I found myself sitting next to my late husband’s grave on the day I decided to download a dating app. It seemed a peculiar place to make such a move, but as a 36-year-old widow with two children after nearly ten years of a wonderful marriage, I felt the need for Matt, my husband, to guide me through this unfamiliar territory. After all, we had vowed to be a team, “’Til death do us part,” and I had never envisioned myself navigating life without him.
There I was on that chilly cemetery soil, beneath a somber gray sky that felt like it stretched into a realm where Matt was still alive and I was still whole, grappling with an overwhelming question: What did I want from my dates? A relationship? Something casual? Remarriage?
The reality was, I wasn’t interested in a relationship or another marriage. What I craved was far more specific—a partner to help fend off the zombie apocalypse, someone who could handle the things I didn’t know how to do.
Our Love Story
I first encountered Matt on February 4 when I was just 22, and he was 27. It was a classic meet-cute—after a few too many vodka shots, we locked eyes across a crowded dance floor. He pushed through the throng, handed me a business card featuring a toilet seat, and offered to buy me a drink.
Our lives became beautifully intertwined from that moment. My world seamlessly merged with his; I was younger and unanchored, ready to dive into his life. I moved into his apartment, combined our finances, and filed tax returns as a couple. I had faith in his instincts and meticulous planning, convinced he would always lead us to safety. There was even a fleeting moment in our marriage when I was certain we would survive any disaster, including a zombie apocalypse. I could rest easy at night knowing he would always save us, even as our family grew from two to four.
The Void Left Behind
Yet, when it came down to it, I couldn’t save him. Matt passed away on February 3, almost thirteen years after we first met. In that dim hospice room, I matched my breaths to his until he took his last. His absence left a void so vast it could have devoured the sun. In the immediate aftermath of grief, it was easy to succumb to despair.
Suddenly, I was a single mother, grappling with a mortgage and tax returns now solely in my name. At 35, I found myself in the captain’s seat for the very first time, and steering felt nearly impossible. I realized I hadn’t acquired the knowledge to manage our home; I didn’t know the login credentials for our mortgage, nor did I understand our health insurance deductibles or property taxes. The ship was untethered, drifting and lost.
As I grasped the wheel where Matt once held firm, I felt inadequate. In a world where dystopian realities seemed increasingly plausible, I was alone and vulnerable, a young woman struggling to navigate a life built for two. I yearned for a partner—someone to help steer the ship. In 2019, this led me to my phone.
First Steps into Dating
Fourteen months after Matt’s death, I mustered the courage to go on my first date in 14 years. Unlike the initial encounter that had led me to my husband, this time I met a man outside a strip mall in New Jersey. He looked older than his profile pictures, and I found myself struggling to breathe as I sat across from him. I smiled and made small talk, drawing on the skills I’d learned from playground conversations with other moms. But when he leaned in for a hug, dread washed over me. I was on a date with someone who was not Matt, and nothing else mattered.
The day after, I texted him to say I wasn’t ready to date, a sentiment that rang painfully true as I Googled “deductible” and worried about all the responsibilities I hadn’t yet mastered. Despite this, I scheduled another date, telling myself that sometimes you have to fake it until you make it.
As I continued to date, a pattern emerged—each encounter ended with me sending a text message apologizing for not being ready. I shared my feelings with my sister-in-law, admitting I felt lost. Her response was reassuring: “No, I think you’re finding your mind.” I wanted desperately to believe her.
Finding My Strength
I drove to the cemetery, tears streaming down my face as I confronted the truth: I couldn’t simply replace what I had lost. There was no app for that. But sitting there, surrounded by the warmth of summer, I realized how much time had passed. I was no longer Googling answers to questions I should have known. I began to sleep soundly, knowing that the cracks in my life were slowly sealing. The ship hadn’t sunk; it had wobbled and tipped, but it was moving forward.
It dawned on me that I had been the one steering all along. Perhaps I didn’t need anyone to save me from a zombie apocalypse after all. Instead, I desired someone to share laughter with, to travel alongside, to exchange funny memes. I realized I was capable of navigating my own ship.
Reflections
In retrospect, if the zombie apocalypse were truly on the horizon, a cemetery probably wouldn’t be my ideal hangout. Then again, with a deceased yet adoring husband, perhaps I had little to fear.
Resources
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Summary
After the loss of her husband, the author reflects on her journey from grieving widow to navigating life as a single mother. Faced with the daunting task of dating and managing responsibilities alone, she discovers her own strength and resilience. Ultimately, she realizes the importance of companionship in life, emphasizing the need for laughter and shared experiences rather than the pressure of finding a replacement for what she lost.
Keyphrase
navigating life after loss
Tags
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