On July 5, 2010, I was unexpectedly widowed. I’ve spent the months since then learning how to live alone. I am starting to adjust, although I dislike parts of how I live now, and probably always will. But one thing I have not accustomed myself to is the difference in how women regard me.
For me, one of the bonuses of being in an obviously happy relationship was that other women could relax around me. They trusted me not to come on to them. If I helped them, they understood that I had no agenda beyond being helpful. If I found them attractive (and, of course, sometimes I did), I wasn’t about to act upon the attraction.
What I liked about this perception of me is that it allowed me to talk to women, and to get to know them as people. Of course, I’m sure that some women entertained lingering doubts about me, and that their interactions with me were hedged with reservations. But, so far as the culture permits, as a married man I could be friends with women.
Now that I’m suddenly single, much of that is gone. Although I’m not aware of having changed my attitudes or behavior, how I’m perceived by women is suddenly changed — even by women who have known me for years. Although I’m still operating on the assumptions built up by years of marriage, I’m reclassified as single.
Being relatively young and looking younger, I am assumed to be looking for another relationship As a widower, I’m assumed to be missing regular sex. Suddenly, my speech is being scanned for innuendo, and my actions are viewed with skepticism. At best, there’s a reserve and a questioning in the women I meet that wasn’t there before.
And, just to make matters worse, my awareness of that reserve makes me more nervous, which makes many women more nervous still, creating a vicious cycle that I don’t know how to break.
The irony is, I am far from sure that I want another relationship. I can’t say that I would turn one down, or that I don’t have excruciating bouts of loneliness, but the possibility barely registers with me. I’m still recovering from the last one, thank you very much, and I’m not sure which would be worse: being widowed a second time, or leaving someone I loved to survive my death.
I can’t help thinking, too, of how Raymond Chandler and George Orwell made fools of themselves after their wives died, begging every women they met to marry them. Orwell even went so far as to suggest that any woman who married him would soon end up a wealthy widow with control over his writings, a piece of bribery that strikes me as both gauche and as being at odds with the upright image he affected in his writing. I would hate to be a figure that attracted similar ridicule and disdain. Chandler and Orwell sounded so desperate.
But the main reason that I contemplate staying single is that I never did care much for the mating game. The ritual has changed since I was last single, but for all the loosening of outdated tradition, it still seems to degrade men and women alike. I mean, no wonder there are so many breakups and divorces: the game is so stylized that you have practically no chance of getting to know a lover or a spouse until after you’ve moved in together.
True, I was lucky once. But the odds of repeating that luck seem slight. And why should I settle for second best? The thought of looking for another relationship seems so tiresome to me that it’s hardly worth the effort.
Right now, all I really want is friends with whom I can talk, regardless of whether they are male or female. A cause or two to distract me wouldn’t hurt, either.
But the frustrating part is that there is no way to communicate this attitude to the women I meet. If I tried to express my attitude, it would either seem too personal too soon, or else some roundabout strategy in the mating game. There are no rules in the rituals of male and female for declaring that you are not playing, and no way to protest your classification.
So the fact remains: against my wishes, I am suddenly a single man. And every woman knows what a single man wants, right?
Off the Wall 
It’s pretty well-known that when you have a woman, you get interest from other women, and when you don’t, you don’t. It seems to be an issue of self-confidence.
Umm . . . OK, but that wasn’t what I saying.
Being single, especially being a single person of a certain age, is a constant social balancing act. If I’m not immediately assumed to be desperate (surely no one would choose to be single), sometimes I get the feeling others are looking for a hint of madness that might explain my unnatural state. I try to be as straightforward as possible to minimize the urge to deconstruct my speech for hidden messages or innuendo. And, of course, I have a great set of friends who know me well enough not to dabble in that nonsense. Let’s revive the honored state of bachelorhood for men and women.
I’ll second that! Sometimes, whether temporarily or permanently, people want to be alone.
I sometimes wonder if the way that mature single people are regarded isn’t a reflection of other people’s fears. They fear being alone, so they assume that everybody else must, too.
