Happily ever after?

I vividly remember sitting in my back garden with some friends not long after my husband had died and making the proclamation that I would never be in another relationship. That I would never even look for someone new because I didn’t want to go through the pain I was going through again. That I’d be far better off shutting myself off to any future hurt or pain than risk it. I even went so far as to make a couple of bets with another friend of mine. 1) That I would never get remarried. 2) That I would never be married to a 50-year-old. The latter because it had been a running joke for many years that when my late husband turned 50, I was going to trade him in for a younger model because to be married to a 50-year-old would make me old and I didn’t want that (there was almost a seven-year age gap between us.)

But while these bets were made at a very different stage of my grief to where I am now, the more time that has passed, the more I’m even more adamant that I’m going to be taking home the winnings from them. Because I genuinely can’t see me getting remarried. This isn’t a woe is me statement, this isn’t me feeling sorry for myself or shutting myself down to the concept, it’s because as things stand right now, I simply don’t ever want to. It’s a conscious choice. I don’t even think I want a relationship in the traditional sense. Don’t get me wrong, I have no idea what the future holds and how my opinion might change, after all, I don’t tend to plan for the future anymore. I can only go on how I feel at a particular point in time. And how I have felt since becoming a widow.

Besides. The perfect man who would fit my endless list of requirements doesn’t exist. Well, I mean he does, but Jason Donovan is actually already married to a very lovely woman. Or he’s fictional, yes, I did fall a little bit in love with Adam Brody when I binged watched Nobody Wants This. But while others would say I’m using levity to mask how I’m truly feeling, I am in a way, I just don’t even know what I’d call what it is that would be perfect for me. Is it companionship? Is it a relationship? Is it a friend with benefits? Is it a situation-ship? Is it a different term that I doubt my mum or daughter would appreciate me saying? Is it none of these? This is the problem. Aside from a few months in 2003, the last time before being widowed that I was not in a serious relationship was 1999. I was 18 years old and not really aware of any of these things. I’m sure they’ve just developed over time as more and more people try to grasp, and move away from the traditional marriage, 2.4 children and dog!

I also hadn’t envisaged when my late husband and I became a couple in 1999 and when I got married at the age of 24, that by the time I was 40, my relationship status and sex life (or lack thereof) would be a topic for discussion. But it has been. I’ve been asked if I miss it. I’ve been asked why I’m not putting myself out there again. I’ve been told that my late husband would want me to be happy and not on my own. I’ve been asked if I’m letting my daughter run my life. Whether I’m sacrificing my own happiness, wants and needs to put her first. I’ve been asked if it’s simply because I’m just too scared of letting someone in. And these questions aren’t always just from close family or friends. It always takes me back a bit what people think it’s acceptable to ask. And while I have tasked my eldest godson with finding me a handsome millionaire when he’s at work, the reality is that even a handsome millionaire might struggle to convince me it’s a good idea to let someone in right now. Life has changed me. Nearly five years since being widowed, I’ve got into a nice routine with life in general. Life is possibly busier than it was pre-pandemic, I have to juggle a lot more with my daughter and her ambitions, dance lessons etc… and fitting someone into that world just feels like it would be another thing to manage. I like who am I now, who I’ve become since having to navigate and go through all this trauma. Is finding someone and letting them become a part of my world actually worth it?

But more than that. My daughter is my world, and I don’t want someone who thinks they can come in, have a ready-made family and be a father to her. She has a father and while he may no longer be physically on this planet, he is and always will be, her father. She doesn’t need a replacement. I also like the autonomy I have in my life right now. I decide what we do. Where my money goes (although granted, the theatre shows that my daughter often hints at take a chunk of that!) I decide where we go on holiday. I choose how to decorate our house. I don’t have to answer to or be accountable to anyone. I have, to a certain extent, become incredibly selfish over the past five years. My daughter is obviously my priority and always will be, but the autonomy that my life gives me works for me. I enjoy it.

I wonder if there’ll be people reading this thinking I’m lying and putting on a front. People thinking I’m just stuck in my grief. People thinking I no longer miss my husband and appear to be living my best life. People querying whether I ever loved him if I’m saying I enjoy the autonomy I now have. People thinking “good for her.” Because this is also something that I have become painfully aware of over the last five years. People in my situation are judged. We can’t do right for doing wrong. We meet someone in what is perceived to be too short a timeframe from the death of a partner and we’re moving on “too quickly.” We don’t meet someone new and we’re “stuck in grief.” We’re in a relationship with someone who is a different gender to the partner who died and “we’re going through a phase.” I could go on, but you get the picture. The judgement and opinions from other people are constant. And quite frankly, it’s beyond annoying. Until you have lived an hour, day, week, month or year in the life that we now lead, you really, really can’t comment or judge. No matter how well meaning you are.

