Here’s another joke Bob used to tell: A man saw a commercial for a discount tailor offering brand new suits for only $25, but at that price, the fine print said, “No alterations.” Still the man thought what a great deal, so he went to Discount Suits, and looked through the racks until he found exactly what he was looking for—a beautiful navy suit in his size. Only problem was when he tried it on, he found that one sleeve of the jacket was too long, and one of the pant legs too short. Plus, the jacket was a bit tight around the waist.  

The salesman said, “Look, you know we don’t do alterations, but if you just raise your right shoulder a bit, the sleeves look even.” The man did that and found the sleeves were even.  Then the salesman said, “and if you hitch up one hip a few inches, the length will be good too. Also, suck in your gut.” 

The man decided to buy the suit as is and adjust his gait accordingly. The next day he was walking down the street, one shoulder raised, his chest puffed out from holding in his gut, walking on one raised foot, and two men sitting at a bus stop discussed him from a distance.  

The first man said, “Look at that poor guy. Wonder what his problem is—a car accident?  A congenital defect?”  

The second guy said, “Yeah, he sure walks funny. His spine must be pretty bent.”  

And the first guy replied, “Yes, but doesn’t his suit look great…”

As I look back on my marriage and those of others, I see that we all make adjustments to accommodate our partners. We raise up one shoulder, we suck in our gut, we shape our life so it suits the other, and we try to ignore the ways the other doesn’t fit with us. Pretty soon we’re walking funny, but we get used to it and feel pretty good about it unless the marriage goes bad, or one partners dies, and then all those adjustments made to fit into that particular relationship are no longer necessary.  

For some it’s a great new freedom not to have to bend anymore to adjust to the other. But for others, me for example, it was disorienting. I didn’t know who am was without those adjustments I made to fit Bob. Had I been bent in that way so long I couldn’t straighten anymore? Could I bend in another way for someone new?

Right after Bob’s death everything for me was in a state of flux—my work, where to live, whom I counted as my dearest friends, how to spend my time, whom to love. I dreamed that two of my dear friends were swimming in deep, dark water, away from me and I felt bereft. Then I was in a store because I was cold, and none of the clothes were right. Then I was on the edge of a shore, unsure of where to go. How did I know what to cling to and what to let go of?

My patient, a 43-year-old man whose wife died, said, “Grief is just depression with a compass.” But it was more confusing than that for me. Some of the assumptions about who I was drifted away. Sometimes a younger me surfaced, a me who I was before I met Bob. For example, he never was willing to dance and so although I loved to dance when I met him, we never danced together. Now, after 33 years, I barely know how anymore. I hitched up my shoulder so the jacket would fit. And when for the first time I danced with a new man, I liked it, but I felt as awkward as a 15-year-old. It required unbending myself.  

Some things about me, from sheer neglect, were underdeveloped, like dancing. Many things that I liked about my life with Bob seemed impossible to sustain without him—I often felt as if I was in a foreign country where no one knew my old language or culture. I couldn’t single-handedly recreate it, nor should I even try.  

Eventually it was time for me to create something new, with someone new, and that meant making different adjustments than the ones I made to Bob. It was confusing trying to re-tailor myself. Even after I was for the most part no longer stuck in grief, I simply lived with confusion, and moved forward like a person walking through strange woods at night with a flashlight that only illuminates a few feet ahead of her.

After a certain age, and decades of living and relationships, nobody fits together perfectly with someone else. It requires grace and flexibility to love again.

Some things about me, from sheer neglect, are underdeveloped, like dancing. Many things that I liked about my life with Bob seem impossible to sustain without him—I often feel as if I’m in a foreign country where no one knows my old language or culture. I cannot single-handedly recreate it, nor should I even try.  

It’s time for me to create something new, with someone new, and that will mean making different adjustments than the ones I made to Bob. It’s confusing trying to re-tailor myself. But I am for the most part no longer stuck in grief. I am not depressed. I simply live with confusion, and move forward like a person walking through strange woods at night with a flashlight that only illuminates a few feet ahead of her.