Dear Luv Doc,
I know this is a downer subject compared to your usual cohort of young and restless suitors and wooers looking for the right moves to secure or ditch a mate. But I have been ditched so to speak. My darling of 38 years died this summer and I am inconsolably bereft. If you are up to helping me (and perhaps other widows) with some real healing from the agony of this kind of existential loss, please doctor me up with whatever strikes you as I try to keep on truckin’ without my lifelong soul mate. And by the way, for you other readers who wish for a perfect match, please start thinking ahead about how to keep going when death causes the ultimate and eternal breakup. Really hoping for some sassy support from you Luv Doc and your print buddy Rob Brezsny pitching his wares one inch to the right of your witness protection bearded likeness.
– Seeking Sassy Support
I cannot speak for Mr. Brezsny other than to say that on the few occasions we briefly hung out together in the Nineties he seemed to always be wearing an aggressive amount of tie-dye. To be fair, it was the grunge era and the kids were dabbling in the fashion faux pas of their elders, so it’s hard to blame him. Also, if you’re pimping celestial fever dreams you probably don’t want to show up for the gig all natty in a Brooks Brothers three-piece. Tie-dye notwithstanding, I think Brezsny is basically a good dude and would be happy to throw a few meaningful constellations your way. What’s it going to cost him? His legitimacy as an astrologer?
I, unfortunately, do not have the luxury of a whole field of pseudoscience to bolster my reply. I have to admit, the idea of receiving a letter like yours keeps me awake at night. What possible tools … other than an embarrassing amount of hubris … do I have to address someone like yourself who has experienced such profound pain and loss? We’re about to find out, but first, let me pause here and offer you my most sincere and profound condolences. Thirty-eight years is a very long time and a testament to your love for your departed husband. That’s a big hole to fill. To be honest, that’s an impossible hole to fill.
Instead, I think you should start by trying to fill your day. You’re off to a good start at that just by reading this column, which often meanders way longer than it should. Sometimes it’s nearly a coffee and a croissant long, so you can read it in a coffee shop or a bakery, and if you’re going to a coffee shop or bakery, you should invite some friends – people you look forward to hanging out with. No, I am not trying to pad my readership, but I am trying to pad your friendship circle. It is my very strong belief that the best way to fill the loss of companionship is with companionship – and by that I don’t mean internet chat rooms or spicy Facebook comment threads. There is something about being in the physical presence of other like-minded human beings that is emotionally healing. I’m not sure what it is, but maybe you could ask ChatGPT.
Again, it’s unlikely that anyone, male or female, is going to fill the space left by your husband, but being around other people will help fill your day, and that, in turn, will help fill your mind with something other than your devastating loss. Think of this as an opportunity to deepen your existing relationships – friends, children, relatives. Instead of seeking consolation, seek connection. I think you might be surprised how delighted people are to hear from you if you take a sincere interest in their lives.
And sure, why not? At some point you can jump on a senior dating site like ourtime.com, datemyage.com, or eHarmony and see if you can find an interesting old geezer who will rock your world. If nothing else, you might have a hoot browsing profiles with your friends. I know that might be a ways off, but it’s something to maybe keep on the back burner. For now, just focus on filling each day by connecting in some meaningful way with other people. OK, that’s my coffee and croissant worth of advice. Now I will kick it to Brezsny, who will probably find a Scorpio in Uranus.
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This article appears in January 30 • 2026.
