For Better or Worse

Here's the thing about dating when you're older: there are lots more things to think about than when you were 25 or 36 or 47.

I fantasize about the future, but my fantasies have to go a lot of different directions. When John and I got married fourteen years ago next Tuesday, we had no idea our marriage was only going to last 27 months. We figured we'd be moving into the Army-Navy Distaff House in our late 70s or early 80s and eat mush for dinner with all the other old military officers and military widow[er]s. We thought we'd have lots of vacations together and time to argue and make up. Alas, we had six months without cancer, and twenty-one months where every day was overshadowed by cancer.

If I am lucky enough to procure a life partner for the rest of my life, he will have to deal with the passing of my mother and all the massive emotions and anxiety that will entail. He'll have to deal with any illnesses or diseases that I contract (and I with his). He'll have to, if he does not predecease me, know how best to interact with my children and grandchildren upon my passing, even though he will not have known them even as long or as well as he will have known me.

The beauty of a long marriage which starts in early- or mid-life is that all the logistics can be dealt with early on. You sit down with your accountant and your lawyer and you get everything worked out and forget about it. When you start later, more of the details are already in place—your assets, your liabilities, your likes and dislikes. You have to say "what if" and "just in case" and have lots of serious talks when you'd rather just be frittering and canoodling the time away together.

Over the years, I've thought about what I might do if I were diagnosed with, for example, breast cancer. I've thought I would just go quietly away someplace and deal with it myself, because I didn't think anyone in my life would be up to providing the selfless care that I know the disease requires. Neither husband #2 nor husband #3 were devoted enough to me—in my opinion and in hindsight—to tend to me as I tended to John. In my best Little Adoptee fashion, my thoughts of running away alone to avoid being rejected were far preferable to becoming a burden to someone, who might then be forced to silently abandon me in his thoughts.

And now suddenly I find myself spending every available moment with a wonderful man who repeatedly shows signs of being selfless and devoted and caring. To know that this is a man I would gladly become a caregiver again for, and who would surely provide equal care for me, is almost daunting. Almost intimidating. But encouraging. Scary.

Many single adults find reasons to extricate themselves from relationships that become too scary or threateningly intimate.

But there's an alternative: cross your fingers and force yourself to grow up.

For me, better or worse in a relationship is preferable to unthreatened aloneness.