Readers here will know my particular situation. I was with my wife for 17 years before she died. I was alone with her in a nursing home room holding her hand as she passed. We loved each other very deeply, so much so as to both be part of her experience of dying and death. Afterwards I never thought I'd ever feel love like that again.
And yet here we are, David and I. The same love, the same depth of feeling. Love has come my way twice in one lifetime. I feel very lucky. It just happens to be with a man this time.
So it was with much interest that I read this article of someone who'd had a very similar experience as I. His wife died with him holding her hand. He never thought he's ever feel love like that again. Yet he has. It just happens to be with a man this time:
We took trips around the country and later to Europe together, becoming great friends. We both felt the immediate spark, and as time went on, we realized that our bond had grown into love. Other than with Clare, I had never felt love blossom this way before.
It was three years before I got the nerve to tell my sons and daughter about Matthew. I brought a scrapbook of photographs, showing Matthew and me on our travels, to a large family wedding. It was not the direct discussion the subject deserved. Yet over time my children have welcomed Matthew as a member of the family, while Matthew’s parents have accepted me warmly.
To some, our bond is entirely natural, to others it comes as a strange surprise, but most soon see the strength of our feelings and our devotion to each other. We have now been together for 15 years.
Too often, our society seeks to label people by pinning them on the wall — straight, gay or in between. I don’t categorize myself based on the gender of those I love. I had a half-century of marriage with a wonderful woman, and now am lucky for a second time to have found happiness. New York Times