An 82-year-old female participant’s experience of dating a younger man

When I lost my husband of 46 years on a cold January morning in 2021, I was devastated. We agreed that if we didn’t die together, the survivor should seek happiness, but it was hard for me to do anything but grieve. I felt like my life was over.

That summer I broke my leg. Because I couldn’t do much myself, my daughter Vicki, also a widow, took care of me. Other than her visits twice a day to check on my meals and personal needs, I was alone except for my two small dogs.

The days passed alone and empty. I read and watched TV and tried to retain some sense of self, but I missed my husband so much that I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a dark pit of depression.

Vicki noticed the depth of my grief and suggested I try an online dating site.

“You can find someone to talk to, and maybe you’ll feel better,” she told me.

I wasn’t completely against trying it, but I felt disloyal to my husband. However, time continued to be heavy, and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it could possibly lift my spirits. So I signed up.

In my naivety, I posted my actual age as 82, but soon learned that the ultimate age for a desirable woman was 80.

Guys who weren’t afraid of my real age sent some interesting messages. Some have asked if “all my parts still work.” Others asked me about my money. Some were interested in having sex with an “older” person. Some men wrote ugly and insulting words that I don’t think they would say to a woman in person. They were sad, miserable men and I had no sympathy for them. There were also funny comments, like when one guy, after learning I didn’t eat mammals, seriously asked me, “What are mammals?”

Finally the cast came off my leg. Thanks to my freedom, I decided to stop texting and go on some real dates.

I met a man who stared at me all lunch. No matter what I asked or said, my efforts at conversation were met with monosyllabic responses. Finally, he touched my hair and asked me if I was really a redhead. I said yes, but of course I got some “help” now. He looked disgusted.

Another man appeared wearing a dirty t-shirt, muddy sneakers, torn pants, and he smelled like he was in desperate need of a shower. After learning that I was a veteran, he told me about his military exploits. He said he thought we had a lot in common, but I couldn’t get past the first impression he made.

When I signed up for the dating site, I set my age criteria to include men who were at least 62 but did not include an upper limit. Late one night, when my eyes were tired from a long day, I misread someone’s age on their profile as 65. Even though I had become cynical because of all the mismatches I had already experienced, I was intrigued by his attractive image, so I shot him a short introductory message.

I told him I was no “little old lady,” I had lived too long to die young. He liked it, and responded with a humorous comment. His name was Ian, and he made me smile, the first time in my wonderful online dating adventure.

We texted for a few hours that night, and the next day I heard from him again. It was witty without being silly, eloquent and interesting. Soon we were texting several times a day. I looked forward to his cheerful words of “good morning” and “good night, sleep tight.” Although I was wary of getting my hopes up—and the possibility of being disappointed by another bad date—I agreed to meet him.

Before our date, I went back to look at his profile again, and realized I had misread it. Ian was 55 years old! He was younger than my daughter – by a lot! Well, he’s not a childI believed, But it’s too small for me. Then I wondered why a 55 year old man would be interested in an 82 year old. Was he one of those guys who has sex with older women? Did he want something else from me? Was he really interested in getting to know me romantically? I decided to meet him, have an enjoyable meal (hopefully), and that would be it.

I arrived at the restaurant first and got a table outside. Ian came through the patio door and walked towards me with a big smile. He looked exactly like his picture. I stood up to greet him, and instead of the usual handshake I was accustomed to receiving on my first dates, he wrapped me in his arms and embraced me in a warm embrace.

I was thrilled when Ian caught me – damn, it felt so good! – and I was comfortable with him immediately. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of films, and I’m a huge movie fan, so we immediately had common ground. Soon we were laughing, quoting lines from movies, and deep into discussing themes, plots, directors, and time frames.

Ian was intelligent and humorous. He wasn’t very tall, which I liked, and he had broad shoulders, which I liked. And his voice! Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved the deep baritone music embodied by Texas cowboy announcers. He had the announcer’s voice and I adored him.

After dinner, Ian walked me to my car, but it didn’t feel like he was helping an elderly person – it was like he was protecting someone who had just recovered from a broken leg.

I found myself smiling as I drove home and then it hit me again: 55 years. He was 27 years younger than me. But I thought, shouldn’t a 55-year-old man know his own mind? If he was interested in a relationship with a woman my age, who was I to question his judgment? Still – 27 years old!

We continued texting every day. He was kind, interesting, and attentive, and I found myself liking him more and more.

