I’m not sure if it is just a part of the process, self-preservation or something supernatural but I caught myself of guard the other day. You see, I was quite surprised when an acquaintance walked by me at work and in front of everyone he grabbed my shoulder and asked me how I was. It might not seem much to some but everyone at work registered something was different. He acted like we knew each other very well and we only said hi in passing. The moment passed and everyone asked if we were friends outside work and were we seeing each other. They were shocked to hear me say no and the speculation began.

As I sat down to write this morning, as I usually do, I read a few of this previous week’s posts.  On a day like today, where my mind is somewhat blank, it often helps me to zero in on a subject. Once I have that nugget of inspiration, I can usually let it flow.

This week, I’ve been inspired to write about something from a different side of the same coin.  Olivia and Staci had spoken about the triggers of lack of contact with a loved one, and the desire and intricacies of revisiting places and events they once shared with their person.

Perhaps its the different circumstances...long-term illness versus sudden, surprising loss, but I don’t feel the same way as they do.  

Last night, I saw the film "Bohemain Rhapsody" with my love, Nick. 

Everything having anything to do with music always makes me think of Don.

It just does. 

Our connection was largely based in music. We met through music. We played and sang music together. 

We introduced each other to lots of musicians and artists to listen to. 

Don used music and strumming his guitar, as his biggest coping mechanism to get through the trauma he saw on the job. 

To get through most hard things. 

He would disappear into music, play his guitar for a couple hours in solitude, and then he would be okay. 

Don and I connected through music. 

I’ve heard that when you feel you are struggling with your writing it is because you are writing what you think you should write instead of what you truly feel. I can’t find the actual quote right now (it was much more eloquent than that) but that idea has been on my mind for a while. Since I saw it really. I’ve wanted to write and share about something but I’ve been nervous. Anxious for a whole bunch of reasons. Nervous that it’s too easy and good to be true. That it’ll soon disappear. Anxious because I’m less cautious than I use to be and although I like it I’m still getting used to myself. Nervous because with change comes emotions and more changes and I’m adjusting.

But at the same time, I want to share. It’s what is on my mind a lot and it’s hard to write about other things when it’s not really what I’m thinking about. I’ve mentioned here and there about it but not really fully shared.

Three years is not an insignificant amount of time to be in a relationship with someone.

Three years is how long Megan and I dated before we were married.  

Three years is how long Megan was “healthy” during our relationship.

Three years is how old Shelby was when her mother was carted away in an ambulance, on her way to an unknown future.

Three years is how long Sarah and Drew were together before his death.

Three years ago, Sarah and I met.

If you’ve read Sarah's Post this past Sunday, then you are aware that she and I (and Shelby) were in Corpus Christi, Texas, over an extended weekend.  One of her longest and closest friends was marrying, and Sarah herself was a bridesmaid.  In that regards, I wasn’t a widower this past weekend.  I was the “second partner” of a widow.

I’ve chosen to expand upon this.  Sarah and I are in the unique position of both being writers here, both being widowed, and both dating (and cohabitating) with each other.  While much of my writing deals with the emotions, stress, and perspectives of losing Megan, this past weekend was much more important from the other side of dating a widow.

I'm finding it a bit lonely, this whole “being alone” thing.  Back in my real life I often craved alone time.  Just one hour of peace and quiet was like winning the lottery, because the last time I had such a thing was somewhere around 1992.

The last couple of decades have been filled with career and intermingled with babies, followed by toddlers, followed by teens. Several of those teen years were particularly difficult, even before Ben got sick, so it has been a long, long time since I experienced peace and quiet.

Now it seems that all the hours are quiet. Not much peace, just endless quiet.  

When you are a widow or widower, and you’re dating, It truthfully doesn’t matter how “good” you think things are going. There will always be some aspect of your new relationship that becomes amplified quite simply BECAUSE you are a widow/er.  It may be a perceived slight in comparison to how your pror person treated a situation, or it may be an observation that your “second chapter” (I hate that term, by the way) actually does something better or more desirable than your first.  It can be good, or bad; it doesn’t matter, it’s amplified.

Each time one of these moments arises, one can’t help but think “well, it wouldn’t be this way if my first person hadn’t died”.  It can bring up emotions that are deep seated, yet hidden.  Emotions that you did not know even existed, and perspectives that you had never thought about.

One of these moments occurred between Sarah and I on Sunday night, where we both were trying to explain ourselves clearly and with love, yet emotions only continued to rise.

So, you’ve decided to begin dating a widow.  You met this person online, in a bar, through a mutual friend, or via an interest group of some sort.  You may have met by chance at a convention, or at a singles night nearby.  The point is, when you met that person, you didn’t necessarily know them as a widow.  

Disclaimer: I met Sarah at Camp Widow, so I was kind of privy to that information beforehand.

Regardless, you’ve shown an interest.  You may be just starting to date, or have known this person for years.  If said widow also shows an interest, buckle up, because it’s going to be interesting.  Here are four things that are somewhat unique to dating or being in a relationship to a widow or widower.

I’ve known Sarah now for almost two years.  In that span of time, we met, at Camp Widow, began dating, she moved to Ohio, and has since moved in, officially, with Shelby and I.  She’s been here in Ohio for one year, as of yesterday.