I realise I sound like I’m standing very high on a soapbox, but I was reminded of these viewpoints by something I witnessed in the public eye recently. Kelsey Parker, the widow of The Wanted star Tom Parker, announced her pregnancy with her new partner. I met Kelsey as part of her documentary alongside some other Widowed and Young members and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that she loved Tom and always will. That she was grieving. That she was in immense pain. But despite this, she is now moving forwards with her life as so many people who are widowed young do. I’m so incredibly pleased for her, she absolutely deserves happiness. Yet. The vitriol that was directed her way on social media was nothing short of despicable. Whatever happened to being kind? These comments made by people in their armchairs and hiding behind social media are despicable. Anyone who sends hurtful messages or comments via social media is abhorrent in my opinion. There is simply no need for it. And it made me think back to when Simon Thomas, the Sky Sports presenter announced he was getting re-married after the tragic death of his wife and subsequently having more children. The timeframes between him and Kelsey are similar, yet while I might be wrong, I don’t recollect the same types of comments being directed at him. Maybe I wasn’t as acutely aware of widowhood at the time, but it does make me wonder. Are women who are widowed perceived differently to men? Are they “meant” to behave differently? Is the expectation that women should simply wear black and never leave their house again? Be devoid of love and happiness forever more?

The timing of all these comments being directed to Kelsey feels even more ironic and pertinent given the release of the latest Bridget Jones film, Mad About The Boy. I’m not going to post any spoilers, but what you can glean from the trailers is that Bridget has been widowed, is the mother to two small children and hasn’t been in a relationship or had sex in just over four years. Yet in comparison to the comments directed to Kelsey, how many people will be sitting in cinemas, willing Bridget to meet someone and be happy? It’s not one rule for fictional characters and one rule for real people. Everyone in life deserves the chance to experience happiness.

And this brings me onto my next soapbox point. The fictional depiction of young widows or widowers and their need to be loved to be happy. How many of you have sat and watched a Christmas movie where the lead character has lost their partner and by the end of the movie they’re fulfilled because they’re living happily ever after with a new partner? I’m not by any stretch of the imagination saying this doesn’t happen and isn’t what some people in real life do, but I’m yet to find a movie where the lead character accepts where they’re at, lives their life to their fullest and is a success without meeting someone new (if anyone reading this is aware of a movie that does this, please do let me know). 

It’s why I also bristle at the term Chapter 2 to describe a new relationship post widowhood. I believe it lessens who we are as individuals. Again, maybe I look at things too pragmatically, but my life has been made up of many, many chapters. I don’t view my late husband as my Chapter 1. He is a part of my story, but he wasn’t the first part of it. A new chapter began the day he was admitted to ICU. Another one began the day he died. I sometimes actually feel I’m currently living in Chapter 752 of my life or that the screenwriters in charge of my life are seeing just how much they can push it in season five before it becomes laughable. But that’s ok. It’s what life is. Other people don’t think like I do and are a fan of the term Chapter 2. That’s their prerogative, I’d hate it if everyone agreed with me, it’s not what life is about. We all have to go about life in a way that works for us and with our own views. It’s actually what makes the world go round.

While I appreciate this might be the most opinionated blog I’ve posted in a while, it’s not the first time I’ve written about this topic. I’m not completely devoid of emotion and needs. The first time was about my very short-lived experience on a dating app. The last time was in 2023 when I also discussed the topic of widow’s fire. Yet I’m also selfishly glad that I’ve been able to write this piece. For the first time in a long time, it was nice to be able to sit and write. My headspace over the last few months hasn’t been great, I’ve had so very much to process. I’ve found it difficult to not really be able to talk about it, to have to navigate and work through it by myself. I’ve needed to do this for me but now I can think straight again. I’ve given myself the time and space I’ve needed. Despite capitulating at the end of October last year, I’m getting there. I’m proud of me. The irony is that I’m probably at a point in my life where I’m now the truest and strongest version of me I’ve ever been. I’d no doubt be quite a catch for that handsome millionaire or perfect man should he appear. I just don’t know if I want to be caught. Yet.

And what is that perfect man? Above all else someone I can trust. Trust was never something I had to worry about with my late husband, it was a part of our relationship from the start. It just continued to build over the next two decades. But I’ve seen first-hand the damage and hurt that lies can cause. Learning that even close friends of mine of many years are capable of lying to me has made me sceptical as to whether I could trust someone new. I’d need to scrutinise that millionaire to the nth degree. He’d probably give up before he’d even started!

And then there’s that endless list of requirements too. Someone who wouldn’t encroach on my life as is. Who is happy not having a label for his role in my life. Who accepts I don’t have all the time in the world for him. Who appreciates all I’m juggling and gives me the space to do that and live my life. Who realises I’m a mother first, yet doesn’t have small children (been there, done that!) Who realises just how much my late husband is still a part of my life, always will be and has no issue with me talking about him. Who realises that there may well be a certain amount of judgement directed at him and me. Who could be a sounding board for me at the end of bad day (or a good day) for that matter. Who accepts that he’ll always be second best to a certain Mr Donovan.  Who makes me smile and laugh. Who makes me feel safe. Who makes me feel cared for and looked after yet doesn’t think I need “fixing.” Who I could talk with about films and TV shows. Who makes this 40 something year old not feel as old and knackered, but almost desirable. Someone who despite all the overthinking I do, the baggage I have and the challenges I face, doesn’t want to change me or my life and accepts me for me. In essence, he’d be the Mr Darcy to this Bridget Jones. Someone who could look at me and say “I like you, very much. Just as you are.”

If this sounds like you, then watch this space. Maybe one day, I’ll open that application process. It’ll be rigorous though; I can assure you of that. The amazing squad of girls I have around me will see to that. What is it the Spice Girls said?

“If you wannabe be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”