Updated: June 2, 2017
Originally Published: Feb. 20, 2015
My partner has better genetics than I do. His family history boasts minimal cancer and two remarkably healthy parents. My lineage, while resilient, is a mixed bag, filled with its fair share of health issues. They tend to live vibrant lives, albeit shorter ones. Picture wakes filled with laughter and drinks—definitely a party vibe.
I’m not the typical 40-something with a crew of Florida grandmas who have outlived their spouses by decades, spending more time as widows than wives. Thankfully, I suspect I won’t face a similar fate of enduring years in a carpeted condo, because, well, I’ll be long gone.
While I’m relieved I won’t be around to witness my partner’s later years, it raises a tricky question about his future after I’m gone. I want him to avoid loneliness, yet the thought of him with another woman is hard to bear.
Strangely enough, we found clarity in a cemetery.
We both love roaming through graveyards, drawn by our shared passion for storytelling. The layers of lives etched in stone invite us to reflect on mystery, love, and loss. Recently, as we stood over a particularly poignant family plot, I made a promise: if he ever remarried after my passing, I would haunt him. I distinctly remember saying, “Honey, if you decide to get cozy with some widow in capris, I will absolutely haunt your behind.” His response was a mix of laughter and sincerity: “Oh, I know. I KNOW you will.” That seemed to make him feel proud.
Then he went on—bless his heart—to poetically declare that I’m the only one he’s ever loved, and he can’t envision life without me (which, let’s be real, would be pretty dismal). With a dramatic flair, he looked off into the distance and proclaimed, “I shall never love again.”
I was thrilled. “Great!” I exclaimed. “Because otherwise, I’ll be clanking my chains next to you for eternity, causing all sorts of mischief.”
Let’s be honest: I feel a bit guilty about the notion of haunting my beloved should he find companionship with a woman from a support group. I can see him attending countless counseling sessions, sipping coffee, and munching on plain donuts. (Hey, with his hot wife gone, there’s no need to stay fit, right?)
I recognize this reveals some less-than-flattering aspects of my personality. I know my parents would be deeply disappointed in my selfish threat. I’m aware I should want him to find a partner who will cherish him and provide companionship. I’ve absorbed all the “Zen compassion” wisdom from movies, literature, and Catholic school.
But in that moment, as we stood among the weathered gravestones, the idea of him sharing intimate moments with another woman nearly crushed me. What if, one day, while holding hands with Martha from the bereavement group, he realizes, “Wow, I held hands with a lobster claw for 40 years, and now look at Martha and me with our beautifully soft, intertwined hands! Things really do work out for the best—it was Jenna’s time.” Clearly, a haunting would be in order.
As we continued our stroll, we brainstormed how he might fill his days after my headstone is placed. Would he take up escorting? Dive into arts and crafts at the senior center? Perhaps he could paint seashells or go on group tours down the Danube? Ultimately, we decided to select a friend of mine he could marry so I’d know exactly what to expect from my afterlife vantage point.
We rifled through names.
- “Oh, her! She’ll drag him camping all the time.”
- “What about her? She’ll work four jobs, cater to him, and he’ll end up quite rotund.”
- “Her? She’ll want to relocate to Barcelona, and that’s not the right call for our kids.”
- “Oh, her! She’ll take in foster children, and they’ll travel with a crew of special-needs adults, making my life seem dull by comparison. Nope, cross her off!”
This whole process was wonderfully satisfying for my controlling nature, and it felt comforting knowing that none of my dear friends would tarnish my legacy—they know how awesome I was while alive.
My partner felt relieved too, as I have many attractive friends. Two in particular, with those dazzling, Hollywood-perfect smiles he adores, kept popping up in our discussion. I was like, “That’ll do, babe, thanks. I know the ‘toothy duo’ is on the list.”
In the end, I chose a friend I adore. I picked her because we share a deep cosmic connection, and she knows both of us intimately. She’s one of my partner’s favorite people, and she already loves him, meaning she understands me completely. If her spouse were to meet the same untimely fate as I do someday, I’d give my partner the green light to start a life with her. It just feels right. Plus, if I decide to rattle my chains a bit, she’ll be happy to see me. She’ll totally get it.
Here lies Jenna Lane, they can inscribe on my stone. Wife, mother, friend. She haunts because she loves.
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Summary: Jenna reflects on the complexities of love and loss, humorously navigating the idea of her partner moving on after her passing. Their lighthearted cemetery conversation leads to a plan to choose a suitable friend for him, ensuring she can rest in peace knowing he’ll be in good hands.