One year after her demise, at 60, he introduced his new other half to the world. Conversations and felicitations on his plunge revealed that it was a necessary indulgence for him. Even though his children were married and he was a grandfather three times over, he felt the need for intimate touch and passion. He is a happy man. The memory of his old wife is very much alive, and he will cherish them till the end of time.
Another friend with a couple of late teenage, young adult daughters, lost his wife after a long tiring battle with ovarian malignancy. Still reeling from the loss, he was still not out of the woods yet when I spoke to him six months after her demise. He still felt her presence around the house, and his mind kept playing, reminiscing the good times, playing back obscure events in their wedded bliss to miss her more.
I slowly introduced the idea of finding a replacement to fill the void; he asserted that he was pretty sure. At that juncture, he only wanted to spend the rest of his years living in dear memory of his duly departed. He feels complete without a need to build a new one.
Yet, when posed with a similar question, another pessimistic realist friend viewed his one stint in matrimony as enough to last his whole lifetime. Gone are the days when intimacy and husband-wife interaction played a pivotal role in his daily life. He had started enjoying the company of he and himself, exploring new frontiers to expand his knowledge and experience. He guesses that his wife is in the same boat, too. Over the years, embroiled in the hard knocks of life, they grew apart, from being co-dependent to interdependent to independent, sometimes contradictory just for the kick of it, able to stand alone to face the music.
