TheBanyanTree: Love is in the Air

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I don’t think I’m ready for a boyfriend yet.  Ray has only been gone 11
weeks and I feel the lack of his loving presence all the time.  Ray and I
had a soul mate type of love – it was like slipping my hand into a glove –
we fit together so well.  Yes, we had our fights and disagreements, the blow
ups were like short fire cracker pops.  Pop!  Pop!  And they were over.  But
most of the time, it was smooth sailing.  The sun was always shining.  The
sky was always blue.  And the love was always true.

How corny is that?  But that’s exactly the way it was with us.

We began living together on May 8, 1998.  His son brought him to me from
Milwaukee.  When Ray walked through that front door into my arms, he was
home.

Fast forward 10 years.  Ray is gone.  I’ve been going to a grief support
group since March 2.  And there’s this guy in the group who has been calling
me since I added my phone number to the list.  At first, I didn’t answer the
phone after glancing at caller ID.  I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone new
even though he was in grief group, but he was still new in the sense I didn’
t know him very well.

A few weeks later I started actually answering the phone.  We’d talk for a
bit, well, actually, he talked and I listened.  He’d say good-bye and that
was the end of it.

Well, last week, we were actually having a nice Saturday.  I came home from
the cemetery in the late afternoon.  I had spaghetti sauce simmering in the
crock pot all day.  I had baked cheese/onion bread and brownies.  I opened
up the front door and the western sun filled my living room with light.  I
felt so good and so relaxed that I picked up the phone and called him.  I
called HIM for the first time.

“Are you hungry?  Have you eaten?”  I asked.

“Well, no.  I was just putting something in the oven,” he said.

“How about coming to my house and having dinner with me?”

There was a pause.  “Well, OK.  Sure, that sounds fine.”

I gave him directions to my house.  We don’t even live a mile from each
other.

And he came.  We ate in the kitchen.  He talks more than I do.  Ray and I
were very quiet, communicating more in silence than with words, but this man
loves to jabber.

After eating, and he had two helpings, which made me feel good, we moved to
the living room, sat on the couch, listened to jazz coming from this
massive, out-dated stereo system I have.

We talked some more.  He kept looking at my bare feet.  He told me later
that he was trying to decide if I was sending him a message by being bare
foot.  I never thought my feet were especially erotic, and I had to
disappoint him by letting him know “I go barefoot all the time when it’s
warm.”

We didn’t kiss.  We didn’t touch each other, except for a hug, and it wasn’t
a very tight hug either.

I was happy.  I had a nice evening.  And that was that.

That’s what I thought.  Well, he calls me a lot now.  He emails me a lot
now.  And I can totally understand it.  He lost his wife to colon cancer on
January 3.  He took care of her until the very end and she died at home.

We widowers and widows want our marriages to continue.  We like sharing our
daily activities with someone.  We like caring about what someone else is
doing.  Then it’s ripped away from us, and I think it’s pretty normal to try
to seek out that type of relationship again, even in the grieving process.

But we are still grieving and that’s the problem.  I am only 11 weeks away
from being with Ray.  Even though I think I’m doing fairly well, I’m still
mourning my husband.  I’m not ready for a boyfriend.  I’m still adjusting to
having my son and grandsons living with me, although that’s going very well.
I’m adjusting to having a second job.  I’m adjusting to making decisions on
my own.

And he is, too.  We went to grief group together yesterday.  He picked me
up.  After grief group, he took me by his old house where he and his wife
lived.  We went to lunch.  Then he took me to his new apartment, which
happens to be across the street from where my ex-husband’s mother’s house is
and from his dining room window he can see the church where Tony and I were
married.  Funny.

I’m not sure exactly why he had to move so quickly from their home.  It was
the lower part of a duplex.  From what I can gather, I think the landlady
was having trouble with finances and the place was falling apart.

Well, he moved a whole household of stuff after his wife died into two
storage garages.  He didn’t have a chance to go through anything, so there
it is, tons of stuff all packed in tubs and boxes.  His two bedroom
apartment looks the same way.  Just tubs of stuff scattered all over the
place.  I could feel my skin breaking out in hives, because I hate useless
clutter.

Then he told me that he can’t sleep in the bed, that he sleeps on the floor.
I’ve heard that about surviving spouses, some can’t sleep in their bed for
months or ever.  I’ve never had a problem with that, I love catching Ray’s
scent from his pillows, but everyone is different.

I know he’s kind of stuck.  He’s retired, so he doesn’t have any structured
activities to help formulate his day.  He’s active in his church, but that
only does so much, I think.  I don’t think he’s an alcoholic, but I get the
feeling he drinks a little too much, a way of medicating the pain, I
suppose.

Do you think he’s ready for a relationship?

He’s grieving.  That’s why he’s spinning around like a top, unable to get
his life organized again.  He’s not ready to sort through the clutter.  That
’s huge.  I could only go through Ray’s stuff in small doses, because it‘s
going through their lives and our lives again, and it hurts.  If the boys
didn’t need Ray’s room for their bedroom, his stuff would probably be still
sitting in there, just the way he left it.  I still haven’t gone through his
clothes, but I probably will when I move my summer clothes to our bedroom
closet.

I have my own clutter.  My office is cluttered with Ray’s stuff.  I haven’t
really organized it.  I’m hoping to get to it over the next few weeks.  I’m
ready.

But I’m not ready for a boyfriend.  I’m not ready to be kissed.  I’m not
ready for sex with a new person.

But I am ready for friendship.  I’m ready to do things, like movies and
walks and going out for coffee or having someone over for dinner, even if
they talk a lot.  He’s a nice guy.  If it’s in the cards for us to become
more than friends, then it will happen when we’ve completed more of our
grieving process.

But not a boyfriend, not now.

Lots of other stuff happened these past couple of weeks.  My old boyfriend
from years ago came into town and we went out to dinner.  He didn’t know
about Ray, so it was hard to re-live some of the things leading up to his
death again.

I got laid off from my scoring job, but I got re-hired again on Friday.
They signed a contract with the state of Hawaii and we’re scoring 5th grade
reading comprehension tests.  I’m going to be a supervisor, so I’m in
training for that.

I like this job; it’s perfect for me.  It’s close to home, it’s challenging,
the pay is good, and the hours work out.

Well, it’s Mother’s Day.  My “boyfriend” gave me candy.  He is a sweetie, a
mixed-up sweetie, just like me.  Asher and boys are taking me out to eat.
It’s cold outside, but sunny.  Someday, our spring will come.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

www.polarispublications.com

In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the
rustle of a wing.
~Robert Ingersoll
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