My partner possesses a more resilient genetic background than I do. His lineage boasts minimal health issues and two remarkably healthy parents. In contrast, my family, while tenacious, presents a variety of health challenges, leading to shorter lifespans despite their vibrant lives filled with laughter and festivities.
I’m not the typical 40-something woman with a collection of elderly widows from Florida who have outlived their husbands by decades, often spending more time as widows than as wives. Thankfully, I anticipate that I won’t encounter the same fate of prolonged solitude after my passing—because, well, I’ll be quite dead.
While I take comfort in believing I will depart this world long before my partner, it raises a complex concern regarding his future. I want him to find companionship, but imagining him with another woman is a daunting thought.
It was during a visit to a cemetery that we stumbled upon a resolution.
My partner and I share a fondness for exploring graveyards. As writers and storytellers, we are drawn to the rich tapestry of lives once lived. The stories of love, loss, and mystery captivate us.
Recently, while standing over a poignant family plot, I vowed to my partner that if he were to remarry after my demise, I would certainly haunt him. I distinctly remember saying, “If you get lonely and decide to date some widow in capris, I will haunt you.” He chuckled but replied with a serious undertone, “Oh, I know. I KNOW you will,” which seemed to swell his pride.
He then, in a poetic fashion, expressed that he has never loved anyone but me (which he better not) and could not envision life without me (let’s be real, it would be terrible). He even suggested that I needn’t worry about haunting him, as he would surely fade away alone after I’m gone—a sad thought I couldn’t help but chuckle at.
As we continued our stroll, we discussed how he might occupy his time after my headstone is erected. Would he take up painting? Join a craft club at the senior center? Perhaps embark on river cruises? Ultimately, we came to a more inspired conclusion: we would select a friend of mine for him to marry. This way, I could rest easy knowing what to expect from my afterlife vantage point.
We began compiling a list of potential candidates. “Oh, her! She’ll take him camping all the time.” “What about her? She’s a workhorse, and she’ll cook nonstop, making him gain weight.” “And her? She’d want to relocate to Barcelona, which wouldn’t work for our kids.” One by one, we eliminated names based on what we envisioned for his future.
This process appealed to my controlling nature and the reality that none of my friends would tarnish my memory, as they all understand how fabulous I was. My partner was also relieved, given that I have several attractive friends, two of whom stand out with their dazzling, wide smiles that he admires.
In the end, I selected a dear friend who I adore. She is someone with whom I share a deep connection and who knows both of us well. Moreover, she already has feelings for him, which means she truly understands our bond. Should her partner meet with the same unfortunate fate as mine, I wholeheartedly endorse the two of them moving forward together. It feels right. And even if I decide to rattle my chains a bit, she would appreciate my presence.
Here lies Jenna Carter, they can etch into my stone: wife, mother, friend. She haunts because she cares.
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Summary:
In contemplating the future of her spouse after her passing, Jenna Carter humorously navigates the complexities of love, loss, and companionship. By selecting a friend for him to remarry, she finds peace in the idea of his continued happiness while accepting her own eventual departure from life.