In my 71st year, going into my third as a widow, I decided to join a newly formed literary discussion group at the local library on Saturday afternoons.
It was a step out of darkness, away from the mourning, then grieving, first for my husband, then for my mother ten months later.
I had not understood—how could I have known—that recovering from three years of caregiving had to come first, the relentless focus, the exhaustion, the useless fight against the tides carrying my loved ones to their inevitable end.
The effect on my body, mind, and spirit was brutal. The effect on my heart—shattering.
Yet my survival instincts told me to do something—anything—for myself, even if I wanted to remain squarely in the comfort of memory. I got this offbeat idea in my head to reclaim my liberal arts education.
Thus, the library group. I had set aside my own reading and pursuit of intellectual inquiry upon entering the legal profession, promoting my practice, raising two stepchildren and our two together-children, building a home and the family life within it. And it was wonderful, full of life, love, and joyful activity.
I attended the first session with the anticipation of the college girl who once was me. I read the assignments in advance for the January meeting, Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience and Dr.King’s Letter from the Birmingham Jail, forgetting for a brief time that grief was a given on my daily schedule.
I enjoyed meeting the attendees, like-minded in their intellectual curiosity and committment to civil discourse. At the end of the monthly meeting, we planned for the second one, and briefly introduced ourselves.
The gentleman sitting across from me described himself as a psychotherapist, photographer, and writer. Something about his gentle voice and demeanor calmed me. I strained to listen carefully to his softly spoken, thoughtful remarks on the readings. At the conclusion, I blurted out to him, “Nice to meet you, hope to see you next time.”
I felt a stirring of enthusiasm as the meeting ended and looked forward to the next one. I might be able to get through this third winter by living month-to-month, instead of just day-to-day….even if I wasn’t ready to look towards an uncharted future.
I had never thought I’d get there, looking with positivity to the month ahead. A small but important victory.
The psychotherapist—David—didn’t show up for the second meeting. Yet the group itself carried me forward. Something was changing in me. I opened myself to a sweet feeling of hope, in others, in myself.
At the March meeting, he walked in and immediately chose the seat next to me.
I thought the subject matter—four of Plato’s Dialogues—to be turgid, and had read only two. The discussion moved along vigorously nevertheless. Most in the group agreed to meet afterwards at an Italian restaurant for an early supper. As our informal procession wound its way downtown at winter dusk, church bells rang as if on cue.
I sat at one end of the long table. David found the last seat, at the far end. We weren’t in each other’s sight lines or hearing range during the meal.
Before dessert, the person next to me had to leave, and within moments, David took his place.
I continued with the animated conversation with the folks at my end of the table, at the same time noticing the quietly patient gentleman next to me. But he didn’t break into the conversation—and after five minutes, he moved to get up.
I put my hand on his elbow and said, “Don’t leave yet.” My words—or my touch, expressing recognition—perhaps enough to make him reconsider.
Soon after, everyone got up, not quite in unison but close enough.
One explained, “Meeting some friends at seven.”
Another, “See you next time, this was great.”
A third, “Have to pick up groceries before the market closes.”
And within minutes, we were left alone at the table for ten. We moved together to a high top table near the bar, as if we were a couple. That sweet feeling astounded me. It just happened, naturally.
He politely asked if I had time to stay, not assuming anything. I replied, “These were my only plans, to come to the meeting.” I would have otherwise gone home. I had no one to account to. No one was expecting me there.
A fact of my life now, after forty-one years of marriage.
We ended up going to a movie, an unusually creative animated feature film from Brazil. When we parted at our vehicles, he asked me for my contact information. Being a member of the group, I trusted him.
Even before I walked through my front door, a text from an unidentified number appeared. “I enjoyed your company. Would you perchance be free next Friday?”
I was surprised. But at the same time open to surprise. I called up a friend and asked, “Marcia, have I actually been on a date? And have I been asked for a second date?”
After all, the last time I dated was before I was married. This was my first date in forty-five years, at the age of seventy-one.
Her answer, something like a quick “Hell, yes!”
But I had plans to visit my daughter in New York that next weekend. Second date would have to wait. I was unfamiliar with modern protocols. Would the nice gentleman think I was “ghosting” him, a term I had heard from my senior friends navigating online dating?
Soon, we met for dinner and a movie on Friday nights. Then Saturday too. Then Sunday afternoons, to an art museum, or for a long walk, one time to a sculpture park in New Hampshire with steep and hilly wooded trails, an unusual venue. David took photos of me standing by some of the sculptures.
We each took our time navigating the relationship. I carried my husband’s heart in me. David carried pain in his heart from a devastating breakup.
Even at this age, I felt no rush. Healing was taking its time, through many seasons.
All those in bereavement find out that there is no timetable or roadmap. Grieving has its own integrity, in its own place and time, apart from the reality we otherwise know. As does a difficult breakup, after many struggles, regrets, second-guessing, hopes unfulfilled.
It’s two years later now.
I look for decency, honesty, reliability, generosity, they are all there. I am comfortable with building a relationship over time, secure that the essentials support us in our journey.
Some ask if we’re planning to move in together; after all, it’s been over two years. I always answer that I feel something important happening in deeper ways for now. Four miles between houses is practically living together anyway, but with valuable aspects of independence preserved. David is an introvert, requiring his replenishing downtime. That’s why he didn’t barge into the conversation at the restaurant, it’s just not his way. I am an extrovert, thriving on my social uptime.
