The Uphill Slide

There is always something.

Plunging A Toe


Another widower with the inset of a dozen red roses sent me a friend request. I saved it to screenshot to submit to a scam website. If you see this man….

He looks familiar. Like someone running for office. Perhaps a victim himself, a stolen face. The profile isn’t real. But is there a chance it might be? I suppose. And that is what the person hiding behind a mask banked on. That at least one lonely person was dreaming of a romantic widower.

My friend told me more than once that she never envisioned me with a man like my husband. She was wrong for a long time. “Alas,” we sigh, “love is blind.”

My husband callously told me at the beginning of the end that now I would know exactly who or what not to seek in his successor. An assumption, of course. But I did know after months of reflection. Self-awareness to know that change is more than the facade and superficial things of a more or less even exchange. That it is not enough now to return to the romanticism of  beginnings.

I’ve thought of dating. Begun looking at men in a different way. Thinking of possibilities. I sat with four friends at lunch discussing online dating. Happily married, widowed, divorced and then me. We agreed it’s scary. Scarier than serendipity? Are younger women afraid of this online screening process? Or does it make it easier to filter out likes and dislikes? A natural extension of the online life and social networking?

We’ll see. Maybe.

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