The Widower

I'm not sure if you've ever dated a widower, but that was always a 'swipe left' for me. I didn't want to live in the shadow of a ghost and I also didn't want to be endlessly compared to the love of a man's wife, mother to his children, etc. So I never had. Are they datable? Can they ever commit again? How hard is it to unpack the bags of that trip that ended disastrously? Does it matter how long they've been alone? Unfortunately I was on a path to find out.

Lewis was one of the first faces I saw as I rolled down the dock to check out my new slip. It was 2016 and I leaned into my fear hard to lease out my house and buy a boat I could live aboard. It was a long time ambition of mine to own a boat. I've always loved the water, the peace of it at sunset, the sound of it slapping up against the hull, the rocking when it's angry from a storm.

When I was 14 my father bought an old aluminum hull cuddy cabin. It was 23 foot and it looked so enormous on the trailer. There was nothing as blissful to me as riding on the bow as he crisscrossed Lake Brownwood in the summer. It was short lived, but I never forgot the feeling of the 'water spraying on hot brown skin.

I had been in several dating relationships since my divorce in 2008 and I decided to give up on finding a committed relationship any longer. I got off online dating and just wanted to give myself the life I wanted, forget waiting for a prince on a white horse. Do what I love, then maybe organically love will come my way.

I selected the most beautiful marina on Lake Lewisville. I paid to be on the most beautiful dock probably in Texas. It was called I Dock and was home to about 100 boats in excess of 40 feet. Most were the sexy low slung Sea Rays. The walk way was lined with all the alma mater flags that afforded all of these folks these beautiful vessels. As I walked down to check out where the boat would be slipped there were two older men having beer at their slip. They were boat neighbors. Lewis looked up at me with the iciest blue eyes and we met. The other gentleman owned the boat across the walkway and they had been friends for a very long time.

I Dock was quite the social scene and since I was at the other end of the dock, I always walked down past Lewis and would say hello, but seldom spoke in depth. I learned that every Friday as I came back from work he would be there reading a novel and smoking a cigarette. I would also learn that he had been a widow for years already but had never remarried. He was far older than me, by 16 years. On occasion the whole dock would gather for Saturday night dinner at Lewis's kitchen as he loved to cook, drink fine wine and feed the masses. He was jovial and hospitable, a wonderful gentleman. He was referred to as the 'Mayor' of the dock. He had been on the lake for over 20 years, with his lovely wife Joanne. She had passed away from several bouts of cancer in her late 50's leaving him a widower for six years or so when we met.

My social life soon took on a life of its own at the West end of I Dock, and within a couple months I was dating a man 7 years younger. A cougar I had become. I tried setting Lewis up with a couple of older lady friends that were age appropriate over the years but he would never entertain it. He smoked a pack a day, and read the thickest of novels in a week. Friday was Miller Lite night, but Saturday was velvety red wine that was three times the price of what I would consider buying for myself. Lewis was an icon, loved by everyone. I loved him too.

My romance with the younger man seemed to grow into a mutually exclusive situationship and in a few years we moved to a different more affordable marina so that we could move back into my house. I really couldn't afford a house and a boat, but the lease was positive and almost absorbed my slip fee. We were right until we weren't. After almost five years of being together we separated and I was crushed. I was now 57 and enter full on depression and grief. To deal with my depression I prayed so deeply to God to help me find a way to not kill myself. It was bad. The next day I had no desire to drink that bottle of wine, or drown my sorrow in that bottle of Dalmore Scotch. I quit drinking so I could push through the hairy middle of this depression and not commit suicide, or kill anyone else! Don't worry, I found alcohol again. I'm not using that word 'suicide' lightly. Neither am I anywhere near taking that step then or now. But sometimes when you hurt emotionally so terribly, those thoughts can cross your mind. I want to be real here. I want any of you who have felt similarly to find this all so relatable. Don't be ashamed, don't hide. Most importantly never isolate yourself.

My svelte silhouette returned and I soldiered on. I moved the boat to another marina where I wouldn't enter into a lease as long as it was for sale. I tried for 3 months to sell my Muse, but there were no takers. I just wanted to go 'home' to my first marina, to my first beautiful dock, to the place I still had a community to be part of.

I went for a visit and there was Lewis, reading with his cigarette at his bar. He was a welcoming sight and we visited. He invited me back to the next dock dinner. It was nice to be included and there was only one slip left that could accommodate my boat, and it was right next door to Lewis's kitchen slip. That would be great! I know Lewis! He would be an awesome slip neighbor!

Enter the haters....