Feeling An Odd Sense of Grief Upon Discovering My Ex-husband Died Recently

 

Every so often I randomly Google people from my past out of weird curiosity. Yesterday was to have been my ex-husband’s 70th birthday. So, I entered his name in Duck Duck Go and stumbled upon his obituary. Despite the fact that we’ve been divorced since the end of 1996 and both remarried, I felt a sense of loss. 

Although we hadn’t communicated in 29 years, I was happy to know he had overcome his demons and addictions, found comfort in religion, advocated for the homeless, and met a soulmate. 

We knew one another for 15 years and were married for 11. Three priests officiated at our wedding in 1985. On paper, it was a good match. Similar socioeconomic backgrounds, quirky senses of humor, same religious upbringing, and both cat lovers. My parents adored him. In fact, on occasion I thought they preferred him to me. However, I never felt accepted by his parents and sisters. I was the Yankee deep in the heart of Texas.

We moved from  Indianapolis, to Plano, Texas to Taipei, then Hong Kong followed by Lewes, Delaware and finally Frederick, Maryland. We lived a privileged life as expatriates. Unfortunately, the lifestyle created monsters of both of us. An electrical engineer by education and preference, he was maneuvered into a sales role that required a bit a prep for ‘show time’, which ultimately resulted in addiction to alcohol and cocaine. I reveled in my role as a leisure loving, bridge playing, international traveler eating at fine  restaurants, staying at luxury hotels, and  acquiring jewelry and furs. 

The house of cards came crashing down in the fall of 1993. Lies. Denial. Jobless. Arrests for drunk driving. I’d found Al Anon; but I spent 10 years on the first step. I could not accept that I had no control. 

June 12, 1994,  I put him on a plane from Baltimore to Houston. I never saw him again. Our divorce was vitriolic. He ended up homeless, rescued by the Wheeler Mission in Indianapolis. 

After his final stint in rehab, he sent me a 9th Step letter accepting responsibility for his role in our breakup. A few weeks later, I wrote back, accepting my part in the debacle.

Notwithstanding the pain, sadness, losses, and accepting that what I’d believed would be a lifelong commitment was not to be, we both forgave ourselves and each other. I’ve been able to remember the good times: Midnight Mass at Saint Peter’s Cathedral, Chinese New Year in Bali where we experienced a Hindu cremation ceremony, riding an elephant in Chang Mai, having dinner with Madame Dai in Saigon, standing on the Great Wall, adopting our kitten Leilani, and visiting Yellowstone during the forest fires in the autumn of 1988. 

It is the loss of what could have been and the remembrance of what was that causes my grief. It is not all encompassing like the loss of my parents, my in-laws, or dear friends. But it is a reminder that life is fragile. Thanks for the memories. 🙏🏻