The concept of dating and love has become a serious enigma for me. I believe I have a lot of life left. It’s possible that I don’t, but for all intents and purposes, I’m still living. Therefore, I must have more time.

And the obvious conclusion that everyone comes to is that I probably shouldn’t spend it alone. I probably shouldn’t spend it without a partner, or at least someone to see movies with. Worst-case-scenario, I should at LEAST have someone to sit quietly with me, to avoid dining alone, and to sit quietly next to me in a movie theatre.

I’ve entertained the idea of another Mr. Right, who strolls right into my life and rocks my world all over again. This mysterious man, who makes falling in love sound like a good idea, who loves my kids like his own and eagerly fathers them into adulthood with me, and who has no issue with the Jon-shaped void in all our pictures and in the deep recess of our hearts.

I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that he exists. I know that there have been many widows with children (and widowers), who have found that one special person who fits that bill. I am happy for them! It’s actually rather common. But for whatever reason, I’m having a seriously hard time believing that he’s out there for me, too. Not that I am unworthy or even unattractive; because this is deeper than that. But I have a strong tendency to be wary of Captain Save A Ho. And I suspect it’s due to the fact that *I* wouldn’t get involved with a man in MY shoes. It’s more than enough drama for me.

I’m quite adverse to the drama gene that runs in my family. Aside from all the other stupid and over-exaggerated things that have happened, my grandmother was widowed three times, and the idea of having to go through this again is overwhelming and scary. I get exhausted just thinking about it.

However, my grandfather was her third husband, and was an amazing man. He helped her raise her three oldest children, along with three of their own. He loved them all, gave them all his name and provided his family with a good life, even if it was a difficult one. I’ve always wanted to have a marriage like theirs. It lasted over 50 years. And by my own witness, they were deeply in love until they both died, nearly a decade ago.

I used to think that Jon and I had that. That we had that kind of marriage, and it would last for as long as we lived. I only wanted to live my life with him, and our children. I only wanted to have the 20+ grandchildren my grandparents bragged about, and become the matriarch of my family. I was so looking forward to it.

I’m afraid to look that far ahead, anymore. People tell me that I should want to live to see my grandchildren, and I do. But they have no idea how hard it is to accept that I may have to do that alone. And I will KNOW that he is not there. I will recognize his absence in the same way that I do now. And it will hurt, regardless. It’s hard to look forward to hurt.

I’ve been given the “blessing,”  so to speak, from many of my friends, (and that list grows every day), to start dating and to find someone. They tell me that I can’t be alone, and that I will find someone. “It will happen,” they always tell me.

My in-laws made it a point to tell me that I can date anytime I like, and find whomever I need to find to be happy. I’m blessed that they’re so supportive, even when I don’t know how to talk to them sometimes. I love them dearly. I always will.

I guess what it comes down to, is that I am simply not ready to have someone new, or to even date. I don’t even know what I would look for. Do I look for someone like my husband? Someone supportive and friendly to everyone? Someone calm, and steady, against my agitation and frantic logic? Do I look for someone as nuts as I am, so that he’ll understand and accept my idiosyncrasies as his own? It all seems so complicated and overwhelming. Isn’t this supposed to be a good thing?

I’m hoping that progression doesn’t necessarily mean I need to find a man to complete me again. I’d like to complete myself, and truthfully, I’d want a man who would want me as a healed person, instead of a person healing. The irony is that I don’t see myself ever not loving and missing Jon, and that means there’s a level of healing I may never reach. I have no idea where to go then, from here.

For now, I’m just going to focus on what I can handle. It’s one of the many lessons I’ve learned from this journey, so far. Stop looking so far ahead that I forget about now. *sigh* This is always easier said than done, I suppose.