Relationships are complicated and they never really end. Even when you have no contact for years, the memory of that previous life still links you together. Yesterday, I found out that my second ex-husband is dying. I haven’t talked to him in more than 15 years. The only time I’ve seen him since then was at our oldest daughter’s wedding. He & his latest wife stayed on one side of the reception hall and I on the other.
If this gives you the idea that our breakup was nasty with bitterness all around, you’d be wrong. We fought the same battles over and over, until I finally decided there would be no meeting of the minds and I couldn’t live with the probable end result of that. So, I took our two daughters and left. We continued to communicate for a while. He tried to reconcile and I cooperated at first, until it became obvious that we were still covering the same ground with the same result. Eventually, I moved away. At the time, there was little in the way of employment opportunities here and I had two daughters to support. I know that I destroyed his world. That knowledge makes me sorrowful. I know how devastated I would have been if the positions had been reversed. Still, given the same circumstances, I’d have to do the same thing again.
If you think we still live in different states, that’s also wrong. We live 30 minutes away from each other. When I first returned home because my mother had been put in a rest home due to Alzhiemer’s, I was willing to build a relationship that would allow him to see our grandchildren when they came to visit me. He rejected the offer. He had remarried by then and seemed to think I was trying to damage his new relationship. Again, I was sorrowful, this meant he would only get to spend part of one day with them, when their mother came to get them. If he had been willing to accept my involvement, he could have had them all to himself for several days during the weeks they spent with me every summer.
That second marriage he was so protective of ended several years ago and he married the third time, to his high school sweetheart. The one who “Dear Johnned” him while he was overseas in the army. The one he never really got over. The one he used to tell me he’d leave me for if she was ever free. I was glad. I hoped she’d be able to make him as happy as he expected all those years. Whenever his mother or brothers and sisters sent word that I was welcome to visit, I said no. I didn’t want to cause friction. I hoped he’d find comfort with her and heal.
Now, he’s dying and I feel bereft. He has cancer and he’s refusing to take chemo or radiation because the doctors say, at best, it might give him a few more months and he says quality is more important than quantity. He’d rather spend his final days at home than in a hospital, hooked up to machines. It reminds me that we agreed on most things. We are very much alike in many ways. Leaving him was like cutting out part of my own heart. I got over it much better than he did, because it was my decision. It was the lesser of two evils and I made my choice. I did what I thought was best for our children. He always did the same. Unfortunately, we violently disagreed about what that was.
I wish we could have learned to be friends. Now it is too late. As I hold our first great-grandson, I think how much he would have enjoyed teaching him to fish and hunt, taking him blackberry picking, and throwing a ball for him to learn to catch. He didn’t even get to do that with his grandchildren and they missed getting to know him. They only visited for an hour or two a few times a year. They’ve all missed so much.
We always marry expecting it to last. At least, I did. Then things went wrong. I couldn’t adjust. I regret that he couldn’t forgive and I can’t forget.
A final note:
Our younger daughter came up from North Carolina last weekend. She and her sister took the baby and spent the day with him on Saturday. She went back by on Sunday morning before leaving for home. On Monday our older daughter got The Call and hurried over there to see him one last time. He will be buried on Thursday.
Sorry, it took me so long to approve your comment Veronica. I have been traveling and hadn’t even looked at my blogs this past couple of weeks. I understand your feeling all too well. Aside from an understanding of my children’s pain because I remember clearly how I felt when my own father died, it saddened me to think of all the wasted years when my ex could have built a relationship with our younger daughter’s children. His bitterness toward me kept him from accepting my offer to bring them to spend time with him while they were with me for the summers. As a result, they only saw him about 12 times in their lives and only spent one afternoon with him each time. Of course, his relationship with the two who lived in Kentucky wasn’t much closer. It’s sad that he lost out on so much.
Oh April, I’m so sorry for your, and your children’s loss. Sept 1st, I was still in the UK when my daughter called to say hger father died. He was my first ex, and 59yrs old. We always knew he wouldn’t have a normal life span but it still was a shock to my children. Yesterday I sat in my shrinks office telling her that I feel nothing…except sorrow for the children, you know, but absolutely nothing at his passing. No sorrow, no glad-he’s-dead, no emotion at all. It’s confusing. Thank you for letting me in on your private life. It helps me to start putting my thoughts into perspective.
Life is always more complicated than we’d like. Thank you for sharing your story of love and loss without airbrushing the inconsistencies. In my world view, it is the incongruities that hold the biggest life lessons. The bigger truths. Through your stories the connections are still made and retained.