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LIFE
By Rhonda Hayes
 
I craved a man’s companionship.
 Don’t even go there. Your daughter needs you.
So I saton the toilet, giving my full attention to Sherry, and watched her put the razor to her face.“Oh my God, look at all that hair,” I said, as the dark peach fuzz fell into the sink.“Woo—hoo.” Sherry continued to guide the razor up her cheek, exposing her creamy-whiteskin.After a few more strokes and a final pass across her forehead, she looked more like herself. Now with her flawless skin back again, it was easier to focus on her full lips, perfect teeth, andsparkling eyes. Thirty-five years old, two years of endless chemotherapy drugs and she still didn’tlook a day over twenty.Between my husband, Greg, and Sherry, I thought I’d seen every chemo side-effect-moon-face, weight loss, weight gain, rashes, and hair loss. But Sherry’s facial hair growth was a shocker.We high-fived. She wiped the scattered shavings out of the sink and headed out of the bathroom. I followed her down the hall, hoping we could get some fresh air. “Are you up for awalk now?”Sherry hadn’t been outside since she had been home from the hospital. When the doctor told us that Hospice home-care was her best option, I didn’t bother to ask any questions. Whatdifference would it make? I knew the routine all too well, having just gone down that road withGreg. It had only been nine months since he passed away.“Sorry Mom--not today, but go ahead,” Sherry said, settling into her favorite place on thecouch.So I walked by myself, trying to shake the loneliness. The Southern California sunshine bathed my tense shoulders, and I finally began to relax.
What if I were looking for a man? What qualities would I need him to have?
As I crossed the street, I made a mental checklist: kind, ethical,loving, spiritual; healthy widower preferred. Someone who’d understand what it’s like to lose aloving spouse.Returning from my walk, I entered into the living room to find Sherry watching TV. I sat atthe far end of the couch, placed her bare feet in my lap and massaged her toes. She pressed mute onthe remote and looked at me with sad puppy-dog eyes.“Mom, I feel so bad,” she said, reaching for my hands.Was the reality of her fate sinking in? From the first diagnosis, she had the innocence of afearless toddler, accepting any treatment the doctors recommended. Through all the challenges of her illness, she didn’t have a moment of self-pity. During chemo infusions, she was a lighthouse for the patients who were having difficulty in navigating through their darkness. Was Sherry changingnow?
 How could I have been so selfish to be thinking about my loneliness?
 
Then she said, “You need to get a life.”“What are you talking about--this is my life.”
 Had she been reading my mind?
“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” she giggled.Relieved to see her lightening the mood, I smiled back at her.Relentless, she continued, “I’m serious, Mom. This isn’t a life. You know Dad wanted youto move on, and I do, too. Why don’t you go on a dating site?”It was so typical of Sherry to be thinking about me. Six months earlier, on Christmasmorning, she had given me a letter. In her unique style she wrote about the strong and unwaveringlove she had for me. Then true to her character, her final sentence was, “I only wish there was someway I could repay you for all you have done for me.”After kissing her good-night, I went upstairs to bed, where I tossed and turned for hours.
Get a life—dating site.
How? Maybe I should ask Google. Sometimes, for fun, Sherry andI would think up strange questions and search Google for an answer.
What if I did go on a dating site?
Still unable to sleep, I eyed my laptop at the foot of the bed. It tugged at me.
 No--how could I? Wouldn’t that be cheating on Greg?
 I threw back the sheet, pulled it up again, burying my head. Then I peeked out, and stared atthe blue light on the computer.
Could I?
After all, it was Sherry’s idea, not mine.I missed Greg.
Was there a man out there who’d even want me?
I typed “widow dating” atthe pulsating prompt on the search line.The article assured me that it was a common feeling for a widow to feel like she wascheating. That helped relieve some of my guilt. Another search…dating sites…eHarmony was firston the list.I started filling out a profile, then exhaustion hit. I slept peacefully. The next morning, I brought my laptop downstairs.“Well, I did it,” I said, trying to be nonchalant, pouring myself a cup of coffee.“You did?” Sherry grinned as she walked over to the table.“There are some questions,” I said, embarrassed, “I just don’t know how--”“Let me see,” she interrupted.“Like this one,” I said pointing to the monitor.What is the first thing you’d probably notice about me?
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