Bruce,
As a recent widow, August 25, 2013, I know what you mean. People are uncomfortable around you. While I am lonely for friendship, I still feel married. People think I must be looking for the next “Mr. Right”. I’m not. I would just like friends of either gender who would just make a little time for me. I’m not saying I need someone around constantly. But it would be nice to have someone plan lunch, dinner, or a play to attend with me. It was like shortly after the memorial and internment, folks brought food for a bit. Then I ceased to exist. I feel like a shade. My husband has gone, so I don’t really exist anymore. I try to plan things with others but they’re so busy with their lives and families, I feel like an intrusion, and it’s nearly impossible to find time in their life for me.
I so miss having my husband to just get up and go somewhere, do something with. My best friend will soon be home from school and we’ve planned a nice vacation/road trip together, so I hope times are looking up. But you know widows and widowers are just people who like doing ordinary people things. Our main source of social interaction is gone with the death of our spouse, so we need friends and family to just be there. To pull us out of ourselves and our loss for a while. To listen to us, to talk to us. I feel so alone and just forgotten most of the time. Is that kind of where you’re at?
Donna
Less so now than I was when I wrote this piece, but, after three years, that feellilng still hasn’t gone away. I’m still not overly interested in another relationship, and I wouldn’t be that upset if I never had one. After all, I had a great relationship once, so expecting to find the same again is probably unrealistic.
I know my cousin became a Widower just four months before I lost my husband. He had been married 47 years. He’s already started seeing someone. I guess everyone’s timing is different. My Mother-in-law told me on the day my husband died when we were doing paperwork at the hospital, that she hopes I’ll find a good man again. Someone who would treat me better than my husband did. I told her that finding someone else was the last thing on my mind at theoment. She moved on after she became a widow.
I will probably move on eventually. But right now it’s just too soon. I think when I finally realize, in my heart, and my brain, that he’s not coming back. But who knows? I know I am in no rush. I was totally unprepared to become a widow. Even though I prayed God would either heal him 100% and leave him here. Or heal him by taking him home. He was just hurting so badly I wanted him to be free of his pain. When he was moments from passing he opened his eyes and looked scared. I told him it was okay, he could just go, there was nothing to fear. I also lied to him, although I didn’t know it at the time. I told him I would be okay. He didn’t need to worry. His brother, sister and mother were there as well and were encouraging him to just let go and go on. We’d all be okay.
I’m not in the habit of lying. And at the time I did think I would be okay. How long does it take before so many different things quit reminding you of them? A friend shared a photo she took of him back when we first started dating. I had never seen it before. It kept making feel like he was alive somewhere, if I looked hard enough, I could maybe find him. It’s like that one photo started the grief process all over again.
A very valuable original post and fine comments. My lovely wife passed 7th Jan 2013. From despair at the time I said “When Carol died my life ended”. It has taken from then to conclude a number of thoughts, the most important is;
The statement “When Carol died my life ended” was in fact true but now I understand that at that time a new life also began. At that instance all relationships in my life looked the same but had irrevocably changed. This allows me to entertain wider possibilities supported with Carols teachings but without Carols presence.
I have a “mate” we go about a lot, we do a lot we tell “rude” jokes we are known in our families. We enjoy the company and we “sleep over” in each others houses when we get drunk. We go to London see a show stay in a hotel one room. Just what good mates do. The name of my Mate is Anne! Anne is a lovely woman she can turn an eye as she goes about and she looks good on my arm in the evening. We have known each other for 20 years she became a widow 10 years ago. Being like this delights us. Maybe this will change over time, the minds are open.
But……. What rubbish we get from folks around us. We need to hand out slaps to our families and our relationship is stretched by those around us. We have to explain, we have never “held hands” let alone intimate contact like kissing. And yes we can be in each others company in scant attire. Why should we be required to embarrass and excuse ourselves like errant children. It is insulting.
So, Bruce, a set of new words is required to describe the relationships between widow(er)s. The standard “mating game” model is totally inadequate.
Cheers, Ray