Every now and then I hear one of those old songs from the 1940s that my parents used to listen to, and – wow – do those lyrics hit! The other night, as I lay awake in bed (as usual), I remembered the lyrics of “There Will Never Be Another You”:

There will be many other nights like this | And I’ll be standing here with someone new | There will be other songs to sing | Another fall, another spring | But there will never be another you

I know I shouldn’t compare the men I date with Rick. But I do. All I want is another man who is intelligent, funny/goofy, well-read, ambitious, creative, loves trivia, and has a romantic soul (plus is 6’5″ tall / 280 pounds of muscle). Is that too much to ask?

I want a whole person to join my life with, not someone who has no interests of his own and wants a nurse/cook/maid hybrid to take care of him. I want a man who loves me and shows it in a million different ways. And so far, this man hasn’t appeared. Maybe he never will, but I’m okay with that, because I was fortunate enough to experience that kind of love once, long ago.

I realize I may be as picky as Goldilocks, so I wrote this poem.


I can lie slanted across the king-sized bed
And choose from so many plump pillows
That my nights are luxurious and plush
Still, I’m sleepless in the hush of the too-quiet room

In olden times, I used to wrestle for covers
Yank and tug on the edge of the blanket
Attempting to unroll the man-burrito
Who had been slumbering for hours before I came to bed

Then, exhausted from the effort,
I claimed my small portion of territory –
While his arms claimed me
And I slept soundly to the rhythm of his snores

But it’s quiet now
And his ashes are stored in a box
In his old office – a mess of misplaced items
With no designated spot of their own

In the years he’s been gone
I’ve tried to share this bed with other men
But, despite having long dark hair,
I feel like Goldilocks

They’re too needy, too boring
Too pushy, too elusive
Too dishonest, too… different
And none of them fit like he did


On August 13, 2017, I lost the love of my life. Rick Palmer and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary one month before he died at age 63 of complications from treatments for small cell lung cancer. He was my partner and soulmate, the love I had been looking for and finally found at age 40.

Rick was a talented writer and web designer and, in 2002, we began our own web and print design business. We worked together building the business and enjoyed traveling, writing, and playing together. Our dream was to spend our golden years together doing more of the same, but in the ten months from diagnosis to death, that dream shattered.

After Rick’s death, I quickly realized that the enormity of his loss was too much for me to handle on my own, so I began grief therapy. I also began writing through my grief in a journal of feelings, thoughts, memories, and poetry. As I navigate my new life alone, I share my journey and my efforts towards creating my “new normal” on my personal blog: The Writing Widow. I’m also on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

I recently published two books about my grief journey: my poetry book, I Wanted to Grow Old With You: A Widow's First Year of Grief in Poetry, and compilation of my blog posts A Widow's Words: Grief, Reflection, Prose, and Poetry - The First Year." Both books are available in print and Kindle versions on Amazon.com.