Dear Bel,
At 35, I am a relatively young widower. My wife passed away five years ago, leaving me two children to raise on my own.
Besides (successful) work, I have spent every night and every weekend and holiday with them and helped them get over the loss of their mother.
We’ve grown very close as a family and probably a bit too insular. My daughter is now ten and my son 11. They are distinctive personalities and a pleasure to be around. And they are both so smart in their own ways.
To help put the past behind us I moved my family to a house far from where they grew up and put them into new schools. Both are very happy and have made friends in the neighbourhood.
Working on getting out of my shell as well, I’ve had neighbours over for dinners and barbecues. One of the neighbours, a woman of 45, has really captivated me; we have had a few dates and begun a relationship. She is naturally beautiful and extremely bright and funny.
We have fallen in love and talked about a future. I’m at the point where I would like to introduce her to my children as someone I could potentially marry. I know what sort of response this will prompt — and it won’t be good.
It will threaten their feeling of security and, in some way, betray the love they felt and continue to feel for their deceased mother.
I know they will grow out of this at some point and if I wait a few years then they would probably encourage me to find someone new. But I don’t want to wait that long for happiness.
Would it be crazy to marry someone who lives a few minutes’ walk away and live as man and wife in separate houses until my children are older and can accept us living together? This is the only solution I can think of. What are your thoughts?
HARRY
Bel Mooney replies: This is a very difficult moment in the life of any widow or widower, and can be just as knife-edge when children are grown up.
In fact, I could suggest that with younger offspring the process of adjustment and acceptance can be less fraught.
In the past I’ve had upsetting letters from older men and women whose adult family were highly critical of a potential partner.
Sometimes the reasons were sound; other times it was as if they jealously and bossily wanted to stamp on the possibility of happiness.
To lose a beloved spouse at such a young age must have been truly terrible and I can only congratulate you for the way you have made your two children the central focus of your life. You gave them a completely new start, while obviously cherishing the memory of their mother, and their success with school and friendships is a testimony to your care as their father.
But at 35 you have every right to long for another loving relationship and you believe you have found a wonderful woman to share your new life.
My question is this: why is it quite so urgent ‘to introduce this new woman in my life to my children as someone I could potentially marry’?
Since she is a neighbour it will surely seem quite normal for her to drop by, have a drink with you, and so on.
But why do they have to see her as a potential wife for their father?
I can imagine that if this future were to be forced on them at this stage, their reaction might not be so good — because of the shock. After all, you became mother and father in one; you put them first; you took care of them. It would be natural for them to be fearful of that closeness being diluted by the ‘intruder’.
It would be understandable if a part of their minds became afraid of losing you as they lost their mother.
You need to take it slow. To be honest, the notion of a secret marriage yet living in separate houses seems all wrong to me. Don’t even think about lying to your kids. A softly, softly approach with your friend seems to me to be the sensible way forward.
Don’t regard it as waiting ‘that long for happiness’. See the happiness as gloriously in the here and now, and enjoy every moment you can seize with ‘Dad’s special friend’.
I bet it will soon seem natural for that to change to ‘Dad’s girlfriend’. If they tease you (as children will), so much the better. But don’t force her company on them because they will resent it. Let it be casual until it feels natural.
Your children are at the age when they can have sleepovers with friends; encourage that as much as possible so you and your lady can spend some nights together.
If you’re as sensitive about this stage as you were when they lost their mother, then I’m sure everything will turn out well for you.
I’m always let down by my selfish friend
Dear Bel,
My parents are dead, I lost my best friend five years ago, another close friend two years ago and my sister last year.
A good friend (of 35 years) used to live in my village. We kept in contact when I moved to the city but I’m the one who initiates everything – she rarely rings me.
Over the years I’ve done loads for her, happily so as I thought we were close.
