He Didn’t Run by Linda Lennon

I’m ready to move forward.

My husband of nearly 25 years passed away from Alzheimer’s Disease in August of 2021. Anyone who knows anything about Alzheimer’s knows this was a brutal, living death. Every day for 5 years was a day of loss, of mourning. This wasn’t a simple case of no longer remembering a birthday or year. It’s losing the ability to manage life for yourself. Simple things like knowing where the toilet is (hint: it’s not in the closet), how to brush your teeth, comb your hair, and dress yourself. How to use a fork, a knife. Writing is no longer possible. Reading is no longer possible. Passing time watching TV is no longer possible because you cannot follow the plot. Even a simple puzzle that your 6-year-old grandchild can master is not doable. It’s devastating.

When he died (after a destructive seizure that left him unable to speak or open his eyes), my life was forever changed. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that there was a moment of relief. I was exhausted. Caregiving is a b!+ch! And, caring for him and his needs while working full-time had taken its toll on me.

But, more than my suffering was his. To watch this vibrant, witty, intelligent, and incredibly loving man lose the very essence of his self was horrific. I cannot imagine what he must have thought as every day took a little bit of him, forever.

Enough, already. The day before he died, I sat at his bedside and prayed, “Thy will be done”. That was the hardest prayer I’ve ever prayed. And I meant it. If dying meant his suffering and mind-destruction would be over, then bring it on. I knew I would survive, even if he wouldn’t. But, what did survival mean for me? I had no idea. I quickly learned that, in order to survive my sweet husband’s death, I would need to deal with grief and mourning. If caregiving for him and watching him die was the worst thing to ever live through, grieving his death would make me question my survival. Holy crap, as Frank Barone would say. Mourning takes time. More time than I wanted. (I remember more than once asking God just how long would this take. (Haha, jokes on me.) Tears would flow whenever and wherever they wanted. I truly had no control over it, and I decided early on to make no excuses for the tears. I would tell people around me to understand that the tears were love, and I had to let them flow.

I went to GriefShare, a faith-based support program at my church, which I found incredibly helpful. I leaned on those closest to me for their support and understanding. I forced myself to engage with the world as often as I could muster up the energy to do so. Simple things like going to a local coffee shop. I’d bring a book, buy a chai tea, find a comfy chair, and hang out. Oftentimes, I never spoke to a soul. But I was around people. It helped.

The year of “Firsts” is 12 months of pain. Just when you got done getting through the “First Thanksgiving without Steve”, here comes “My First Birthday”, closely followed by “First Christmas without him”. I was never more happy to see January roll in! When I reached the “First Anniversary of Steve’s Death”, I’d had it. Seriously. The entire month of July was spent dreading August 8. I damn near made myself sick.

But that August day was a gift for me. It was perfect weather, mid-70s, sunny, breezy, and low humidity (for anyone who lives in northern Illinois, you understand the gift this was!). I went out to a favorite spot near our home and did some birdwatching. I walked a path beside the water, marveling at the utter absence of mosquitoes that normally would have eaten me alive. I sat at “our bench” and did some talking to God and to Steve. I took a small bag of his ashes and sprinkled them there, knowing this was where he would love to spend time. I immediately felt this weight lift from my shoulders. I had survived the year of “Firsts”.

A few months later I decided to dip my toe into an online dating app. WTH? I honestly have no idea why, but I did it. Was I ready? Not really. But, at age (62), I felt like I had some more living to do. I went out with two men. The first was very sweet, kind, and understanding. But I knew on the second date that he was not for me. The second gentleman and I saw each other for about 4 months. Now, during this time I came down with COVID, he had oral surgery for an abscessed tooth, I sang at the memorial for a friend’s husband (on my birthday!), he had emergency surgery for a foot infection and ended up on IV antibiotics for a few weeks, my car was in the shop for 2 weeks over Christmas—get the picture?

January came around and we were able to actually have some time together before I had knee replacement surgery in February. (it’s ok, you can giggle. It is pretty comical!) 3 weeks after my surgery, I told him that I had to put things on pause. I needed to give my recovery and rehab all my attention and strength. He understood. We kept in touch and saw each other again in the summer. We even floated the idea of giving the relationship another try. But, in my heart, I knew this was not the man for me. It fizzled from there.

In October, I signed up on another online dating app. This time, I decided to be real with myself. I was going to be real with what I hoped to find. I mean, let’s not beat around the bush. Just be honest about your hopes and intentions. If we mesh, we mesh. If we don’t, that’s ok. I wish you well and hope you find what you need. One man stood out to me. We connected and chatted online. Then, we talked on the phone. Next came FaceTime. That was a great move. It was helpful to just see each other and talk like we were in the same room.

We both felt good about our conversations and wanted to take the next step to meet in person. We chose a breakfast date for the following week. We meet at a restaurant midway between our homes. It was just lovely! I couldn’t stop looking into his blue eyes. The conversation didn’t lag. We laughed and chatted, we delved into some deeper discussion of what we were each looking for. We found out we were looking for the same thing: a long-term monogamous relationship. When we said goodbye, we hugged and he kissed me. I wasn’t prepared for the kiss (and felt like I hadn’t given it my best shot!), but I smiled as I walked to my car. This might just hold some promise!

The next time we saw each other was a few days later. We met at an apple orchard near my home. It was a beautiful fall day. He loved the farm, we did some shopping, and then we headed to my home for a fine pairing of apple cider donuts and wine. We found we had an ease between us. Talking about the hard stuff was not hard. I was able to share with him some of my feelings about being a widow and re-entering the dating world. He listened as I talked with him about my husband’s illness and death. He asked questions that I was comfortable answering. He gave me space for my grief. I also made sure that he knew that I did not want him to feel that he was “second best”. I told him that my love for Steve will never die, that it will always be with me. Yet, my heart was big enough to love again. And I hoped that I could let someone in again to share life with.

He didn’t run.