Diving In Again

Loneliness seems to be something that always comes with the death of someone close. Even if we've still got lots of people around us, there's still that sense of something important missing. Someone we've built up habits and beliefs and defaults around aren't there anymore. We can't just call them or wander over to visit and catch up. We won't see them at all the times we're used to seeing them. We won't see them at work or at the game or at the regular get-togethers. With people who're important to us, we get used to things that we talk with them about and how we talk to them. The closer they are to us, the more special that is. Even if we've got other close people in our lives, no-one is quite the same to talk to. They don't quite understand things in the same way. They don't have quite the same perspective. They don't have the same way of putting things. They don't make us laugh in the same way. No-one can quite fill that space.

One of the things that gets hard about that when you lose a spouse is the idea that people can move on and get married again. There's the chance to have another relationship again. That's about the only kind of family relationship where that's the case. People don't talk about having a parent die and looking for a replacement to take over. If someone were to suggest that after having a child die they should just make another to replace the loss, I doubt anyone would think that a response involving a tire iron or baseball bat would be out of proportion. Anyone who'd have a sibling die and approach their parents about getting another one would likely be judged to be in need of some substantial psychiatric medication.

That's not the case with marriage. If a marriage ends, there's often the idea that one or both people will go on and find someone else. Becoming a widower in my early 40's, I've had a fair number of people express the belief that I'm still a young man and can find someone down the line. I know—OK, I assume—they mean well by it.

The other thing that makes it hard is starting to date again. See, at that point, there's a difference. We'd gotten to know what it can be like to be married. Hopefully we had a decent chunk of good years in there. We've gotten to know just how good it can be. That makes it hard to start dating. The question comes up with anyone new that we might be getting involved with of whether it might ever get to be that good with them. Will it ever bring the happiness and peace and comfort and contentment and fulfillment we got to know before? Could it ever measure up? Or are we facing the possibility that it's been as good as it's ever going to get, that anything with anyone else from here out is going to be settling?

I know, I know...that's also true with folks who've been divorced. However, when there's been the death of a spouse, especially one related to suicide, we've also gotten to know the worst of what it can be. There may or may not have been a lot of conflict and problems and strife before the suicide was completed. Regardless, the horror of knowing your spouse would rather die and having to ask the question of how much of it was about you (and all the other questions that come along with it), is about as bad as it gets. We get to know just how BAD it can be, too. The question also comes up there of whether we're going to have to deal with anything that bad or that hard again. Is it worth taking that chance? Are we able to pick any better than we did last time?

There's no easy answers to those questions. There's no way to know for sure rather than to make a decision and go ahead with it...and run the risks.

Or don't.