It was lust at first sight... on my part. He, I learned later, was just looking for a new place to dance.
I didn't know that night that I'd fall in love with this man. I only knew that his blue eyes and warm smile melted my world, and I had a sudden urge (which I resisted) to touch the chest hair that peeked from the V of his shirt. When he started to roll his hips, revealing a lifetime of dance and a self-assurance in his 64-year-old dancer's body, I felt my own hips strain to match his rhythm. I kept forgetting the steps to the dance I was teaching.
Better Than I Ever Expected: Straight Talk about Sex After Sixty.)
Our first kiss didn't happen for nine months -- but once we started, we never stopped kissing.
I lost Robert to cancer on August 2, 2008 -- exactly seven years after our first kiss.
Today, I made myself coffee in the coffee pot that he had used, held my cup to my cheek as he had done. I thought of the post I had written in 2010 -- “I’m Going to Make You Coffee….”
For those of you who have lost a loved one, I think it's important to share this with you: It does get easier. We all proceed in our own time frame. There's no "right" amount of time to grieve, and anyone who tells you, "you should be over it by now" should be educated (first I wrote "pilloried," but I changed my mind).
I've also learned that we can move forward and hold onto the memories at the same time. I'm listed with three online dating sites, and I'm enthusiastic about welcoming male company into my life. I still miss Robert every day. I am not looking to replace him -- couldn't be done even if I wanted to, and I don't want to. Any new man I get involved with will have to accept that I'm not going to take Robert's paintings off the wall or hide the urn that holds his ashes.
I'm 69 -- I bring my whole lifetime of experiences with me into whatever path I take next. That includes my memories of the man who taught me how richly I could love and be loved.