After decades of shared laundry, shared TV remotes and shared eye rolls, I never expected to be single again. I made my vows and stupidly waltzed into “happily ever after”, and then BAM – life does what it does. Suddenly or not so suddenly, I was alone in bed with a heating pad, clutching my husband’s flannel shirt and wondering if this is it, if this is all there is.

But here’s the thing, I am still here. Still breathing, still saying out loud “what shall we do today?” and still fully capable of falling in love or at the least, still willing to find someone to share an early dinner with (so that both of us won’t have to drive in the dark).

And yes, dating again after being widowed feels weird; like putting on a pair of heels after ten years of wearing flip-flops. I wobble, feel clumsy, have questioned my sanity on more than one occasion, and have seriously thought of faking my own death to avoid small talk.

There is a possibility that among the many men over 65 years old, there will be one who brings laughter into my life again…and thinks I’m brilliant and amazing and funny. Or at the very least will like how I cook.

A New Chapter: Twists Turns, Reading Glasses and Romance

I don’t want to replace my last spouse or my kids’ father. 35 years is a long time. I still talk and often yell at his photograph, question why on a lot of things and occasionally even call him names.

But, although I established independence, I am still a human being who craves a connection. Not just companionship, but chemistry enough to split an entrée’ with someone. Someone who doesn’t mind if I talk to my cat or my plants or myself. And I need someone with an AARP card that is not afraid to use it, for discounts on an ice cream cone or a senior buffet.

Online Dating (A Brave New World) or Facebook Messaging (What Could Go Wrong?)

I get random messages like, “Hey gorgeous. Wanna chat?”

And I respond with, “Do you have a colonoscopy scheduled? I need to plan ahead?”

I have given myself permission to ghost someone and have decided that it’s okay to ditch someone who uses more emojis than vowels.

What I Bring to the Table (Besides the Best Chocolate Cake on the Block)

I am not a naïve twenty-something girl with a Pinterest Board of wedding ideas. I am a mature woman with opinions, laugh lines, cellulite and a fierce loyalty to my family, friends and the local waitress at the Mexican food place.

I have lived, I have loved and I’ve cried hard. I watched someone slip away a little at a time and yet I have also mustered up the courage to test the waters of dating again.

I refuse to be broken.

What I am not looking for…

• A project or a fixer upper
• A man who wants a nurse, a maid and/or a personal assistant.
• Anyone who says to me first thing, “You don’t look your age.”  Like it’s a compliment. (What does that even mean? Like being over 65 should come with a cane and an apology)
• A luggage set. I understand baggage, like kids, families, friends, exes, etc. but I don’t need the complete set of carry-ons, roll-ons, backpacks, cosmetic bags and shave kits.

What I am looking for

• Kindness and maybe a working knee
• Humor. If he can’t laugh a little with me, at me and at himself, he’s probably not the guy for me. (Side story: there are wooden cutout bears at a little mini-golf place in Colorado where I visit each summer. If a man can’t hold up a wooden bear suit and pose with me, he’s probably not the guy for me. It is rough criteria, but there you have it.
• Someone who knows that my heart holds a lot of different people, but that If we can both be brave enough, there is room for him, too.
• I am not searching for a soulmate, just someone with a similar bedtime.
• Chemistry would be great and it can even be that our meds don’t clash.
• Someone who doesn’t care that I can only hear the TV with subtitles
• And someone who makes my heart race without it being a medical emergency.

In Conclusion:

 Yes. I can love again and still remember the life I had before. Loving someone doesn’t mean that I love my late spouse or kids or family or friends less. My heart isn’t a pie-chart with limited space. It is more like a casserole with room for lots of different ingredients.

I am choosing to move forward, go on that date, wear lipstick and my orthopedic sandals. I can laugh when the conversation gets awkward or cry if needed. This isn’t about replacing, but about reopening my heart, gently, boldly and on my terms.

And if it all goes south, I can try again and again. I will have great stories to tell my girlfriends that could quite possibly involve a man with gorgeous long hair, a guitar, a motorcycle and a misguided tattoo!