We Cuddled, I Cried
I can’t believe I am admitting this.
We Cuddled, I Cried
This is so embarrassing.
We Cuddled, I Cried
I have never been afraid to show emotion. A product of who I am as a person. To my core.
We Cuddled, I Cried
Anyone who knows me knows that I have never been afraid to show my emotions. They know that I wear my heart on my sleeve. They know that I expose my heart and my soul to the world.
Michelle would always say that I was the girl and that she was the guy.
The truth is, ‘Male Vulnerability’ is an interesting topic.
Even in the year 2017, with all of the social progress that we have made, the fact remains: A man who shows vulnerability, is often judged.
During Michelle’s two and a half year cancer battle I was a complete and total mess. My anticipatory grief was so intense, the fear of losing both my wife and step-daughter so profound, that I could not help but cry, and cry often. The tears often deep, powerful and from the gut.
I was not afraid to show my emotion then. I am not afraid to show my emotion now. Even if I am more than slightly embarrassed to admit what I am about to admit (you’ll know it when you see it.)
I want to find Love again.
The truth is, Michelle was the only woman I ever loved. I fell in love with her at 17, and then again when we found our way back to each other at 26. Although in all honesty, I don’t think that Love ever went away.
As she was dying, she would try to comfort me. As I sat and cried like an unhinged baby, SHE would try to comfort ME. I feel both guilty and ashamed to admit that I put my own grief on the physically weak, yet metaphorically big, strong shoulders of my dying wife. Although in fairness, we made for an incredible team. When I was down, she would lift me up. And when she was down, I would return the favor.
Michelle would tell me that I had to be strong. That I had to be there for my step-daughter, (her daughter.) And that she would bring me someone special when the time was right. To make me happy again.
January 22, 2016. The day Michelle passed away. An hour before hospice told us that we only had one hour left with her body, I asked everyone to leave the room. I wanted an hour to cuddle with her alone. To talk to her. To feel her in my arms. Just one more time.
We Cuddled, I Cried
That night –the night of her passing, We did Cuddle. I did Cry.
But no, that isn’t what this is about.
This is about the here. This is about the now.
About six weeks ago I met someone. Virtually. A widow. In the oddest of ways.
For six weeks we talked. Everyday. For hours. And hours. And hours.
We developed a very strong connection.
It was so nice to have someone to talk to. To laugh with. And yes, to grieve with.
The intense and profound loneliness that I had been feeling for so long was suddenly easing. Hope was renewed.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could actually Move Forward (not Move On).
So, after talking for about six weeks, we decided to set fear aside and meet.
As I woke up the morning of the day we were to meet and I felt a sadness in me. A deep sadness.
I couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but I knew the basics of it: I felt like I was leaving Michelle behind.
We Cuddled, I Cried
The last time I cuddled with a woman, I cried. January 22, 2016. As I lay with my wife’s cold, deceased body. Speaking to her. Telling her everything one last time.
We Cuddled, I Cried
The next time I cuddled with a woman, I cried. January 29, 2017.
Yes, I sure did. As soon as we touched. I cried.
In fairness, it was a ‘man’ cry—thankfully. A quiet, stoic cry, and not an all-out meltdown like I have been known to have before. It lasted for about ten minutes. I kept trying to compose myself. Yet I failed. Miserably.
I have been told things many things about being a widower.
I have been told it is easier to be a widower than it is to be a widow.
I have been told men heal quicker than women.
I have been told that it is easier to date as a widower than it is as a widow.
No. No. No.
Love is Love. Loss is Loss.
The degree of pain and suffering depends on the individual, the Love shared and the circumstances involved. Not the gender.
We Cuddled, I Cried
The truth is. I am thankful.
I am thankful that I took a chance. That I put myself out there again.
I am thankful that my first encounter was a widow. A very understanding woman. Whose own journey has been so difficult that she completely understood and passed not a second’s worth of judgment.
We Cuddled, I Cried
To put yourself out there again after the loss of the love of your life is scary. And it opens your heart up for hurt. A lot of hurt.
I know what some of you may be thinking.
Come on John. You lost your wife. How can you be hurt when you were only talking to this woman for six weeks?
There is a feeling that comes with putting yourself out there again. A feeling that comes with the loneliness being a little less intense. A feeling that comes with the hope that happiness may be just around the corner.
It hurts.
Touching someone else made me miss Michelle so much more.
It made me miss her with an intensity that burned my soul.
It made me miss My Person.
So, what does this all mean?
Does this mean that at the age of thirty-two I am going to give up? Accept a life by myself? A life alone?
No.
I know it’s not going to be easy.
It’s not going to be easy on me.
And it’s surely not going to be easy on any future Love interest that I may meet.
It’s going to take a strong woman to be able to deal with the reality of what comes with me. Because the reality is this: Michelle comes with me.
I know that I am capable of loving again.
I will not compare women. I will not compare Love.
But, Michelle comes with me. In my heart. And in my soul.
I have always, and will always, love Michelle. I will carry her with me for the remainder of my days.
For now, I am done searching.
I am taking a break. From Love.
But, let me be clear.
I am not taking a break from the hope of Love.
No, that hope still exists.
I am simply taking a break in the quest for it.
Instead, I am going to sit back, and let fate do what it shall do.
When it is meant to be, Love will find me.
For once in my life, I am simply going to ‘Let it Be.’
—
Photo: Getty Images
Wow, of all the articles I’ve read in the GMP, this is one of the best by far. Thank you for writing this.
I’m so so sorry for your loss. I would be lying if i told you i didn’t just fall in love with your vulnerability. go you. i’m so sure she’s proud of you and the way you are lighting the way for the awakening man. huge heart hugs little brother. you are so honored.
I am not a widow. I can’t comprehend the pain and sadness that must be yours. Please know that I do not see men like you as weak. Choosing vulnerability is strength. It allows you to connect with people in ways that would other wise be impossible. Such a beautiful thought that Michelle goes with you. I love that, and it’s true.
I remember the first time my dad repeated my grandfather’s words after my grandmother’s untimely passing… that despite all the goodness in his life – sisters, children, grandchildren – none of it could even begin to fill the void left by her absence.
As much time as I spent with throughout my childhood, it seems like that knowledge should have hurt. Instead, I’m just awed at the vastness of that love. That anyone should believe that men feel loss less poignantly is tragic.
Yes! This! All of this! Thank you! Hugs
I am widow of 4 months. My husband died of a blood clot. He was fine the day before. I thought the medicine would work. We had no time goodbye or. Cuddling. I was not ready to say goodbye.