—perhaps escorts? Arts and crafts at the senior center? Painting seashells? Group tours down the Danube and other significant rivers? Ultimately, we settled on a far more inspired notion: I would choose a friend of mine for him to marry. This way, I could rest easy knowing what to expect from my afterlife vantage point.
We brainstormed names.
- “Oh, her! She’ll drag him out camping every weekend.”
- “What about her? She’ll work multiple jobs, be patient, cook endless meals, and he’ll end up quite hefty.”
- “How about her? She’d want to relocate to Barcelona, which wouldn’t be the best for our kids.”
- “Oh, her! She’ll take in foster kids, and they’ll travel with a group of special-needs adults, making my existence seem small. Cross her off!”
This exercise not only catered to my controlling nature but also reassured me that none of my friends would tarnish my legacy since they understand how remarkable I was when alive. My partner seemed relieved too, given that I have many attractive friends. Two in particular, with those bright, Hollywood smiles he finds irresistible, kept coming to mind.
In the end, I selected a dear friend whom I adore. She knows both of us intimately and is one of my partner’s favorite people. Plus, she already loves him, meaning she truly understands me. If her spouse were to meet the same unfortunate fate as mine, I give my blessing for them to start anew. It feels right. And even if I choose to rattle my chains and cause a little trouble, she would welcome my spirit.
Here lies Jane Smith, they can carve into my stone: Wife, mother, friend. I haunt out of love.
If you enjoyed this piece, check out our post about home insemination kits, which can provide valuable insights for family planning.
Summary
The author humorously contemplates the future of her partner after her passing, discussing the idea of choosing a friend for him to marry. While she grapples with feelings of jealousy and possessiveness, the underlying message is one of love and legacy. Ultimately, she seeks comfort in knowing that her partner will be taken care of, even in the afterlife.
Keyphrase: Friend to Marry After Death
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