Yesterday we had a date for lunch. She lives five miles away and has a car. I take two buses, making sure I’m at the cafe on time, even in the rain. She’s often late or doesn’t turn up. Yesterday she forgot again. When I reached her, she apologised and said she’d seen my calls while gardening and realised her mistake.
I tried to tell her how upset I was. She told me not to get upset but to call her to rearrange a meeting.
She’s planning to move 45 miles up the South Coast. It would involve a one-hour trip, and at nearly 76, with arthritis, I find it difficult to travel now. I don’t think I’ll hear from her again.
Should I just give up on this? It makes me sad either way.
BARBARA
Bel Mooney replies: Sometimes it seems the world can be divided into Givers and Takers. In friendships we see crass selfishness in the takers and generosity (often to the point of self-sacrifice) from the givers. You’ll easily recognise you and your so-called friend there.
I wish there was a magic wand to stop you being so terribly sad, but I’m afraid there isn’t. Easy, upbeat words of comfort ring hollow in the face of such deep hurt.
Subconsciously you’ve probably always recognised the calibre of this woman, yet persuaded yourself the negative assessment wasn’t true. You continued because you believed in the friendship — and, like so many ‘givers’, didn’t really believe you had the right to expect much in return.
The more needy you were (because of those bereavements), the more entitled became the woman who couldn’t ever be bothered to jump into her car and drive for 20 minutes to visit you.
That detail really got to me. She allowed you to take a bus in the pouring rain, then sit in wet clothes in the rendezvous, waiting for the ‘friend’ who . . . whoops! . . . just forgot. That’s appalling. Then, to add insult to injury, she forgets again, ignores your calls, then finally says: ‘Oh sorry — but no need to be upset.’ The most generous word I can think of is ‘careless’.
People will be thinking you are better off without her, but I understand why you’ve clung on.
Your uncut letter contains the heart-breaking sentence, ‘I don’t have anyone now’ — adding that there are cousins at a distance you have limited contact with.
It’s often very painful when we have to let friendships wane, because they have run out of steam or because of unacceptable behaviour. But you cannot continue to make yourself this woman’s willing victim, especially now she is moving.
Let that be the natural phasing out of the relationship. Try to see this stage as a beginning, not an end. I know it can be hard to meet people, but rather than mourn the careless ‘friend’ who let you down, try to find new ones. It’s never too late.
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Does your local church have a coffee group you could try? Is there a Residents’ Association, or University of the Third Age meetings nearby? Might it be an idea to get in touch with those cousins to suggest shared family history research?
The old cliche about one door closing and another opening is usually proved true.
And finally: A crafty way to beat the summer blues
When I was young I always detested August — it seemed so long, so dusty, so empty, and I couldn’t wait for the beginning of term with those brand new exercise books and a fresh timetable. (I know, I was a swot.)
As a family we didn’t go on holiday; days out were the norm.
The public library saved me, and (later) hanging out with other bored teenagers from the youth club.
Time passed so slowly and the space from summer to summer seemed endless.
Now? You realise you’ve become a walking cliche when you moan to friends about the speed of time, and you also realise you’re getting old when your adult children start to do the same! I still dislike this month, but desperately want it to slow down.
But how? One way is to read a big, fat book — whether a biography of somebody who has always fascinated you, or a novel like Tolstoy’s War And Peace (Never read it? You’re missing an epic) or a brilliant work of history such as Dominion by Tom Holland or Endgame 1944 by Jonathan Dimbleby (my ex, as it happens).
Recently, I tackled The Agony And The Ecstasy, the 1961 novelisation of the life of Michelangelo, by Irving Stone. It was so absorbing and taught me so much about a range of subjects from Renaissance Italian clothing to different types of marble.
I couldn’t put it down — yet made myself do so, just to make the book last. I happen to love classy thrillers, but race through them much too quickly. August reading should be s-l-o-w.
Or you could start a craft project. Mine is fiddly crewel embroidery.
But whatever your taste, take a trip to a craft shop like Hobbycraft to find a kit, start afresh and banish those August blues.
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