Too Young to Be Alone

There is comfort in a regulated life. After nearly five years of widowhood and two years after my mother died, I knew how my days and weeks would be. Students, papers, and meetings during the week. Movies, concerts, and dinners with friends on the weekends.

No more emergencies. No more long-distance calls to doctors or checking in with aides. No more coming to school hauling my overnight bag for my monthly trip to Florida. No more sitting in the sun with my mother in her wheelchair while she looked off somewhere in the distance or looked at me with perplexity. No more of those moments when she seemed to recognize me for a moment or two, beaming and smiling, until she drifted back to wherever she went in or out of her mind.

After she died I was responsible for myself only. I was lonely, but there was a relief in the sudden simplicity of my life. I knew I could follow my uncomplicated routine indefinitely. I was grateful for  the lack of drama.

It's hard to pry oneself out of a complacent existence. Part of me wanted more. Part of me wanted nothing but rest.

My neighbor had been widowed several years before me, and after some time had passed, her mother took her to task. "You're too young to be alone. Find someone!" My neighbor, a sophisticated and accomplished professional who was used to running her own life, obeyed and entered the world of Internet dating.

Back then I was busy with my family illnesses. Nevertheless I followed her attempts, admired her perseverance through the flops, and cheered her success when she met her compatible new mate.

There came the day in my widowed life when I decided to borrow her mother's wisdom. She might as well have been my mother for all the resistance I felt. Finding someone was a daunting task, an ordeal. But I knew it was in my best interest to proceed, so that's what I did.