“Anonymous,” in a follow up comment to a recent blog post of mine, raised an interesting question. Would I--were it one of my children who had recently died after a lengthy illness--add a “replacement” (my word) child, and blog about it?
I’m not sure the analogy quite works, but I grasp the point. Is it seemly, in blog posts or any open forum, to express the happiness that my significant other adds to my life so soon after the passing of my spouse, not to mention during the time he was lingering in the Limbo of late-stage Alzheimer’s?
I understand where/why some people would question the choice. It could be construed as dismissive of the enormity of the value of Jeff’s lost life. It could suggest that I’m not feeling the normal and expected emotions that accompany death of a life partner. There is just not enough wearing of the widow’s black going on, metaphorically speaking.
Don’t be fooled. A happy aspect to life has not squelched the feelings that burble to the surface unexpectedly, filling me with visceral, almost tangible, memories of Jeff and our beautiful relationship of half a lifetime. I can’t imagine that there will ever come a time where I won’t miss him and won’t regret missing out on living out life with him.
And the other thing is: I kind of agree with you. It’s not quite seemly. So I will offer either a defense or an explanation (I’m not sure which it is.) I was emotionally flat for many years, suppressing feelings as a way of coping with a partner who could no longer partner, and ultimately not even know me. When seedlings of happy begin to uncurl their little green leaves on what looked to be pretty barren ground, it’s hard to keep them secret. It’s a bit irrepressible.
There is also this--I want to be fair to others in my position who may be wondering about the possibility of new growth after huge loss. Even with Barry Petersen having “come out” about having a new partner while caring for a spouse who no longer knows him (see
Jan's story) it would be easy for less renowned Alzheimer’s spouses to feel that such a choice will come with stigma. That it's something that should remain untalked about. I would rather encourage dialog than hide.
Some would make this choice, some would not. There are plenty of reasons pointing both ways. But I’m inclined to reject the instinct to disappear and not talk about it, as a spouse then widow who is loving again. Frankly, I am ok with anyone telling me how he/she feels. I would accept honesty and respond with honesty.
I Google-stumbled across this
Psychology Today article when I was sifting for thoughts on this topic. This is a column by a philosopher, not a summary of a scientific study, so read it as such. Here is a decent encapsulation and quote about the complexity of loving more than one person:
Although a new love might physically replace the previous one, from a psychological viewpoint the widow will now love two people at the same time. Her love expresses the nonexclusive nature of love more than it does its replaceable nature. Thus, one widow writes: "'Second love' is different, but it's very good. I will always love and miss my late husband. It's really hard to understand sometimes how I can go from tears for my late husband into smiling and thinking of my new guy. There's an odd ‘divide'. I love both of them, one here and one gone." It seems that we are blessed with a heart that is very flexible and can accommodate various people at the same time.
Yes, pretty much. Again noting that these are the thoughts of a philosopher, not the findings of a scientist, it’s interesting that he refers more than once to the idea that the world may judge widows a little more harshly than others where new relationships are concerned.
I had to think about this. Yes, here’s the thing: We earn some super-good karma points through what we do, as Alzheimer’s spouses. Even though we’re just handling the cards life dealt us, it’s a tough road, and people are appropriately inclined to notice, with admiration. Maybe, by not waiting “long enough” (whatever that is,) to reclaim the right to love, we forfeit some of that karma.
The writer of the article, Aaron Ben-Zeév, makes the valid point that it is probably somewhat easier NOT to enter another relationship, and that sentiment has certainly been expressed by fellow Alzheimer spouses I know. There are some mighty complex and confusing emotions to sort through if you do, and you need to be pretty good at untangling the whys and hows of your feelings.
For me, I was pretty much carried by an awareness that there was a vacancy in my heart for one more. That drove my willingness and actions. So, no apologies. I love Jeff. I love Allen. I’m happy to discuss it, openly and frankly, with anyone.
