Ironically, right after my last post on dating over 50, I met someone.
He was smart, funny, attractive (to me), and had the kindest eyes I've ever seen.
This time, I did all the right things. I went slowly. I watched for signs - signs of things I had encountered before - ones that ended up causing me pain. I Googled. I consulted with my therapist.
We confided in one another - he about the loss of his wife 5 years ago, and me about the betrayals and challenges I've struggled to overcome. We had the same world views. We had similar tastes in films and books, but I confess I couldn't grasp his appreciation for the music of Rammstein and Buckethead. He felt the same way about Nick Lowe, but as he said "it's the differences that make it interesting"
I felt I could trust him when he said "it must be difficult for you to take any man at his word". I felt he "got it".
We spent much time together. He made me happy; every time he saw me he got the biggest smile on his face. He was supportive when I had an appointment for a small medical procedure that I was fearing because it would be painful. He took me with him when he shopped for clothes. I took him to Easton and showed him the places I liked. We went grocery shopping together (I still think jalapeno Combos are a figment of his imagination). He fell in love with Cody, The World's Least Scary German Shepherd, and I can say the feeling was mutual.
It felt good. His actions matched his words. He was communicative about fears and hopes. I was, too.
And then - "I have some drama I have to take care of". The drama was a previous relationship that had ended only 3 weeks before he met me - one he never told me about. I knew nothing. We last talked on the phone this past Sunday. He told me it was a six month relationship that was on and off and full of fighting, but that it hadn't ended cleanly and he had to "see it through" even though it "doesn't have a good history - I can't turn my back on it with peace of mind" He said he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life. Through my tears (and through his, because he was crying, too) I told him he was - he was giving me up.
And like that, it was over.
Do I think he intentionally set out to hurt me? Possibly not, but that doesn't matter, does it? Because he did. He did the worst thing he could have done - gave me happiness and hope, and then snatched it away. Was he falling for me and got scared - who knows? Was he a complete and utter douchebag? In my heart of hearts I can't believe that. That, however, doesn't change the fact he lied to me and I can't risk a liar in my life.
I hope his going back brings him happiness. I don't think it will - by his own admission he doesn't think it will. I hope, too, that if he thinks of me, he'll compare what he had with me with what he went back to and will always regret it.
I have a friend - Mike - who is just about to turn 60. He's utterly and completely given up on finding a lasting, loving relationship. I've always chided him about this - I tell him love is out there and it's just a matter of looking for it. However, in the past few days since this happened to me, I am beginning to think he's very, very wise.
I'm tired of losing pieces of myself. I'm tired of hoping and then having hopes crushed. I'm tired of being the one who is so great and wonderful and "you've really changed my mind about re-marrying, Pamela" (thanks, as he gets engaged to someone else). I'm tired of it all.
So, the shop is closed. That's a hard thing, closing your heart. It hurts as much as opening it, but in a different way because you know that the pain will eventually end and it will scar over and maybe just be a bit tender. It won't be a continuous ache.
So, thus ends my short (as you say "Thank God"!) series on dating after 50. I'm off to drop a line to my friend Mike to tell him I won't be chop-busting about this any longer.
