Dear Roe,
Eighteen months ago, my beautiful wife died. There are still mornings when I wake and struggle with fully comprehending that I will never see her again. We had moved into a new house two years before. I am now a single father to two adorable young children. I do not live near family, but am blessed with very supportive neighbours. I love my job and adore being with my children, but being a single parent can be taxing. Recently, the idea of dating has come into my mind. There are the practical difficulties of how would I possibly squeeze a relationship into what is already a full and hectic life. Greater than that is the emotional difficulty. My wife was beautiful inside and out. She was stunning-looking, had a razor-sharp wit, and would amaze people, even us who knew her, with the volume of knowledge she retained. I loved every part of that woman from the moment I met her. The issue is that I still do.
When we learned of her illness, we talked of life if things went bad. When I said I could never be with anyone else, she told me it would make her sad to think of me alone. I suppose I would like someone to talk to about my day, to go for a meal with, to get into bed with and wake up beside. The problem is that the only person I want to do this with will never physically be in my life again. I’ve tried the dating app thing, but no one, no matter how friendly, comes close. I feel not only would I not really be able to commit time to them, I would only ever see them as a replacement, someone to have because I can’t have who I want. Is it okay to remain faithful to my wife? When the children do grow, become independent and eventually move away, will I just become a lonely old man like you see in Christmas ads?
I’m so sorry for your loss. The love you have for your wife radiates from your words. Many people dream of having someone love us that much, to describe us as lovingly, to feel as seen and appreciated and adored as you do your wife.
It feels vital to remember that your wife’s death is still incredibly recent. Your life has been hugely altered and you’re still adjusting to life without her, and the hectic life of a working single parent – I wonder how much time you’ve even had to simply be still and process. Remember that grief is not linear – it hits us in waves and affects us in different ways over time. And the love you have for your wife and the desire for some companionship aren’t at odds with each other. You can love and miss your wife deeply and still want to have someone to share your days with. Humans are social creatures, but sadly so much of modern life is designed to try to erase that need and pretend that the “best”, most “optimised” version of ourselves is like a self-cleaning oven, keeping ourselves completely independent and self-contained. This isn’t how we are built. We need each other.
It strikes me that your wife died during the pandemic, which was a time when we were all realising the depth of how much we need each other, both in daily life and for life’s big transformative moments. The reason the limits on gathering for events such as funerals affected us so deeply is that when we go through something life-altering like a death, we need to gather together to witness each other not only in our grief but in the transformation. Someone we love has died, this has altered our worlds in different ways and we need to acknowledge and accommodate our emotions, our new realities, our new needs.
As for dating or seeking companionship, you can if you want to. You know what you are ready for
I hope you feel comfortable both asking for help and possibly seeking out new communities where you can openly talk about your loss. This could look like asking family and friends to visit you, or to babysit so that you have time to socialise, attend counselling, or engage in whatever self-care you need. Asking for help is a way to strengthen your relationships by telling people what you need, letting them help you, and giving you some time to yourself so that you can rest, recharge and be the best version of yourself for you and your children. You could also get a therapist or a specialised grief counsellor, or even seek out grief support groups where you will be able to connect and share with people who have also lost spouses, so that the nuance and complexity of your experience can be met with real understanding and empathy.
[ Twenty ways to make your relationship more lasting, loving and lustfulOpens in new window ]
As for dating or seeking companionship, you can if you want to. You know what you are ready for, and if all you can handle right now is asking to spend some time with someone for conversation and company, that’s fine. Be honest about that up front, and move slowly.
One thing I will urge you to try to resist doing is thinking about dating in terms of comparison to your wife. No-one can replace your wife, and no-one is asking you to – both because people are not irreplaceable or interchangeable, and because you had an entire marriage with children; imagining that any date or new connection could come close to evoking the intimacy of that would be absurd. So don’t place that impossible standard on yourself or anyone else.
No-one can tell you what to do with your life, but one thing I would urge you to examine is the idea of remaining ‘faithful’ to your wife
You’re not looking to try to recreate what you had with your wife. You’re acknowledging that your life has changed and seeing how other people can fit into your life now in a way that honours where you are emotionally, and brings you some deserved joy and comfort. And if, over time, you find that you want more from those connections or feel more ready to give more of yourself emotionally, then you can do so.
No-one can tell you what to do with your life, but one thing I would urge you to examine is the idea of remaining “faithful” to your wife. What would it mean to be faithful to her spirit, and her wishes for you and your family? What would it mean to embrace and appreciate the joy, love, spark, connection and inspiration that she brought to your life, and value it in a way that doesn’t shut you down to the possibility of connecting with others, but instead encourages you to bring that forward?
[ ‘I’m in love with my close friend but too scared to tell him’Opens in new window ]
What would you like your children to learn about love from you – that losing someone means not trying again, or that you can love someone with your whole heart forever, and also expand your heart to make room for other connections, other experiences, other loves? What would it mean to teach them that you can respect someone who has died by appreciating life whole-heartedly, grasping onto every spark of joy, every chance for love, and valuing all types of connection with others – families, friendships, romances – because you have learned how much other people can change and enrich your life? Do this, and no matter whether you meet someone new to love romantically, you will never be lonely.
The very best of luck to you.