I’m only gonna say this once
Hi,
I’ve read back through your blog. I’m very interested in your story. I’m curious how you met A and how long you’ve been married to E. I understand if you don’t want to share anymore than you already do, however I met and fell in love with an older man while I was married and I find similarities in the times with him that you’ve written about. Thank you for sharing.
~ Jillian
I received a comment from Jillian yesterday that I had to think awhile about approving. I moderate comments here, because others, too, have asked about my situation, though not always as politely as Jillian did. I’ve gotten some really hateful comments that have never seen the light of day here, from people who feel that they are the arbiters of grief, of what makes a widow, and the protectors of the Widow identity, who felt free to tell me I’m disgusting, self-pitying, and certainly no widow, among other criticisms. I don’t need that; I have, from the beginning, offered this blog for what it’s worth. It is one woman’s experience—no more and no less, and there a million blogs in the naked blogosphere for folks to click to if they don’t care for my perspective. I am not offended by genuine curiosity, and I don’t mind answering questions from those whose only agenda is to try to understand, but I won’t tolerate abuse, anonymous or otherwise, and feel no compulsion to give the vicious a podium. This is my story; they can write their own.
I do think that anyone who has read my early posts, or who has read here regularly, is aware of my unusual situation. I have made no secret here of the fact that I am married to the first great love of my life, E, and widowed by the second great love of my life, A; however, neither have I spent a lot of time explaining it or dwelling on my specific circumstances. There are several reasons that I don’t. First of all, I think my words speak for themselves, and when it’s pertinent to mention A and E, separately or together, I do. Secondly, my relationships with each of them necessarily affected my relationship with the other, but they were, and remain, two separate relationships. This blog is about my loss of A, and while E figures into that experience to a significant degree, he is not the focus of this blog. In any case, the fact that I’m married certainly affects my experience of grief, but I can guarantee that it has not lessened it. Furthermore, I do feel like I share plenty here, and there is a point where privacy prevails. And finally, I have always had a feeling that to explain myself is to take a defensive posture. I do not have to defend my life, my love, or my choices to anyone; I am not ashamed of them. If I have chosen to be somewhat circumspect, it was not out of shame, but rather out of self-protection from trolls who need little provocation beyond my existence to attack. I’m stronger now, but in the early days of this blog, it would’ve been an assault I couldn’t have withstood; nor should I have to, anyway.
That said, while it is often easier for me to deal with the world from this closet with the door slightly ajar, it is also easier for the world to NOT deal with me if I’m in here. Part of the reason I’m hanging out with the skinny jeans and the shirts waiting for paisley to come back into style is that is that society in general is not prepared to accept a relationship that is not "1 man + 1 woman; no substitutions." The hubbub in California is all the proof you need of that. But as long as people like me hide, others will have no experience of any other paradigm to consider, and therefore they will continue to think that anything that varies from Adam and Eve is deviant behavior, making sure that I will never feel safe to come out of my little closet and live as openly as I’d like to, (even retrospectively, as for all intents and purposes, I am a monogamous married woman now, and I do not foresee that changing). It seems the only solution is to be forthright about who I am (even if I do it anonymously), try to survive the potential slings and arrows, so that perhaps somewhere down the road, someone else will not feel the world is such a dangerous place to proclaim their love. Previously, I didn’t really feel like that was my responsibility; however, now I feel like only someone like me can make the world safer for someone like me, and if I do not even attempt my little part, I am contributing to the very problem I feel has oppressed me.
There are two widows at the widow board who mourn the same man—the wife and the lover, both of whom were there when he died. I remember reading the wife’s post, and she was honest about her situation. I sent her a private message, applauding her bravery in doing so, and thanking her for her loving caretaking of her husband’s lover in their shared time of grief. She showed the courage that I did not have as I have navigated the world in my grief; I’ve been very careful whom I’ve shared with, and the decision to do so has caused me more angst than I can tell you. But her example has stuck with me and has no doubt informed my decision to let Jillian’s comment through and to respond to it.
Another consideration is that as a polyamorous woman, I have some unique perspectives and experiences regarding relationships and grieving. For example, I knew before A died that it was possible to love again, and love someone new as deeply as the first love, so I didn’t have to fight that demon in my grief. It comes as a surprise to many widows that they truly can love again, and that this new love does not diminish their love for their partner who has passed in the least. They are as polyamorous as I am, in that they love two men or women; I just loved mine when both were alive, and continue to love them both now.
I also know that another, or a new, relationship is not a cure for grief. Despite living with a loving, supportive, understanding partner all along, it took a long time before I was in any shape to be a fully present, participating partner to him. And then, I had to make the choice to re-engage in that relationship, just like other widows have to choose to date again. It wasn’t easy, for either of us; both of us feared I would be lost to grief forever.
To answer Jillian’s question, E and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary last month, and have been together almost 18 years. I met A 4 years ago online at a site of a common interest, but not at a dating site. We were together in a long-distance but very close relationship for a little over 2 years, and now we are in a very long-distance relationship for the duration of my life. For answers as to how we three came to be connected, and how that came to be okay, you can read this post. I wrote it 2 weeks after he died, but have not published it here before. That ought to cover the subject.