Six years after my beloved husband’s sudden death,
I finally found love again.

I am deeply, madly, passionately, in love.

It is wonderful.

It is terrifying.

It is crazy weird.

Being in love with two men.

I’m not into bigamy.

I’m not even into threesomes.

But really, truly ….

that’s what this is.

A threesome.

But not the kinky kind.

Not the sex kind that you’re thinking of.

It’s a new kind of threesome.

One that widowed people invented.

One that makes little sense to the outside world.

One that gets easily judged,

and ridiculed,

by those who don’t understand.

It’s a new kind of threesome,

And it goes something like this ….

You’re standing in your kitchen and your dad and your new love are having a conversation. You are a bystander, a witness. They are talking about cars and mechanics and other boring “guy” type things, when suddenly you are silently consumed with a feeling of terror and deep confusion, as if you dont know what’s going on or where you are or who this man is that is talking with your dad. He isn’t your husband. He looks nothing like your husband.

Suddenly your mind switches back to the times when your husband and your dad had similar conversations about cars and mechanics and man things, and now you’re sweating and panicking because this man in your kitchen is not your husband, and your husband is still dead, forever. And somehow you are just realizing this and knowing this, for the very first time, even though you have realized that he is dead, about ten billion times before. Right now, in this moment, it feels like the first time again. You have to slow down the breathing inside yourself and just pretend that everything is normal, because telling your new love that for a second, in your mind, he turned into your dead husband in a flashback type scenario – doesn’t seem like the best idea.

You are on the phone sobbing with your new love, and when he asks you what’s wrong, you say you don’t really know, and that you just got really sad for no reason. You tell your new love how much you miss your love who is dead, and in the same sentence – you also tell him that your missing of the love who is dead, takes away nothing at all from how deeply you love HIM right now, today. He says: “I know that,” and continues to comfort you. You wonder how on earth he could possibly know that, or be that amazingly empathetic, considering he is not widowed himself. You sigh deeply as you realize again how incredible this man is who lays beside you today. You tell him that even though you know it makes no sense, that you wish like hell that he and your love who is dead, could know each other and be friends. He says that he wishes he had met your dead love too, which also makes no sense logically, but makes perfect sense in your world.

You lie in your bed and cuddle with your new love, and then roll over and silently say goodnight to your dead love, whose remaining ashes sit inside a Christmas tin, which has a Yankees ornament on the lid, because your husband was a huge fan and would like that. Next to the ornament, you have added the meditation rocks that your new love gave you, spread across the top of the cover. It’s all blended together, and when you say goodnight to your dead husband, you smile and cry a little all at once. Life and death are merging, and the beauty of it overwhelms you.

You make a joke that your dead love would have found hilarious, and your new love doesn’t really laugh. It’s okay. You know logically that they are very different people, and that their reactions to things you do and say will be very different. You are not comparing them, but the lack of laughter from your new love, in that moment, makes you suddenly think about your dead love’s huge laugh that took over his whole body and made him shake, and you miss it.

Your new love says something or does something that your dead love used to do or say. Or he tilts his head a certain way, and reminds you of him for a second. You feel as if they are somehow connected, though you don’t know how that could be possible. Something inside you knows it is true, and you decide to believe it, because it means that your dead husband knows of and approves of your new love, and he is thrilled for your joy.

Your new love kisses you or hugs you or brings you flowers, and you feel a love so intense and so like nothing you have ever felt before. You feel giddy and happy and filled with brightness. And then you feel a tinge of guilt. Not because you are happy. But because maybe you are MORE happy than you were with your dead love. Then you feel even more guilt for even thinking such a thing, and then you realize that the person you are today, has been forever changed by death – so comparing one joy to another is futile, and you need to stop. You realize that the joy you feel now is not better than any past joy – it just feels that way because it has taken so long for you to feel ANY joy at all. You realize that your dead husband brought you an insane amount of joy, and that your new love does the same, but in HIS own unique and wonderful way. It feels new and exciting, and it feels like the first time you ever felt joy. Then you remember how it felt the same sort of way, when you felt that new and exciting joy with your dead love.  Then you get a headache from overthinking all your damn joy.

The threesome is ongoing. It is emotional. It is a lot of adjusting.

Learning the quirks and habits and details of the new love,

while holding the quirks of the forever love in your heart.

Feeling sad and thankful and curious

and happy and melancholy,

all in the same second.

Knowing that your emotions are normal,

but feeling anything but.

Learning and growing and evolving,

using all the love you collected,

from your forever dead husband,

and blending it with all the love

you are receiving,

from your beautiful new soulmate.

Knowing that your heart

keeps expanding,

as it creates a nest
big enough for three.

 


Kelley Lynn is an author, actor, comedian, TED talk speaker, and widow.  She lives in Massachusetts, and is trying to change the world.

 

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5 Comments

  • McGuire Linda says:

    That is what I’m looking for! Thank you for putting it into fine words.

  • Lana says:

    This is incredible! So insightful!

  • Jamie says:

    Thanks so much Kelley. This really speaks to me, and is so timely.

  • Parker says:

    A tiny flicker of light is hoping for this, with a twinge of knowledge that it will bring everything you described and more. Brave women we are, to be willing to go there again. My loss after a great marriage makes me hopeful that another great love is possible. Thank you for sharing.

  • Laura Muraco says:

    This is exactly what happens in my brain. My new love is a widower and we quite often say that this is a four person relationship. I mentioned it to my daughter one day and she said “mom, don’t make it weird!”. It irritated me when she said that because, thankfully she doesn’t know the pain of losing your spouse of 30 years and creating a new life. She knows the pain of losing a father. I told her that we are not MAKING it weird. It just is. Thank you for sharing.

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