When I first met Martin, our second date to be exact, he asked me if I’d ever been in love. I replied that I had. Twice. That I loved Andrew, my late husband (despite the relationship being really difficult at times) and that I’d loved Dave, the guy I dated for a couple of years who remained mostly emotionally unavailable to me. It had never really occurred to me that having lost Andrew while still in love with him may prove problematic to the subsequent partner. Because although I still love him, he’s dead. It’s not like that relationship could ever be rekindled. He’s no threat. In fact I believed I had more to fear from surviving ex wives, because frankly, they’re not dead. They’re very much alive and could pop up at any given moment as far as I know.

And yet, as Martin and I continued to date, and I continued to post little remembrances on social media for Andrew’s birthday and our wedding anniversary, almost inevitably the comment was made, “Sometimes I feel like there’s three of us in this relationship”. It felt important to me, to my heritage that those days were acknowledged and in fact my love for someone long gone bears absolutely no relevance to my current situation. In fact in a way he’s more like my other dead relatives now, like my parents and grandparents, in that I still have love for them, but they’re no longer with me physically. Not that I don’t think of them, or at times sense them close by, but they live on solely in my heart and my memories. The things they taught me, by design or omission, are the things that have become a part of the person I am today. I am a product of my relationships and experiences. Nothing like perfect, but so much wiser than my 19 year old self.

Of course I defended my need to acknowledge Andrew’s existence. Wrapped up in so much reassurance that it didn’t detract a thing from my relationship with Martin. I have so much capacity for love. I adore my son and would do anything for him, but that doesn’t impinge on my love for Martin. I am told, by those with multiple children, that love for the second or subsequent child in no way lessens your love for the first. I believe the principal is the same. It is possible to love more than one person at a time. In the absence of my parents I have forged stronger, deeper relationships with my close friends now. I cherish the bonds I have with my niece and my goddaughter. So much love, in its many forms.

For Martin, I think there was a point when the penny dropped. I can love him fiercely and intentionally, yet still have a small corner of my heart that loves Andrew too.

I don’t often visit Andrew’s grave these days, but before Christmas I just felt the need. I’d bought a Christmas plant pot arrangement and as we were out and about I asked Martin if he’d consider driving me to the cemetery. I wouldn’t have been upset if he’d have said no, but he agreed. I placed the plant and wished Andrew a happy Christmas. I also noticed how wonky the headstone was, so took some pictures.

I had no idea how much it would cost to get it sorted. But after making a few calls I had an answer. It’s not too much. I was surprised Martin encouraged me to get the work done. Especially given I rarely go there. But it felt like an acceptance. I can’t do much for Andrew these days, but I can get his headstone straightened up. And it won’t affect my love for Martin one little bit. I have an infinite capacity for love.