Match.com at 80

My wonderful husband of 42 Years died after 10 weeks of hell combating pancreatic cancer. He never had a chance. I miss him. I miss many aspects of him and our marriage, but what I miss most is the simple fact that he “got me.” He had my back—and I his. He understood me, my foibles, humor, sensitivities. He challenged me keeping me honest to myself and all the time I felt safe. Could I find another man with whom I could have a similar relationship?

Identifying with the younger generation, I decided to try Match.com. My wise and dating app savvy married daughter and I created my “profile,”—a succinct characterization of myself. How does one do that?! But we did come up with something I thought was okay.

My “profile” pretty quickly earned me a “match.” My first coffee date was scheduled for 3:00 but a few hours before, he contacted me to say that things had gone crazy, and could we meet for cocktails at 5:00? I wasn’t thrilled with the idea but decided to go ahead and at his request, I suggested a nice bar in a hotel nearby. He happily approved.

At about 5 he showed up. All tables were taken so we sat at the bar. Bars often have sports games showing and this was no different. Looking up at the screen he offered that these teams were not of interest to him so “no problem—he wouldn’t be distracted.”

I asked him if he got everything straightened out from the craziness in the afternoon. Leaning toward me he forthrightly said, “Oh, yes, to be honest it was my earlier coffee date who was delayed.” (Really?!)  I said, “To clarify, you inconvenienced me to accommodate her?”  “Well,” he almost eagerly agreed “but she was only a B-.”  (What?! are we… in junior high?).

A little later he asked me a question which I started to answer but noticed that he was looking at the TV screen. I stopped talking. He continued watching and never went back to the question… So much for “no distractions from the TV bar.”

The real kicker was when he leaned forward and almost conspiratorially said: “Tell me a secret that you have never told anyone.”  “What!?”, I queried, “Why would I do that? I don’t even know you.” “Oh, come on,” he coaxed, “it’s a great game!”  “No”, I responded emphatically, “I have no interest in playing that game.”

Using email later that night, he asked me for dinner the following night. I wrote back thanking him for the drink and snacks. I concluded with “I do not think we are a match.”

My second date started with several nice email exchanges. Then he suggested we chat on zoom.

He was a nice-looking man, a little slow in forthcoming conversation, but he shared about himself. He told me about his wife who died seven years ago, his stepdaughter and her child who he sees often.

Trying to be open and not immediately dismiss someone whose affect was almost dormant, I agreed to meet for lunch. He was very gentlemanly having arrived early at the restaurant (Silver Diner – fine with me) and had us seated at a nice booth in the back.

Talking was easy and I learned more about him and his family, work etc. After a short while he stopped eating, put his hands on the table and buoyantly said, “Well, where do we go from here? I’d really like to date.”

I looked at him thoughtfully–he was a very kind person, and I carefully said, “You are obviously very nice, and I have enjoyed our conversations, but you have never asked me one question about me.”

He thoughtfully and slowly looked to the ceiling and then mused shaking his head,” Oh, that’s not good.” And after a few moments he looked pleased and expectantly said, “but I remember you said that your husband had a significant role in preventing a disastrous Y2K.”

“Yes,” I countered, “I told you that when you asked about my husband and, while indeed I was married to him, it was something he accomplished; it had nothing to do with me.” “And,” I continued – on a roll, “you subsequently googled him but not me.”

Having clearly thought of something that might ameliorate his lack of attention to me, he got up suddenly saying, “Wait here, I will be right back.” He returned shortly– having gone to his car and proudly placed on the table one of the two children’s books his deceased wife had written. I knew about the books because I had earlier purchased them to show interest in something clearly important to him. We had talked about my plan to give them to my grandchildren. I was a bit confused. I had not asked for nor did I want a second copy.

I looked from the book to him and back again. (How honest should I be? Obviously, he was very pleased with this gesture.) Again, I chose my tone and words carefully, “Thank you, it is very thoughtful of you to give me this book for my grandchildren.” Then I waited a bit deciding to share my true thoughts and finally said, “To be honest, I don’t understand how this is about me?”

He again searched the ceiling…

Because he was such a gentle soul and I wanted to give more time for our conversations to become “more equal,” I went on a “date” with him to the Word Museum in downtown DC. We took the subway.  The museum was great. As a “word geek,” his proud description of himself, he explained everything – more than I ever needed or wanted but…again, pleasant. By the time we got to my stop on the way home I realized I had been heeding the message I grew up with in the 1950’s, i.e., “talk about the boy, ask him questions…don’t talk about yourself or be too forceful.” Why was I doing that now, again as I had in so much of my life? I have a voice. I want it heard and valued just as the men do; not ignored.

I wanted to go home and be myself; by myself.  Walking to my car I realized I felt a huge sense of relief and knew that we were not a match.

After he wrote and suggested dinner, I gently shared my conclusion about “us”. (There would be no us.) “We are not a match.”

Then there was a third man. I never actually met him, but we exchanged a few emails through the Match app. This was our dialogue:

Me: “You have a post-doctoral degree. What area of study?”

Him: “I was Director of the Psychiatric Unit for the elderly in drug treatment.”

Me: “You wrote ‘was’ what are you doing now?”

Him: “Director of Adolescent inpatient unit.” (Well, these answers were titles and told me nothing about him.)

ME: “That’s quite a switch and evokes many questions. But, ok, let’s try something more substantive.”

Him: “Ask me anything.”

ME (What IS this? HE could ask me something. Did he have ANY interest in to whom he was “conversing?”)

I CONTINUE, “OK, tell me about your kids and grandchildren. Do you see them often?”

Him: “San Francisco, Charlotte, 4 in all, UMD and I saw them recently. What about you?”

Me: (Really? This man works with people helping them to communicate?).   I write back: “Bethesda, Manhattan, five in all, I see them frequently.” (I hit send on my laptop.)

Me: I continue, “Apologies, following your format: Northwestern, American, Yale, Stanford.”

Him: “Great! Let’s meet for coffee.”

Me: (Who is this person? He didn’t even get that I was mocking him!  I became so frustrated and annoyed by his sparse answers, I was not interested in pursuing this relationship. I pressed delete.)

Now to be honest, these men were not mean, they were nice people. But …and that’s a huge but, they were not even close to being right for me. They were totally self-absorbed and clearly could not “read the room.”

Three strikes and you are usually out but I will continue to try. I’m not removing my profile yet.  I shall keep you posted on this and other ways as I try to lessen the “aloneness” that arose when my husband died.