Maybe you can succeed, I said to myself. After all, Cher is in a relationship with Alexander Edwards, who is 40 years her junior. Tina Turner was happily married to Erwin Bach, who was 16 years her junior, and Carol Burnett has been married to Brian Miller, 23 years her junior, since 2001. She also loved that Emmanuel Macron, the president of France, was 24 years younger than her. From his wife, First Lady Brigitte Macron.

I met Ian several times. And every time my happiness increased. We laughed at the same things, and we laughed a lot. Whenever I felt him close, it turned me on deeply, and I knew he felt the same way.

It didn’t happen overnight, but one morning I found myself humming while making breakfast for my dogs. Later, on my treadmill, I actually interrupted “Save the Last Dance for Me.”

I wondered if we looked unusual when we came out. I was watching people’s reactions. He’s held my hand in public and no one seems to care but me.

Did it make me feel young? No, not really, maybe because in my 60s I stopped worrying about age. Getting older is a reality, but it doesn’t define us – or at least, I don’t let it define me.

Of course it can’t continue, I said to myself. I felt exhilarated, but in a state of suspended activity, constantly waiting for disaster. I couldn’t see this ending well. The more I loved Ian, the worse I would feel when our relationship ended. I didn’t think I could handle any more hurt. I spent half my time feeling good, and half my time looking for a way to end it.

Then it happened. The disagreement arose over the text and I’m not even sure what we were arguing about. Ian had had a hard day at work, spending hours in the blinding scorching Texas heat. I spent the day struggling with taxes and a sick animal. We were short with each other, and it seemed sarcastic. I don’t need thisI got angry. It’s never going to last – get out now! I said to myself. We both sent what was the final signature.

I immediately felt incredibly conflicted. In some ways I was relieved that I no longer had to worry about what some people saw as an inappropriate relationship, but I also missed Ian like crazy. I met the perfect man and let the years come between us.

Late one evening, after some wine, I decided that life was too short to waste it.

“I miss you you sarcastic ass,” she texted Ian. “I miss you so much, too,” he replied immediately – and was less enthusiastic than I was.

I began to cry tears of hurt, loss, and loneliness. I wanted his warm, strong arms around me again. If I’m using it to avoid being old and lonely, so be it.

“Come here?” I sent you a text message.

“What-now?” He replied.

“Yes.”

Our relationship has grown since then. We don’t agree on everything, but that makes things interesting. He asked for Vicki’s phone number “in case anything happens while we’re together.” He didn’t have to explain that my age might be a cause for concern.

Vicky was slow to come, but I know her hesitation was because she cared about me. However, she loves Ian and thinks he makes me happy, so I try not to worry too much. She and her grandchildren are all my family, so her comfort in my relationship is important to me. Time will tell.

Ian and I are good together. Not necessarily in a happy-ever-after way, but we feel comfortable and content, where every day brings laughter and love.

Are we in love? naturally. There are many different types of love.

One day shortly after we met, I asked him what he was looking for in a relationship. His list was short: honesty, mutual respect, and intelligence. “I checked all the boxes before we met,” he said. “I was glad to see you’re hot too!”

I asked him if he felt like I was using him to cope with the loss of my husband.

“Bill Withers said it best,” Bill Withers replied, “If you feel that goodness is being taken advantage of, you can use me.”

I am happy to report that all my parts are working. Is he sexually attracted to me? When a man comes through your door and starts taking off your clothes in one motion, the answer is obvious.

I still have periods of depression because I miss my husband. He’s been my best friend and traveling companion for most of my life, and sometimes I still feel as if my heart might actually break. I continue to wear my wedding ring, it is a part of me. We were soldiers together, we saw the world together, we shared our deepest secrets and we loved each other unconditionally, literally.

My relationship with Ian brings a different kind of happiness – a joyful conclusion at the end of my life story. I truly believe that my partner of many years would smile when he saw the joy I feel.

I’ve been with Ian for a year and a half. The end of this story has not been written yet, but it is a good and true story. One day it will end, as all things must end. But for now, I’m glad I made the decision to accept what life has given me. With the death of my husband, life gave me lemons. And now, with Ian, I’m making strawberry margaritas.

Note: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals mentioned in this article.

Sue Hunter is a retired soldier and sixth-generation college educator from Texas, who lives among cacti, bluegrass, and Texas beauty with an ever-changing population of independent and highly intelligent animals, both wild and domestic. She enjoys the outdoors, motorcycles, driving her convertible with the top down, good wine and bad beer (there’s none).

This article originally appeared on HuffPost.