Five years ago when my wife Michelle was dying from cancer, a neighbor we called "Lisa Lasagna" would drop off pans of vegetable lasagna two or three times a month. It was really great; I'm not much of a cook, and our schedule was so disrupted by cancer that I rarely had time to cook anyway. A number of friends and neighbors dropped off meals and they were probably the only good meals I had when things got rough at the end.
In one of the last "after I'm gone" discussions we had, Michelle told me I would be an eligible bachelor as soon as she died, and women would probably start hitting on me the day of her funeral: 50ish guy with no ex-wife, no kids, a house, a job… that's a target for a lot of women. She wanted me to be careful and choose wisely, that it was fine to have a fling with someone like Lisa, but that's not who I should marry. I said it wasn't something she should be worried about, and she said it was important to her because she didn't want her cancer to screw up the rest of my life.