I will celebrate my 48th wedding anniversary next week, alone, as my husband, Bruce, died in 2015. Actually, he preferred to celebrate the anniversary of the date we met, Oct. 14, 1969. This because he believed it was fate stepping in, not a Saturday night that happened to serve as our legal ceremony.
He was right about fate; one minute either way would have made the difference. My husband and I met while he was hitchhiking and my friends and I were driving in downtown Washington, D.C. We picked him up, and that was that.
We grew up together, through college and graduate school, first jobs, fledgling careers, a major move to Vermont, two children and extraordinary adventures. We buried his parents in Vermont and buried mine in Maryland.
We were in our mid-60s, healthy and looking forward to eventually retiring and enjoying our children and grandchildren. Bruce followed a careful diet and was an athlete. He biked, hiked, kayaked and became proficient at yoga, and lived long enough to know three of our four grandchildren.
When it struck, it struck hard — a glioblastoma. There was an initial successful surgery, followed by radiation and oral chemo. Bruce continued to do well. He used the guided imagery I taught him to overcome his fear of doctors, hospitals and treatments. He worked on a modified schedule in his job as a financial planner.
Our last Thanksgiving as a family was spent in the hospital, eating turkey between blood draws. He was sent home with hospice round-the-clock care. On Jan. 11, 2015, he passed away peacefully, with no pain and no fear. I still cannot believe my lover, my comrade, is gone. We did get to spend his last summer on the Atlantic Ocean at a beach house.
After almost a year, I moved from our family’s house to a nearby apartment. I decorated it as I chose, having no one else to please. With loving family and my wonderful posse of friends, as well as my therapy practice, I am busy and fulfilled. Almost every day and some nights bring activity and community.
A year after his death, I decided to date. While I still so clearly adored my husband, I desired to experience the same factors that made my marriage so wonderful. As the only widow in my group of friends, I felt alone, even with the constant invitations.
It is still a couples' world, and I wanted someone to share my life. And, frankly, as my 90-year-old aunt declared, I was too young to live without sex.