After being happily married for 18 years, it’s with great sadness that I sit today to write the Eulogy of this union. For those who knew this marriage, you would have suspected nothing was wrong. Neither did I. For those who knew my marriage, I know you grieve with me. Thank you for your kind words, they have lifted my heart and provided great comfort. I did not know how others viewed my marriage until we separated. Friends, family, and even acquaintances shared their condolences with me, along with kind reflections. A lifeline out of confusion, words providing comfort, but also validation. That what I had lived was in fact, real and not the hologram it feels like today.
“Your marriage was #couplesgoals”.
“We aspired to a marriage like yours”.
“You two showed us what teamwork and true partnership looked like.”
“I tried to be the kind of wife you were.”
“When we talked about our marriage in couple’s counseling, we used yours an example of what we were striving for.”
“You guys were the most special couple I’ve ever known.”
I thought so too. At least it felt that way to me. Unfortunately, the truth is that it WAS one-sided and I just didn’t know it. My husband, I accidentally discovered, was deeply-embedded in a double life. A life that specifically attacked our marriage, and was quite the opposite of the vows we made to one another. Actions that left no speck of doubt that I was not loved, honored, or cherished.
So as I reflect back on my 18 years as a proud wife, I do so with great pain, sadness, and even anger. Yet that is not what I want to think of when I remember my beloved marriage. For me, my marriage was a gift. It was God giving me a best friend and a committed life partner. Someone to navigate the uncertainty of life with. When I remember my marriage, I can’t help but smile as I think of our early years. Engaged at just 24 with some asking “Isn’t that too young?“, we were confident that we were ready to join our lives. We married on a beautiful day in early May, in the little stone chapel by the river. We had fun planning all of the details.
We selected our readings, from the Bible “The Song of Solomon” 8:6
and “The Prophet On Marriage” by Kahlil Gibran:
“and stand together, yet not too near together, for the pillars of the temple stand apart and the Oak and the Cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.”
I wept at those at those words on our wedding day and again today. The perfect image of the importance of teamwork and respect for independence. To grow into our best selves with the support of our Other. My life/your life/our life. We chose the perfect song for our first dance, “When I’m Sixty-Four” by The Beatles. A song that spoke to the beauty of a long life lived together, into old age. But that life together was not to be, though I never once doubted it’s strength, I never knew it was even at risk. Until it was too late.
Between the Wedding Day (1999) and the Divorce Day (2018), there was much to celebrate. There IS much to remember fondly in those 18 years. Years that brought first jobs with cockroach infested apartments. Long hours with lean paychecks, anticipation of building a new home, and the unbridled joy of three beautiful babies, the best of us both is another living soul. The grief of a miscarriage, the anxiety over relocating. Over 18 years married, and 21 together, the undercurrent to it all, was LOVE. So. much. love.
A million examples of Trust and Respect strengthened our love. A love that grew far past physical and intellectual attraction, with a depth and breadth matched only by my love for my children. I look back and wonder when that changed, when my love, respect and trust was used as a weapon against me. When and why he chose to begin another life, without the courtesy of telling me. Taking away our love without even the opportunity to discuss it. To tell me that he no longer wanted me, our marriage, or the life we had built together. Why I had to learn that accidentally, the day his laptop told the truth.
I am haunted by the depth of deception. Why didn’t I know my marriage had already died?
Maybe because he did want those things, but also wanted more. A dangerous, secret life that required nothing of him except his cunning, and his money. I cannot honor the best of my marriage without acknowledging the painful truth that destroyed it. My husband had affairs with many, women over many years. All while I stayed home with our children, oblivious. His only self-defense being: “I wasn’t happy with the nature and dynamic between us. I wanted more attention”.
The brutal reality of my marriage looks nothing like the marriage I was living.
The self that I brought to the marriage I lived is my only comfort in this profound tidal wave of grief.
