My partner has a strong genetic background. His family boasts a history devoid of significant illness and his parents are both quite healthy. In contrast, my lineage is more of a mixed bag, filled with various health issues, and while we may live full lives, they tend to be shorter. Our family gatherings are lively, filled with laughter and drinks, even in the face of loss.
I’m not one of those 40-somethings with a collection of elderly relatives from Florida who outlived their spouses by decades, spending more time as widows than wives. I’m relieved to think I won’t experience a fate of decades of solitude, primarily because I expect to leave this world before my partner does.
While I’m comforted by the thought of my passing coming first, it leads to a complex question: what happens to him after I’m gone? I want to ensure he’s not lonely, yet the idea of him with another woman feels unthinkable.
The answer came to us during a visit to a cemetery. Both my partner and I have a fascination with graveyards; as writers, we are drawn to the stories behind the lives once lived. Recently, we found ourselves at a family plot, moved by its poignant history. I jokingly promised him that if he were to marry again after my death, I would haunt him. “If you get lonely and decide to pair up with some widow in capris, I will definitely haunt you,” I declared. He laughed but seriously acknowledged, “Oh, I know you will.”
He then took a moment to express that he has never loved anyone but me and never could. He couldn’t envision a life without me (and why would he want to? It would be dreadful). With a dramatic flair, he declared, “I shall never love again,” which brought me joy—at least for the moment.
Let me clarify: I feel a bit ashamed admitting my desire to haunt him should he find companionship with someone new. I can picture him sitting in bereavement meetings, sipping coffee and munching on plain donuts. (After all, why bother staying fit when his partner has passed?)
I know these feelings highlight flaws in my character. I can hear my parents’ disapproval echoing in my mind. I’m aware I’m supposed to wish for him to find love and happiness with another. I’ve absorbed all that compassionate wisdom from movies and literature, not to mention my Catholic upbringing.
Yet, standing among those old gravestones, the thought of him holding hands with another woman as we do each night felt unbearable. What if, as he entwined his fingers with Martha’s from the support group, he suddenly realized, “Wow, I spent 40 years with someone who had hands like lobster claws, and now look at Martha’s soft touch! Clearly, this was meant to be.” The thought of that was enough to convince me that my haunting would be necessary.
As we walked, we brainstormed how he might fill his time after my passing. Would he take up painting? Join a senior center? Go on riverboat tours? But then we hit upon a better idea: choosing the friend I’d be okay with him marrying. That way, I’d know what to expect from my afterlife perspective.
We carefully considered a list of my friends. “Oh, her! She’ll drag him camping all the time,” I said. “Or her? She’ll work multiple jobs and keep him well-fed, making him gain weight.” “What about her? She’d want to relocate to Barcelona, which isn’t ideal for the kids.” Each potential choice was evaluated, reflecting my controlling nature and the certainty that none of my friends would tarnish my legacy.
Ultimately, I selected a dear friend with whom I share a deep bond. She’s one of my partner’s favorite people, and she already loves him. If her spouse were to meet the same unfortunate fate as I might, I would fully support them forming a relationship. It felt right. Even if I were to rattle my chains occasionally, she would understand and appreciate my presence.
So here lies Jenna Mills, a loving wife, mother, and friend. I haunt him because I care.
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Summary:
This article explores the humorous yet poignant considerations of what happens to a partner after one passes away. It reflects on love, companionship, and the desire to maintain a connection even in the afterlife. The author decides to choose a suitable friend for her partner to marry in her absence, providing a sense of comfort and control over an uncertain future.