"That's my husband," I said to my friend on a beautiful summer evening. We were having drinks at a bar when I spotted John for the first time. He was handsome and wore a blue golf shirt that brought out his blue eyes. "If he doesn't come over here, I'm going over there," I told my friend. John clearly felt the same energy as I did because he approached me shortly after. By the end of the night, we both knew we had something special.
John and I spent the next four years together in a relationship I can only describe as a fairytale. Yes, we had disagreements and hurdles, but the love, attraction, respect, and adoration we had for each other always outweighed the bad. He had this way of looking at me that would instantly change my mood, even on the hardest of days.
Just when we had picked out my engagement ring and talked about our timeline for children, everything changed. After experiencing some memory loss and vision impairment, he was diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Five short weeks after sharing his first alarming symptom with me, he died. At 35, I was left to grieve my boyfriend, our love, and our future.
Five years after his death, I'm now in a relationship with a great man. But grief made the dating stage extremely hard. Mainly because of all the deep emotions that come along with grieving a partner.
When John first passed, I obviously wasn't looking for a relationship. How could I just start dating again, like we broke up and I could just jump right back into the dating pool? The man I loved was six feet in the ground; who would even compare?
Months later, I still wasn't actively dating. I didn't download dating apps, pursue men at the bars, and I definitely wasn't asking friends to set me up. I was still so in love with John, I didn't think I could connect with anyone else. I also didn't really want to.
But a little less than a year after John's passing, I reconnected with someone I had known years before. We had worked together previously and reconnected over Instagram. He was thinking about getting a dog, and since we had similar lifestyles, he reached out to me to ask about what it was like to have one. I offered for him to come meet her and spend some time getting to know what it was like to have a dog, and we enjoyed each other's company. I wasn't looking for a relationship when it all happened, but it's as if we just seemingly fell into one.
We didn't even have a first date, and I'm grateful for that because I didn't have to worry about the stress of formally dating again. But it still didn't make it easier. In the early stages of our relationship, I had to work through complex emotions that only one who has lost a deep love could understand.
I felt crushed by the weight of having someone's love in my hands when I wasn't sure I was ready to give it back.
I felt everything. I felt guilty for moving forward. I felt sadness and happiness all in the same moments. I felt awkward around my friends and family for dating again. I felt angry at John for leaving me, but I also felt angry at myself for dating someone new.
When my new boyfriend told me loved me for the first time, all I could say was "thank you." Then, I excused myself to the bathroom and cried. I cried a lot in those days. I felt crushed by the weight of having someone's love in my hands when I wasn't sure I was ready to give it back. I felt guilty because I still loved someone else. For something that should have made my heart flutter, it was a very heavy moment.
"Did I love John less?" and "How does this look to other people?" were thoughts that crossed my mind on a regular basis. I tried to put all of it out of my head. I even spoke with other widows on what it was like to start dating again for reassurance.
"I thought you might have started dating again too soon," a friend recently said to me. And she may have been right. But dating after loss is a no-win situation. No matter when I started dating, it would be too soon for some and not long enough for others. I just had to go with my gut.
Eventually, I learned that I could love two people. Each love was different, but both were (and are) incredibly fulfilling and unique. I learned to manage and channel my emotions with the help of a good therapist. I also had to remember that my new boyfriend had never suffered the kind of loss I had, so sometimes I have to step back and process before reacting. I learned to give him the kind of grace he gives to me.
The loss of John is a void that has never gone away. Some days, the grief feels like a pinhole. Other days, it feels like a black hole. But no matter how big or small, I feel grief every day. When you lose a partner you are still in love with, the love doesn't die, disappear, or lessen. I just had to learn to live differently with it — and eventually, to love again, too.
Emily Cappiello is a writer, editor, social media maven, and digital media specialist. She believes in true love, is a serious foodie, and has a penchant for adult beverages and Britney Spears. She loves coffee, her husky, and her camera — all three a little too much.