Certainly, I am not perfect. I did however, try my absolute best and brought my whole self to our union. I committed my life to him and vowed to love, honor, and cherish him.
Which I am proud to say, I did.
Hurting him in any way was not an option for me. Hurting him would be hurting myself, our children, our family and friends. The marriage I lived in was loving and safe. It was forever. I will miss my marriage, but not my husband. Because he was not real. Premeditated double-living was a choice, not an accident. He chose that life over me, his children, and our life together.
So as I say goodbye to my marriage, I choose to remember those years before the double life. The years where we dreamed of our future together, making plans, setting goals, celebrating our wins big and small. I smell our first tiny apartment, I feel my lungs burn in the cold Chicago air as we run together to collect a desperately needed paycheck. I feel his large, strong hand over mine, squeezing through each contraction. I hear his key in the door, and the sense of relief that washed over me, knowing he is home safely from another business trip. I remember with fondness, the years I was so proud to have him as my husband and to be his wife.
As I say goodbye, I remember THIS marriage, and am somehow grateful.
For all the wonderful joy filled-moments, for the excruciatingly painful lessons, the mundane days wrapped in the comfort of one another, and the understanding that you cannot have joy without pain.
Grief is indeed, the price we pay for love.
Yet I remain steadfast in my belief that marriage can be a wonderful gift, of love, trust, and devotion, as it was once for me. For knowing, feeling, living that marriage once-upon-a-time, I am grateful.
You are the WORST. Yet somehow, you began with hope and oddly, you end the same way. What’s that all about? A sandwich of suffering, you are.
In the middle though, February – November, you were brutal. Filled with endless days of shock, grief, confusion, anger, sadness, and loss. Days that are a blur now, blending all into one heap of a week, a month, a year. The relentless tidal wave that drown me in my own tears during your reign have finally started to receded, though like an astute lifeguard, I am vigilant for their return.
Friends comment on how hard you have been on me. How brave I am to have endured your relentless punishment. (as if you gave me a choice) Enduring heartbreak again and again and again. (and again.)
Seriously? I get it.
You can let up now.
Like a broken record that skips and repeats the same lines over and over again. I stutter-stepped through your days, going through motions to care for children and pets, and occasionally, myself. I am grateful my body had muscle memory to do so. My children saw me deep in grief, more days than not.
During your tenure, my spark dulled, my mind raced and my body ached.
Exercise felt like death and relief was nowhere to be found.
You probably thought I was out for the count. But that would mean you underestimated My People. My incredible friends and family. They pulled me out of the rubble and stood me up again. With their love and support in this year of YOU, 2017, I took
every. single. blow
and got up again
During your onslaught of pain, I uncovered and grew the greatest gifts of my lifetime.
God. Family. Friends. Love. Integrity. Loyalty. Compassion. Care. Grace.
I am not what happened to me this year.
I know who I am.
Thanks to you, I am better than I ever have been before.
You, 2017 are the package that holds the death of my marriage. A love I planned to cherish for a lifetime. You are also the steward of my new life. A life where I can live according to my own values: in honesty, empathy, love, and grace.
Without you, I wouldn’t have known, really known, how high above the trees I see life, and how deeply and genuinely I love.
I wouldn’t know that grieving the loss of a living loved one is the hardest thing I would have to do in my 43 years.
I wouldn’t know that I could come out of this experience with strengthened relationships and beautiful new friendships – more like war buddies- I can’t imagine this time without.
I wouldn’t have known how much I was not honored or respected, how I was so taken advantage of, lied to, betrayed.
I wouldn’t have known the depths of God’s Grace and the strength of my own uncompromising integrity.
You held up a mirror to my life and reminded me to hold true to the courage of my convictions, and reminded me to seek values in others that align with my own. Doing this both removed and strengthened my relationships. But you probably already knew that would be the case. Perhaps that was your silent agenda all along.
