OUR STORY... Let us start with a very simple statement of fact. Mark and I are NOT divorced. We are widowed. Ray McCart (5/5/1964 - 4/2/2012) and Dennie (Denise) Welser (1/23/1964 - 11/2/2019) are very much a part of our lives, and we embrace our love for them. They are loved and will be loved by us for all of our days on this earth. We speak about them daily. We say their names. We remember them and are thankful to them for making us who we are independently, together, and for each other.
Second, we are just as surprised by our relationship as many of you are. What started very simply as two human beings sharing time talking about loss and how to move forward in a new normal developed into a friendship.
Recovering from life as a caregiver is hard. It's almost a form of survivor guilt PTSD. Often the surviving spouse rehashes not only treatment but daily care, small and large life events, and ultimately the memories of the relationship, trying to figure out what was real and what wasn't. It's a strange phenomenon because our brains shut down to insulate us from pain. One starts to wonder if relationships that lasted for dozens of years even existed at all. This happens while we are trying to learn how to live on our own and do things we never had to do for ourselves for the first time.
After learning Mark was eating canned beef-a-Roni and Spaghettios, I became a woman on a mission. For those that know me, you are laughing now. I started to cook dinners and package them so he would at least have some reasonably healthy options.
Who eats beef-a-Roni from a can? It may sound like a joke, but it reminded me of the day I collapsed in my driveway in tears because I couldn't find the shutoff valve for the water. A man that eats canned beef-a-Roni is a man that was happily married for more than 30 years with a loving wife that cooked him dinner, so he never had to cook or learn to cook for himself. Like me, a woman who was married happily for almost 25 years never had to worry about a single house chore, let alone a shutoff valve.
It's not that the person is helpless; it's that they are half of a whole. They are part of a system that works. It was one of the first deep conversations Mark and I had. That many people that have not experienced young widowhood do not realize what it's like to suddenly be put in a situation where half of you is gone.
Widowhood is an amputation of a body part, part of your heart, along with being an amputation of a key support system in your life.
OK, now here's where it gets good. That conversation led to hundreds of hours of conversations. And I mean hundreds. We quickly found that we enjoyed spending time together. We had a lot in common, including our love for animals, all things chocolate, Chic-fil-a, reality TV, music, sports, and even enjoyed many of the same hobbies including casino trips.
I challenged Mark to create a bucket list. He had never really thought about it. It quickly led to conversations about travel (one of my obsessions) and places he'd like to see (Redwood Forest, Route 66, etc.). Our love for sports and pizza led me to ask him to go to a Flyers game as I knew he'd love Lorenzo's pizza since a slice is the size of a whole small pie. After that, the plans quickly piled up. While we started to hang out more, we were not officially dating. We both have a strong desire to be respectful and also bring our family (children) along with us respectfully.
We talked, messaged on Facebook, and began planning our first official date, a night out at Ocean Casino. During our first date, we had Wahlburgers. I proceeded to knock over my soda. We posted a photo and realized that it might be too early for some to accept our dating. I liken this to what I call 'after the funeral' syndrome. Many go home after the funeral and forget that the widow goes home too. However, the home they go to is empty. EMPTY. No sound. No noise. Just them.
We talked about the expectation. When is it ok to date? What is the magic number of days? Does one sit on the couch for a few years?
For those that know about my relationship with Bob, I held him at arm's length. He pushed me often with life is too short. I didn't buy-in. This time, Mark and I bought in. Life is too short. Those plans that began to pile up... we began to act on them; Boston, New Orleans and then...
And now...
The adventure begins