On a quiet evening a short time before my first wife, Cindy, passed away, we engaged in a conversation about the future. We were looking ahead to retirement. Cindy had recently lost her parents. My father had died 20 years earlier.

A few months earlier, I purchased larger life insurance policies for each of us. “If I go first,” I explained, “you’re free to remarry or not. I just don’t want you to have to marry someone for financial reasons.” I had seen that happen and it wasn’t pretty.

Cindy explained that she wasn’t sure she would remarry if I was the first to go. “What about you?” she asked. I teasingly told her I wasn’t sure I could endure being retrained by another woman. Cindy rolled her brown eyes and said, “Oh, poor you …”

The conversation ended with a smile as neither of us had plans for a hasty exit.

In January 2013 any plans for our future were upended when Cindy died suddenly and unexpectedly.

When I vowed in our 1969 wedding ceremony to love Cindy “till death do us part” I did not seriously consider that eventuality. Now suddenly my world had crashed and I was agonizingly alone.

I did not handle “alone” well. Cindy and I did a lot of things together including Saturday night meals at a fast-food restaurant and, frequently, a slow drive around the county. A few Saturdays after her passing I tried eating at a favorite restaurant … all by myself.

As I looked around the dining area, it seemed every table was occupied by a couple or a family. I felt so alone.

It was too soon to date, I thought, but a series of events which I consider divinely driven prompted me to call and ask a widowed acquaintance to dinner. The invitation was accepted as were subsequent invitations and soon enough that giant hole in my heart resulting from the loss of Cindy was healing, thanks to a gal named Julie.

Julie was the widow of my mother’s (and my home) church’s pastor who passed away more than four years earlier from colon cancer. I had met the couple on several occasions over the years.

As time went on, Julie’s and my relationship grew serious and we began talking about marriage.

That comment I made to Cindy a few years earlier about being retrained by another woman; I was kidding, but remarrying in your mid-60s does merit some contemplation.

What would I have to change if I remarried? What if any of her habits drove me nuts? I’m sure she was asking herself the same questions.

As the months continued our relationship deepened and on Valentine’s Day 2014 I popped the question we both realized was coming. She said yes. That July we tied the knot in front of family and a handful of friends.

So it was 11 years ago this month Julie Elaine Sewell Keller became Julie Elaine Sewell Keller Huisman and it’s been a wonderful 11 years.

We have a lot in common. We are both the eldest of large families, we share a common faith and common values, we each have two children who are decent, kind and intelligent adults and we all get along. I have no biological grandchildren but Julie has seven and she lets me play with them.

On the other hand, Julie is patient and generous. I try to be generous but I’m short on patience. She has a kind and loving heart. I try to be kind but I have been known to shout invectives at stupid drivers.

We vowed to take each for better or worse and that has worked out well. I couldn’t have done better, and she couldn’t have done worse. (Thank you, Henny Youngman.)

We are doing well together. An important part of our relationship: we give each other the freedom and space to continue to love and respect our first mates. We talk about her Bill and my Cindy regularly and fondly.

In January 2013 I thought my world had ended. Today I am blessed to be loved by and married to Julie and to have spent the past 11 years with her.

Oh, and by the way, that second time around retraining? It was a breeze! I was already trained.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2025 by Huisman Communications.