A relationship in transition. Weekends will merge into weekdays in due time, and places will have no bright lines sometime in the future, as we step into the river of time flowing forward that is meant for us.
A thoughtful, beautiful piece, Barrie, holding a vision of a promising, long-lasting relationship. As a longtime friend of David’s, I am delighted that you found each other, and look forward, like you, to the further blossoming of your relationship.
This is a lovely description of a developing relationship which is a wonderful thing to have in your life. I’m happy for you and David, but wish I had one of my own to share life with.
Love you,
Donna
Barrie,
I was quite moved regarding the development of your relationship with David. You are quite the writer. I appreciate yu sending me your works to my e-mail.
I am progressing slowly with the heart issue. My cough is still there and hurts a lot where the surgery took place when I cough, Had a specialized PET CT scan yesterday at the hospital to get a better idea of what is going on with my lungs. There is something going on there but they do not know what. I am exercising at Goodlife Fitness twice a week to strengthen the heart and that is going ok. Had a job interview yesterday for a special needs small bus company that does not have an age limit. Will hear back in a few days. I am in touch regularly with Marcia. All the best to you and David and your family. Dale
Thank you Dale, and I hope you’ll meet David when you come to the states. I’ll email you about how you are doing otherwise, Barrie
A gentle and beautiful description of your new love story.
Carol
Thank you cousin. And all loves have their stories, don’t you think?
This is lovely. It’s amazing how different you and I are, and yet, somehow I can relate to your style and envy the depth and beauty you find in relationships. It makes me smile at the way you found each other, but of course two souls who share similar values are bound to meet. It’s destiny. And if it’s be forever, it will be.
I’ve been in a conversation for the past hour with two young friends from India who both share the same values as you do. Maybe I’ve finally come full circle in life.
Thank you for this!
And on another note Barrie, I’m planning to travel extensively next year and would love you to give me your favorite places to visit in Israel and why.
So happy we met!!
Thank you Lynda for your observations about my piece. Writers have so much to say to each other. As do those with an open outlook on life and our fellow/sister humans. More on Israel when you start putting your trip together.
Barrie, I imagine that you thought for a long time before stepping forward to share this. I am so glad you have done so. People think they know what a relationship is supposed to be, but it is sometimes more like a beautiful piece of music where two melodies or themes intersect in harmony and dialogue. Much love to you both.
Hi cousin across the Atlantic. And yes you are right in everything you say. Your metaphor in music feels so true.
Life sure takes it’s twists and turns. I enjoyed reading your life/love story. I always get this feeling that I wish I could console you in the dark times. Just a hug. So glad you met David, now he is there for you and the two of you have so much to explore and enjoy together. So happy for both of you. Cherish each moment. Best regards M
Magdeld, so nice to see you here on my blog, glad you found me. The other piece of my writing life, outside of Quora!
Just lovely. There is no hurry at this time and place. Another new chapter of your life. Our cousin is in a similar place. She has a “fella” that is very dear to her. She honors her past, (a widow with grown children and grandchildren), but is firmly in the present. Slow and steady.
It’s nice to hear that there are second chances at happiness, thanks Jan.
Thank you for so eloquently sharing such a personal part of your life. Glad things are going so well for you and David.
Thank you Judy for always supporting my writing.
Barrie, you have a wonderful gift of story telling. It’s heart warming to read about how 2 beautiful people found each other in this crazy world. Thanks for sharing such an uplifting story.
Diane
Thank you Diane. And yes, it is a crazy world for sure.
Barrie, Such a quietly eloquent account of two souls getting together at the right time and place and moving forward together in partly unseen currents. Lovely writing, lovely feelings!
Sue
Thank you Sue for your appreciation of what I was trying to say.
Another enjoyable & heartwarming story Barrie. I also met a very kind, patient & bright man & we’re married 20 years. The second time around can be wonderful.
I am happy for you too. We each have our stories!
Beautifully written and I love the picture at the end
Thank you for reading Anne, my Linden friend and more.
What a heart-warming story of love blossoming between two people who have been through major heartbreaks in their senior years. You’ve written so beautifully! Thank you for sharing 💚
I don’t know you or David as many of the commentators seem to. I got here through the link you shared on Quota.
Love from India,
N
Thank you N for your comment and for reading my blog. I am glad that my story resonates with you. I appreciate each and every one of my readers. Sending love back to you from USA
I just love the way you write. It just flows..
Never knew you had a blog.. its so nice to see you here… 😍😍
Hi Meera, it’s nice to see you here too! Thank you for leaving Quora for a bit and reading my blog. I write here a couple of times a month, longer pieces than on Quora. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years and hope to piece it into a memoir in 2020. Take good care, Barrie
I lost my father 2 years ago from Cancer and have been treated for PTSD. Here’s a poem about his death and my relationship with God.
I have been following your page since a year ago and I have not had the courage to comment, so here goes.
He said,
I saw the heavens open, saw the Fathers open arms,
And with that kind of love, how could I stay?
I tried my best to stay with you
Through a six year long battle of treatments
And other battles coming his way
It was his time to go out to a new world
Where everyone loved him and when he could go in peace
If there really is a God up there
I want to go up to heaven while being hugged by Him
I am alone in a desert of hopelessness
Just like a tiny boat in a big empty lake
In this messed up desert of hopelessness
Nothing will ever be the same