Almost 2½ Years Later: Learning to Want Again

In just a few short days, I’ll reach 2½ years of widowhood. But if I’m honest, it feels like I lost him long before that day. During the last year or so of his life, he couldn’t really be there—not emotionally, not physically. It wasn’t his fault. He simply couldn’t be fully present anymore.

What I miss most about being part of a couple is the affection. I’m a touchy person—physical touch is one of my top two love languages. I miss having someone’s arms around me. I miss knowing there’s a person who wants to be with me.

That need for physical closeness has been my biggest personal struggle since he got sick. He was never the most affectionate person, but he never pushed me away. I used to cross the living room just to lay my head on his chest while he sat in his chair, making him hug me just so I could feel the comfort of someone holding me. At night, we’d cuddle in bed for a little while, talk, and watch TV before turning in. Now, I turn to my kids for hugs—though as teenagers, they’re not exactly generous with affection anymore. Hugs happen on their schedule, but I take what I can get.

Another thing I miss? The small, daily connections—the texts and phone calls that said “I’m thinking about you.” He was great about that, up until after his first surgery. Something changed. He stopped calling as often. In those last two months, I was always the one reaching out. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. And once we learned the cancer had spread to his brain, I understood—he couldn’t find the words anymore. But going from 15+ years of daily check-ins to silence… it’s jarring. The days feel so quiet. And now, I find myself saying “I love you” to my kids just so I can hear them say it back.

After a lot of soul searching, classes, and research, I realized I needed to develop new coping skills. These days, I talk to and cuddle with my dogs more—they offer unconditional love. It’s not that my kids’ love is conditional, but they’re teenagers. Physical affection with their mom isn’t really their thing. I’ve started spending more time with people who make me feel comfortable and seen.

Recently, I took another step—I started talking to a man online. I’m not saying I’m ready for a relationship, but I do want something just for me. I want someone to check in on me, someone I can talk to and feel cared for. We’ve been talking for two weeks now, and it feels… strange. He’s kind and attentive, and that makes me nervous.

My mind instantly questions it: Is this guy real? Are those really his photos? Is he telling the truth? Then I catch myself wondering, Why would a younger, fit man want to talk to someone like me? I know—self-sabotage. He seems genuinely interested in getting to know me, but I keep pulling back.

Yes, I know it’s because I’m “not ready.” But will I ever feel ready? I don’t want anyone new to have to carry the weight of my grief. It’s my burden. And yet, I just want someone beside me.

I’m fully aware of the risks that come with online dating, especially now. And yes, I’m protecting my privacy. But no—I won’t let fear keep me from living. I deserve something that’s just mine—something no one else can touch. And for the first time in a long time, I feel excited about what the future might hold.

Is this guy the one? Probably not. But today, I’m happy. And I’m not sad all the time anymore. That’s something.

So here’s my gentle nudge to you: take that step outside your comfort zone. You don’t have to dive in headfirst. Just start small. But most of all, ask yourself—what do I want for me? And then go gently, but boldly, in that direction.