You sprinkled in gifts and strengthened me. You affirmed for me who I am, who loves me, and who doesn’t. You beat me down and made me better. I hope I never see another year like you, but I leave you in gratitude.
Thanks for the lessons,
Thanks for showing up.
I’m about to rise.
We all know about Grief and what it is, but maybe we haven’t MET Grief yet. Not in a proper introduction kind of way. At the very least, most people know Grief like we know our distant, out-of-town cousins. Peripherally aware of their being, slightly curious maybe, mostly irrelevant, and showing up once in awhile during family gatherings. Not until that distant cousin comes to visit, and outstay his welcome, do we then really know him. By then, we are intimate companions feeding on the familiarity. It’s annoying, to wake day after day, to find the horrible house guest squatting on my heart yet again, suffocating my happiness. I long for the day, when I wake and find Grief has gone. I imagine a kind of “Dear John” letter left on my kitchen counter announcing defeat and exiting just as unexpectedly as he arrived. Grief comes in all forms. It came to me, without invitation, last Fall when I lost my dear husband and the life I loved. Nearly one year later, despite my many invitations, Grief has yet to leave. Instead, he’s unpacked, strewn himself carelessly all over the house, seemingly propped his feet up on the couch and defiantly says, “Yea, that’s right, and what are you gonna do about it?”
Thankfully, in our society, there’s at least a cultural roadmap for managing this mangy houseguest. When we lose someone we love, whether it’s unexpected or not, there are certain things we can depend on. Funerals are planned, eulogies are read, stories are shared, memories preserved, and love and support envelope those left behind. But I didn’t lose my husband to death. Like many woman today, I lost my husband to the realization of his double life. A life so carefully curated on-line, with legal pick-your-partner pages available for a small, quarterly membership fee. The uncovering of this broke me in two. Two lives: his AND mine. My life “BEFORE DISCOVERY” (which was pretty much all I could have ever hoped for) and the one “POST-DISCOVERY” (which was pretty much a complete living nightmare). I often hear what I think the sound the Titanic must have made as it broke into two halves that night it hit the iceberg and sank. I know that sound. It came up from the depths of my belly and out every orifice, violently, slowly, the night I found my husband’s double life, a life with many, many, many betrayals with many, many, many women. The night my marriage hit the iceberg, sank my marriage, rerouted my life’s course and Grief came to visit.
As a form of my own therapy, I am writing about my trauma, and the subsequent tidal wave of grief that has been my last year. Since my Beloved did not die, I didn’t have the luxury of an immediate and structured grieving period. Our marriage of 20 years died and I was left to grieve not only my present, but my future, and a now unknown past as well. Without the societal milestones we use to heal our grief through death of a loved one, I was left to chart my own course. I read and I read and I read. I watched every.single.SuperSoulSunday every made. I wrote to authors. I devoured TedTalks. I prayed and meditated daily – and still do. All of this to help my mind process, and maybe someday understand how and why this all happened. In this quest for information, looking for “my people”, or someone, ANYone with a roadmap for Ambiguous Grieving, I learned so much. Most importantly, that I CAN DO THIS.
There is a way back to joy. I feel it. I don’t have the map, and I know it won’t be easy. What I DO know is who I am. I know I am strong but flexible, humble and generous. I am deeply rooted with branches of blessings surrounding me. Grief has overstayed his visit. I am done living in the dirt. I feel it coming. I feel I’m changing.
I feel it’s my time to Rise Up. Rooted Like Trees.
Thanks for walking with me as I do.
How Surely Gravity’s Law
How surely gravity’s law,
strong as an ocean current,
takes hold of even the strongest thing
and pulls it toward the heart of the world.
each stone, blossom, child –
is held in place.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
for some empty freedom.
If we surrendered
to earth’s intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.
Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making
and struggle, lonely and confused.
So, like children, we begin again
to learn from the things,
because they are in God’s heart;
they have never left him.
This is what the things teach us:
patiently trusting our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.
-Rainer Maria Rilke