I never thought I would lose my ex-husband again, in another way. I never thought he would die so young, leaving my kids without a father and leaving me with emotions I never thought I would have.
Never say never.
When I found out a few months ago that my ex-husband, John, was in dire straits from a physical perspective, I was in disbelief. John had been one of the strongest people I had ever known and he was like a cat: he had nine lives and always landed on his feet. So when my oldest child, Joseph, texted me to tell me the news, I called him almost immediately (which I rarely do; like everyone else, we survive on texting).
Joseph explained that John had called 911 just days before and was admitted to the hospital. Once there, the doctors told him he had severe liver damage and needed to stop drinking if he had any hopes of surviving. Liver damage? Caused by what, I asked? Drinking, Joseph replied. Drinking? John?
That can’t be, I told Joseph, over and over. John didn’t drink THAT much. Or did he? Apparently, he did, and no one else really knew.
Over the course of the next month, John’s prognosis changed easily five or six times until the final prognosis came: he had days to live, then merely hours. I was devastated, for some reasons I cannot even explain. I grieved for my children, most of all, 24, 22 and 19, way too young to lose their father. I wanted to provide comfort, I wanted to be there with them when they said good-bye. I felt helpless.
Before I go any further, let me explain that John and I had an ugly divorce. I was the initiator; he was the unwilling accomplice. He fought me, tooth and nail, for 6 months until he finally waved his white flag, relunctantly. Regrettably, he would spend the next 8 years stomping on that white flag – and me – doing everything he could do destroy me. Many times, our kids were the sacrificial lambs. It was horrible and ugly and I get sick to my stomach whenever I think about some of the things that went down. Part of me feels relief that I no longer have to look over my shoulder anymore. But the other part...
Now back to the present: since John despised me greatly (or so he said), he did not want me to visit him at the hospital, although I had a strong desire to say good-bye and ask forgiveness for hurting him. I secretly hoped he would also have things he wanted to confess. Sadly, neither of us got to speak final words to each other. Because we never were on good terms, I could not be with my children during any of their last visits with their father, including when they watched him take his last breath.
I came to grips with that, although it was not easy. At least I would be able to see my children soon after, surely they would descend upon my house and seek love, support and comfort from their only living parent. Surely not. Joseph came over the night of John’s death; we went to dinner and talked some, but I’m afraid I provided little comfort…and received none for myself. It was days before I was able to talk to my other two children about their father's passing.
As I was about to find out, grieving an ex is something that is supposed to be done in a private, lonely, dark place, like a closet or a dark alley. I soon found out that no one really cared about what I was going through. Even though I was married to John for 20 years, had known him for almost my entire life and had 3 children with him and countless memories of him, no one truly cared that I was hurting too. I think many wondered why I was even grieving at all while others doubted it was sincere.
At first, I understood. I gave my children space. I tried to make it all about them. I truly did. But after a few weeks I wondered when I would be asked how I felt. Most people, including my kids, did not ask.
I understand that some people, maybe most, had no idea what to say to me. Should they say anything at all? One of my best friends said she didn’t know how to react. Should she send me a card? Should she say, “Sorry for YOUR loss?” Was it truly my loss? I am sure that is a question many asked.
I can say, without blinking an eye, that, yes, it was most definitely my loss, on so many different levels. First, because it is a loss for my kids and they really are the most important people to consider in this tragic situation. It’s a loss, also, for their future spouses and children who will never know just how great John could be.
But for me it was a loss of so much more. It was the death of a dream I had so many years ago, before my kids existed, of a man I loved and the life I envisioned for us. First as a married couple, then as a family. Raising kids, growing old together, becoming grandparents, retiring together. Dreams that would never be realized.
The loss of reconciliation and ending well were also things I grieved. I was denied the chance of seeing John one last time, of righting wrongs. I knew I had to divorce him, I had no other choice. But I never, ever wanted to hurt him. I realize I hurt him and our children deeply. Those were things I wanted to say, but was never given the chance.
And, yes, there was a part of me that felt guilt. Did John drink himself to death because of me? Could it have been prevented if we had stayed married? Did he have issues with drinking while we were married that I overlooked? So many questions of what could have been have raced through my mind for the past few months. While I know that every person is responsible for their own decisions, there is a part of me that battles, day after day, with her demons, with the thought that maybe I contributed to his downfall. Thank God I also have another voice, His voice, which speaks louder and stronger then the oppressor’s voice, telling me that there is no condemnation from Him. I don’t know what I would do without that voice.
John passed away on November 11, just a few days before his 54th birthday. I wish I could say I am done grieving, that I have dealt with everything and moved on. But, as my daughter says, I am a terrible liar. I guess that’s a good thing. Because of many other extenuating circumstances, my grief has taken a back seat which is unfortunate. It has been interrupted by some other very bad decisions John had made in his final days; things we are all affected by. On top of that, there will be a memorial service held for John that I am unwelcome to attend. So, try as I might to work through the stages of grief, a new layer of pain keeps getting added to the top of the others. Sometimes I feel so buried in grief that I wonder if I will ever escape its grip.
Some days are better than others. Some days I see the silver lining; I see how my daughter, Alessandra, has come back into my life after a brief period of thinking her mom was the worst being on the face of the planet. I have experienced something I know that will, at some point, benefit another person because I will be able to walk with them as they go through a similar situation. I have experienced God’s grace and love on a different level than I have before. More than anything, I am grateful that, but for the grace of God, go I.
And then there are those other days; days when I don’t want to get out of bed. Days when I wonder why this had to happen, why my kids have to now live without a father. Moments when I wonder how I am going to be a single parent, of how unqualified I am for much of this parenting stuff. Not having the option to just give up and give in to the bottle – or some other addiction – myself.
I feel sad, then I feel anger. I go back and forth. I sit in a room of smiling, laughing people and wonder if I will ever feel that levity again. These are all the crazy, wonderful, dizzying, real, horrible, stripped-naked emotions associated with life and grief. And whether I like it or not, this is all part of my story.