Moving on? Who's to say?

The most memorable item of 2009, for me, was the publication in the Globe and Mail of an essay I wrote for the tenth anniversary of my husband's death. I was flattered that Canada's national newspaper thought the piece was print worthy, but I was, shall we say, irked, when I saw what the editors did to it. They did not change the content much, although they did dumb it down a tad.It was the way they framed it that annoyed me. My essay was entitled "Moving on ... who's to say?" They entitled it "Gone but not forgotten" and then put in a subtitle about friends putting pressure on me to go out and date, a theme that did not exist in the piece. And their illustration had me weeping with my husband's ghost comforting me. I cannot really blame them for that. I gave them a humourous anecdote and a sad one. They chose to illustrate the sad one. I guess that appeals more to the readers. Anyway I am happy that I put it out there, because it was taking a chance and inviting criticism. Overall the comments were compassionate. There are a lot of people out there who are generous of spirit, and I thank all of them.This is what I wrote:

I’ve been reflecting lately on the meaning of the term “moving on”.
It has been ten years since my husband Les died of lung cancer, and apparently I should have moved on ages ago, even though the person I lost was the most significant person, and because of the length of time we were together and all the experiences we shared, one of the most influential persons in my life.
Generally, people seem to give you about a year before they ask “Are you seeing anyone?” This makes me think that moving on means entering into a new significant relationship. In my case the reality that Les was gone forever did not enter my consciousness until a year had passed. He travelled a lot, and worked outside the country for months at a time, so it was not unusual for him not to be around. So there I was a year later, just beginning to acknowledge my new reality, and it was time to move on.
What does “move on” mean in the context of losing a soul mate? I don’t know, and I don’t think others know either. I think that friends and acquaintances mean well when they encourage us to move on, but I think it is a weasel word, like “closure”, that people use without actually thinking about it or knowing what it means. I think people want us to move on because our grief makes them uncomfortable and it forces them to confront their own mortality. But I cannot be responsible for others’ discomfort. I have confronted my own mortality, and I am comfortable with it. You cannot live for a year and a half with a person dying of cancer without confronting the concept of mortality in general, and your own mortality in particular.
For teenage boys moving on seems to be a simple matter of physical needs. Les had been gone for two years when a friend’s son, sixteen at the time, said to me “Hey Mag, Les has been gone for two years now. Are you going to, like, you know, get a boyfriend?” I explained that it was difficult to find a single man my age, who takes a Holmesian approach to home maintenance, who cooks (Les lost this skill immediately after we got married), and who has a fondness for the real Socrates. End of boyfriend conversation.
Three years later that teenager’s sister, after graduating from university, decided to work in Africa for a year. Before she left she asked me what Les would have said about this decision. Does this mean that she had not moved on, or does it simply mean that she missed him and would have valued his input?
Every Spring I cry. Les and I had planted ornamental pear trees in front of the house we lived in for the last seven years of his life. I have since moved, but I often pass by the house because two of our greatest friends still live on that street. Those pear trees are spectacular when they bloom. A couple of weeks ago my friend told me that the pear trees were beginning to bloom, and the tears welled up. Does this mean that I have not moved on?
Every Christmas I laugh. Les installed Christmas lights (white) on that very same house, in such a way that they can stay up year round because they are visible only when lit. That is fine when you are a perfectionist like Les, because you keep on top the burnt-out lights. The new owners do not take the same approach to Christmas-light maintenance as Les did, and over the years some of the lights have burnt out. Now at Christmastime the house looks as though it should go to the dentist. Last Christmas the gaps were filled with red lights, and it was quite alarming. Every Christmas Eve my friends and I go for a walk, and when we stop in front of my old house we laugh and say “Les is spinning in his urn right now”. Does the fact that we keep bringing him into the conversation mean that we have not moved on?
Does moving on mean not thinking about a person, place or thing once they are no longer present, either in your environment or in your line of vision? Out of sight, out of mind? If so, then I have moved on from some places I have lived and from some people I have known. Most relationships that Les and I entered into as a couple are still strong and it is unlikely that I will move on from them.
Can anyone really move on from twenty years of life? We changed and we grew, as individuals and as a couple, during those years. The self-confidence I feel today is largely due to Les’s unwavering support whenever I wanted to try something new. He would say “Go ahead, I’ll back you up”. I cannot explain how empowering those few simple words were. Why would anyone want to move on, if moving on means forgetting that someone once believed in you to the extent that they would support you unconditionally?
Not knowing what the term really means I cannot say if I have “moved on”, but I can say that I am carrying on and I can say that I am moving forward. Even so, I will still laugh every Christmas when the vision pops into my head of a spinning perfectionist looking in helpless horror at a gap-toothed house, and I will still cry every Spring when the pear trees bloom.