For some of us, particularly those who had a long, happy marriage, remarriage doesn’t automatically end widowhood. It does end the loneliness. It ends the singleness, that odd, uncomfortable, foreign condition I had not known for over a half-century. But remarriage doesn’t erase a life, a life full of shared memories, emotions, struggles and victories.
A song by Air Supply came to mind the other day, and I
listened again to those lyrics that drenched my face with tears just weeks after Linda
died: “I Can Wait Forever.” For a time, I imagined that I could actually “live
my life alone with [her],” paradoxical as that was. Like the “defective
detective” Adrian Monk, I kept wearing my wedding ring. But I came to see that
as unrealistic, even unhealthy, for a man like me. Linda and I had vowed “till
death do us part,” and to my great sorry, that parting had happened. And God
had chosen for me to remain and go on without her.
Going on alone was the most painful thought I had at that
point. Loneliness drained the life out of me. I never got a full night’s sleep and
I wandered aimlessly during the day. True to the statistics for widowers, I had
major surgery within a few months after my loss. Aggravating my loneliness, no
family member took the time to take me to the hospital. A good friend did.
Since my dad (who didn’t take care of his health) lived to
be 90, I was faced with the distressing thought that I could live 17 more years
with that crushing loneliness. I began to pray God would bring someone into my life
who could lift me up and give me new purpose. He did that. From across the
ocean, He brought a mature Christian widow into my life, a woman with shared
beliefs and religious background, and most importantly, a commitment to serving
the Lord.
So the new life has begun. What, then, is left of widowhood?
Some things that were lost can never be recovered this side of heaven. A line
in that Air Supply song—nearly buried in that ethereal bridge—stirred emotions
again:
“Where are you now?
Alone, with the thoughts we share.
Keep them strong somehow
And you know, I'll always be there…”
"The thoughts we share." Yes. But we can no longer share them.
She has them there in heaven, and I have them here on earth, and no one else
can understand. It has been said that one of the major losses in widowhood is
the loss of one’s history. Only two people in this universe—other than God—know
the in-jokes, the favorite song lines, the funny things, the touching moments in our lives, as
well as the trials we endured.
That aspect of widowhood doesn’t change. But new memories
and new shared thoughts can be built. That takes time, though, and at my age I
can’t expect to accumulate as many memories as I did with Linda. But each new
shared memory is precious. And I’m grateful for a wife who loves me and
expresses it freely. And as that same song also says, “You took my love and
gave it somewhere to belong.” That was my aching need.
