Being widowed changes the shape of your life in ways you never quite anticipate. One day you have someone to share the small details with—the weather, the news, what you’re having for supper, or the funny thing that happened at the grocery store. Then suddenly, that person is gone. The house is quieter, evenings seem longer, and even the simplest decisions are yours alone.
Eventually, you begin to wonder whether there might be someone else out there. Not necessarily someone to replace the person you’ve lost, because nobody can do that, but someone to share a conversation, a meal, a laugh, and perhaps a little affection. So you venture onto a dating site. You know you should be cautious, but a small part of you still hopes that the next message might be from someone genuine.
He claimed he was a widower and had a well-paying job as an engineer. He said he was Catholic, like me. Widowed five years ago. One daughter, away at university.
He sounded like a nice guy. His pictures showed a handsome man with dark-grey hair, dark brown eyes, possibly mid-Eastern ancestry. He lived in Connecticut, he told me, a couple of hours away.
All this sounded fine, just what I’m looking for. An honest man. Hope springs up in my heart, and I respond.
But then, red flags start popping up. He asks for my number, says he’ll call me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he begins texting me several times a day, over the next week. His texts become increasingly affectionate. I’m distracted by the holidays, family coming up for Thanksgiving, extra choir practices to prepare for Advent and Christmas performances.
After the weekend, dusting and vacuuming, stripping and making beds, I saw another text: “Good morning, gorgeous. Where once is my songbird today?” The English phrasing seemed off. I began noticing more awkward phrases, indicating English wasn’t his native language. Then, he sent a picture of lovely yellow roses, saying “for my princess.”
Something clicked. He was writing me several times a day to simulate a growing, affectionate relationship. He didn’t want to call because that would reveal a west African or Indian accent.He might be from Ghana, India, or eastern Europe.
Nigerian scammers often call a woman, “my queen,” or “my princess.” Wherever he was from, it wasn’t Connecticut.
This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered a scammer on a dating site. In fact, most of the men who contact me are scammers. Over the past six months, I’d learned to watch for these warning signs, to save time and avoid giving out too much information to a stranger.
A man will want to get my phone number or email right away, to get off the dating site. Or, rather, to get me off the dating site. He would return there and spend hours each day, presumably chatting up more prospects. His profile would show “active.” He told me he had no reason to be on there, now that we’ve met.
Then he’ll continue texting or emailing me, often several times a day, to cement the relationship. That’s to build up my expectations. I’m to look forward to his messages, grow to depend on them. On him.
There is something surprisingly powerful about receiving regular messages from someone who appears interested in your life. You start checking your phone, wondering whether he has written. You may even find yourself smiling at a message before you’ve finished reading it. It feels good to be noticed again, especially after years of being part of a couple. And that is precisely what makes these scams so cruel. They exploit an entirely human need for companionship and affection.
I’ve had to remind myself that frequent messages don’t necessarily mean genuine interest. A man can send good-morning greetings, ask whether I’ve eaten, wish me sweet dreams, and tell me I’m beautiful without knowing the first thing about me. He may be following a script, sending exactly the same messages to several women. It is easy to mistake attention for affection, but the two are not the same. Real interest takes time, honesty, and a willingness to show up in person.
Then, because I’m desperately lonely, I’ll do anything he wants to keep his attention, in hopes that we’ll be able to meet one day. After a few weeks, when he senses I’ve reached that point of emotional dependence, he’ll mention a problem: his money is tied up in a business venture and he can’t afford air fare to come see me. Or, he’s in hospital and needs money for an operation. Or, his child has been run over by a truck and the doctor demands immediate payment to begin lifesaving surgery.
According to sources on Quora and Reddit, many scammers run thriving businesses. Your handsome suitor may actually be an older woman, or a fourteen-year-old boy, typing from various scripts cut and pasted to suit various scenarios. A scammer may work long hours, into the night, due to time differences between, say, Ghana and the United States. Or, they may be crowded into a Delhi apartment, with a dozen other workers, all sending sweet, heartfelt messages to their girlfriends (and boyfriends, presumably) in wealthier countries.
One scammer did arrange a video call, when I asked. Of course, reception was poor. He was allegedly a soldier, deployed in the Middle East somewhere. But he did look vaguely like the pictures he was using.
Except, of course, that wasn’t him. He claimed I couldn’t send him mail because he didn’t have an APO. Then, he needed help because he couldn’t access his funds either.
Neither of those statements were true. Every soldier has a mailing address, and anyone can access funds if they’re on the Internet.
When this guy asked for money, I cut him off and blocked him from my email. He sent a few angry messages but gave up when I didn’t respond. No, that’s not the way to win my heart. Or get me to open my wallet.
If you’re on dating sites of any description, you just get tired of the lies. People use outdated pictures, showing what they were like ten or twenty years ago. I’ve learned to ask for a recent photo before we meet, so I’ll recognize my date. And then, once someone has revealed themselves to be a liar, how can you trust anything they say? Dishonesty kills relationships.
The only thing that helps, I’ve found, is to spell out exactly what I’m looking for on the profile. Hopefully, some men will read it. Likes and dislikes are mentioned, and a few boundaries. Basically, “in real life, I’m usually doing x, y, and z.”
We’re all people in real life, even those scammers. Sad though their lives may be, they’re also trying to support families through their criminal activities.
I can’t feel too sorry for them, since they’re taking advantage of grieving widows. The truth is, these are criminals with zero sympathy for the burdens we carry, our lives abruptly shattered by the loss of a spouse.
Maybe I’ll just restrict my search parameters to fellow widowers. They may be the only ones who understand. Unless they’re a scammer, in which case, they’re heartless.
The search for an honest man continues and, as poet Alexander Pope theorizes, “hope springs eternal in the human breast. Man never is, but always to be blest.”
Tomorrow is another day. I may yet meet Mr. Wonderful strolling down a city street. Well, that would be if I lived in a city, or any place that had actual sidewalks….more later!
And perhaps the hardest part is not giving up hope while learning to protect yourself. I don’t want to become suspicious of every man who approaches me, or assume that every kind word comes with a hidden agenda. There must still be honest men out there who are also looking for someone to share the next chapter of life with. I would like to meet one of them.
Until then, I’ll keep my eyes open, my standards intact, and my wallet firmly in my handbag. If Mr. Wonderful is out there, he can find me without asking me to pay his airfare. And if he sends me yellow roses, I hope they’re delivered in person not like this 🌼!
The search for an honest man continues…
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