Archive for August, 2013

It’s been almost a year since I’ve written here. I’m still seeing the man I alluded to in my post of September 11, 2012 – though, honestly, I’m not sure for how much longer. It’s not that there’s anything wrong, per se. There’s even a lot that’s right. We enjoy each other’s company, communicate well, share lots of common interests and similar values. We have good talks and great sex. It’s not toe-curling-wake-the-neighbors sex every time, but it is sometimes… and after a year of sleeping together, he still takes such obvious delight in my body and is utterly absorbed in giving me pleasure, every single time we take our clothes off. He makes me feel wanton and desirable in a way that I haven’t since my husband died. He makes me laugh.

There’s just one problem. He’s not in love with me, and I’m not in love with him.

I heard a story today about an elderly woman and her husband of over 50 years. The woman has to get up several times a night to use the bathroom, as many older people do, and she has some trouble getting around even with her walker. When the power was out one night, her husband got up with her every time she had to use the bathroom. He walked beside her holding a flashlight so that she could see where she was going.

This is what I want. I want a partner to shine a light for me in the dark, to be there when I need someone to lean on. I want someone to wake up with every morning, to bring me breakfast in bed on Sundays, someone to grow old with me. And I still want what I wrote about last September, the kind of love where “every breath we drew was hallelujah”…

What if I miss my chance at all of that because I settled for Mr. Right Now?


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The last time I got a manicure, the nail lady bruised the fingers of my right hand with her enthusiastic massage. I had to take off my wedding ring, which has not left my right hand since I moved it from the left to mark the six month anniversary of my husband’s death, because it hurt. Several days later, the bruises are gone but the ring won’t go back on my finger. It doesn’t fit anymore.

I feel naked without my ring. My hand feels weird. I keep absentmindedly rubbing my finger and looking down in surprise when I don’t feel the ring there.

Last night I dug into my jewelry box and brought out the “promise” ring from my late husband, which doubled as an engagement ring because we didn’t have the money to afford a diamond. It was always too loose on my left hand and I wore it on my right after we got married. It doesn’t fit my right hand anymore. It doesn’t even fit on my left.

I’ve gained a few pounds over the last few years. I weigh maybe 10 lbs. more than I did on my wedding day, when both rings slipped easily onto my fingers. Are my hands just getting fat? Or is this some kind of sign from the Universe that it’s time to put the rings away?

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