A woman whose partner is a widower feels second best to a wife who died 18 years ago. Mariella Frostrup says no one can compete with an idealised memory
The dilemma I have been in a relationship with a widower for nearly three years, but I'm having difficulty understanding it. His wife died 18 years ago and he still has a large photo of her hanging in his room and an even bigger one in the lounge with a candle under it. I love him dearly, but he has not taken them down even though they make me feel uncomfortable. He reckons they brought him comfort through the years. He says he loves me and I believe him. Am I being gullible, and will I always come second to a ghost?
Mariella replies Death makes saints of us all. Some, like the late great Nelson Mandela, deserve to find themselves canonised when they slip off this mortal coil; other less deserving candidates might be amused to see their tenure immortalised as being beyond reproach.
The truth is you can't compete with a memory, and neither should you feel compelled to. Aside from his couple of memento moris (and yes, I agree, the candle has to go) it sounds like you two get along just fine. Most of us have to make room for a lot more of our partner's baggage than a couple of cherished photos.
To digress for a moment, a new book called Stuffocation highlights the problem of this overload of accumulation, suggesting that in a consumer age our inability to let go is driving us to the edge of reason. While a couple of framed portraits doesn't define your partner as a sufferer, the message the book carries about a need for all of us to learn to let go (and stop compulsive purchasing, too) is pretty apt. Perhaps a copy in his Christmas stocking? It's far subtler than a manual on bereavement counselling and doesn't pit you against his dead wife's cherished memory in a battle you can never truly win.
There is also a bright side to your predicament. Your partner clearly has the capacity to commit himself and love deeply. How much more worrying it would be if all the memorabilia of his wife were stuffed in a bin liner and dumped with a cry of "out with the old, in with the new". I'm sure neither you nor she would be pleased to find yourselves so easily erased. Instead, this man you are dating sees fit to do justice to his first wife's memory by preserving a place for her in his home and his heart.
Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm rather moved by his devotion. One of the aspects of human behaviour that continues to puzzle me is the conviction we have that we are unique. Presiding over a postbag like mine may be full of surprises, but conversely it relieves any trace of belief in the originality of man. Despite some spectacularly bizarre problems arriving in my inbox, I've yet to come across a dilemma that isn't reminiscent of others – aside perhaps from the drunken husband who snogged his male neighbour and immediately decided to leave his family and cruise gay bars. That's a whole other story though!
This universality of suffering should act as a comfort to us when we are beset with emotional problems as it's all too easy, when you're under a dark cloud, to feel its shadows are reserved for you solely. I can totally understand why you don't want to live out your days with a dead woman peering down at you, but acknowledging her memory is a lot healthier than trying to banish it. Personally, I'd try to make peace with my predecessor.
We are contrary creatures, and I'll bet that the less this man feels you are trying to squeeze his dead spouse out of the picture the more he'll make room for you to step into his life. You are alive and kicking, which gives you a distinct advantage in this situation. Your predecessor is a cherished memory. Think kindly toward your partner for his capacity for enduring affection and thank your lucky stars that you have found such a man.
To paraphrase the popular song: if you're a candle in the wind, it's only a matter of time before the flame burns out. My guess is that the less attention you give his little altar the sooner maintaining it will become a reluctant chore and finally a memory itself. Remember, too, that secret weapon of yours: you are alive, so you can afford to be generous to the deceased.