Tuesday, May 21, 2013

A Reflection for Connie

A dear family friend lost his second wife today.  My heart is breaking for him.  All I can think about is that he's had to do this twice in his lifetime.  And that it's a possibility that I may also have to bury another husband in my lifetime.  Poor Paul, it seems so unfair.

Hearing news like this comes at a strange time for me.  I've recently decided to get out into the dating world.  I have no idea what I'm doing.  I feel as though I am taking a cop out approach to it.  I want to just meet someone casually who turns out to be just what I want.  That's the only way I have ever done this; TJ was my best friend.  And at my age it's so different.  I realize I will have to take a more active roll in seeking out men to date.  There are less social situations to find myself in.  And when I do get out most of those men are married.  

It feels as though I am personally hard wired for partnership.  For the first time in my life I feel like I don't need it; I want it.  I have so much love to give and I finally know, deep down in my bones, that I deserve to receive that love in kind from my partner.  Even with this knowledge getting back out there seems so overwhelming.  I have always been willing to work hard.  Am I willing to work hard for a second chance at love?  I hope so.

Connie, Paul's wife who died this morning, came to talk to me a few months after TJ had died.  She told me to stay open to love.  That it can come again and I could be happy again, just like she was with Paul.  She told me that as much as it hurts to think about finding another love that it is all worth it when it is right and good.  I remember her standing on our deck as if it were yesterday.  She spoke to me so clearly, so plainly that there was no way to argue.  She and Paul were my proof.

Thank you, Connie. I won't ever forget what you told me that day and how you held me so dearly that first summer.  Watch over Paul and know that you matter to us.  Know that you are so loved and will be sorely missed.