If there could be a "best part" of being a young widow (that sentence is laughable, I know), it would be how people react to your situation. Have you ever seen Silver Linings Playbook? Where they tell Bradley Cooper's character not to mention her husband's death to Jennifer Lawrence's character? And he blurts out something like, "How did your husband die," immediately after their introduction? I laughed out loud at that. I probably shouldn't, but I did. However, when your husband dies, you win the right to laugh at a lot of uncomfortable things.
And I've learned that awkward encounters and questions come with the territory. My favorite question became the dating question. Strangely enough, I can only compare the dating question to that of the baby question at a wedding. It seems like the moment you say, "I do," someone asks if you're pregnant.
Would you like to know how long it took for someone to ask me if I'd date again? Better yet, would you like to know where they asked me?
At his funeral.
I'm not even kidding you.
Granted, the person who asked, asked kindly and had my best interest at heart. But hilariously enough, it was at his funeral. And what did they want me to say? What possible answer could I give, while still trying to maintain a level of appropriateness?
"No. I plan on joining the nuns in the Loretto Convent and betrothing myself to the Lord."
Though sweet, and I'm sure God would appreciate it, not believable and not for me. Besides, would a convent even take me? Do you have to get accepted? I'm pretty sure my non-existant dreams of becoming a nun died at the age of 16.
"No. I've thrown out all my razors and have decided to grow out my leg hair and follow Phish."
Though possible, I once went to a Phish concert and never stood to sing, dance or applaud. I don't believe in Phish. They are only a bedtime story filled with mythical creatures told to scare little children and yuppies.
"No. After I leave this shindig, it's hermit-ness for me!"
I like that one the best.
I, honestly, have no recollection of my answer, but the intent was always to move on. Tim made sure to tell me that moving on was my only option. I guess that's part of the gift of a long goodbye. A person can make their wishes very clear.
Shoot, even Tim had a sense of humor about the thought of me having to start over again. And who wouldn't? I've been told I'm a barrel of laughs and bad decisions. No doubt a recipe for a piss poor sitcom allowed only on FX following Charlie Sheen's show.
I remember one time, when Tim was sick, I wanted to buy a purse. (How selfish does that sound? You're sick and I need a purse. Thankfully, Tim understood the importance of purses to my being.) I begged him for that purse, as married women often must do. He, in true Tim shopping fashion, said no. "Kristen," he said in his deep voice, "Hopefully your next husband will be nicer." I remember flopping down on the bed in defeat, muttering, "Cancer has hardened you." We both laughed...and I still got my purse.
But when IS IT OKAY for a young widow to "move on?" How long does one wait to start a new relationship? My mother died in 2009 and my father STILL has yet to date. At the risk of sounding like my story belongs on Jerry Springer or the Steve Wilkos Show, I think he's a handsome man! He's successful! What's he waiting for? I ask him all the time to find me a "new mommy" with attractive sons, but I'm pretty sure he's not taking me seriously.
So if I can't follow his lead, what's appropriate when you're only 32 years old?
I'll tell you what's not appropriate, but also funny at the same time... The guys that come out of the woodwork to attempt to become your knight and shining armor. Not like I'm some hot commodity, but my experience alone could fill the pages of a comedic novel.
(If you're starting to get nervous while reading this, I might be referring to you. Don't worry. I've sworn off my memoirs until I'm 80. Pretty sure we will all long for the days of our youth and bad decisions at that point. Or perhaps you'll be dead, so you won't care. Regardless, you have 46 years. Relax.)
I remember making a note in my phone, "Note to self, there is a statute of limitation on dating a widow...and that limitation is not up." I wanted to Facebook that, but I had to draw the line at some level of widow dignity. I don't have that much left in that social media outlet and bringing attention to that kind of attention I was receiving was sure to dash my hopes and dreams of saint hood. Plus, names would have to be changed to protect the innocent (or not so innocent) and it would just further seal my non-acceptence into the Loretto Convent. Trust me.
When the statute IS UP, however, I found that everyone has an opinion. And if you're like me and you were previously married to the mayor of Whoville, that poses as more of a problem.
Tim was a very friendly person. He had friends at every establishment we'd go to. We couldn't walk down the busy streets of Chicago without someone stopping to talk to Tim. It was a blessing for me to be with such a well-liked individual, but it started to pose as a curse in his absence.
I was at dinner with my family one evening, discussing this awesomely uncomfortable subject of my new-found love life and my aunt turned to me and said, "No one will ever be my nephew Tim."
It was in that moment that my Houston knew we had a problem...and it wasn't going to be easy.
And I was right, it wasn't easy. Tim comparisons, whether conscious comparisons or not, happened instantly. Which I find unfair, not only to myself and my boyfriend, but it's unfair to Tim, as well. There was only one Tim and my moving on was not to replace him. You can't replace one human being with another. You can only move forward with yourself and hope to find someone who wants to laugh at life with you. And let me tell you what, I laugh at life a lot.
And, really, that's all that should matter to others. It should matter that I laugh, it should matter that I smile and it should matter that I love again. After all, that's what Tim wanted for me.
And yes, I said "boyfriend." How awkward was that for you to hear? It was more awkward for me to say. You should see my face when I actually have to say it to people. First I hesitate, like I have a speech impediment or as if I'm afraid to say it. Then my face gets all scrunched up and ugly looking. Like I just smelled a fart or said a dirty word. It's definitely a sight to be seen. It's just so weird to say 'boyfriend' after I've used the word 'husband.'
....But, once again, I'm learning not to care....and I'll tell you more later....
