Chapters close, life goes on

Chapters close, life goes on – that’s how it goes. Two weekends ago, the keys to the house my ex had rented were turned over to the landlord.

I had gone to do a final cleaning – the boy who was living there alone for four months did not clean his bathrooms or vacuum the dust bunnies or the spiders and spiderwebs. I was not, however, going to touch the voluminous cobwebs in the basement. Nope, not touching them.

The landlord was incredibly nice – he let my son live there, month to month, until he and his brother were able to move. They packed the U-Haul two weeks ago and have been struggling through how to be roommates ever since. The house was empty except for the spiders and the dust.

I was not prepared for my reaction

I finished up, gathered up all the cleaning supplies, and closed the door behind me. Out of nowhere, I was hit with a wave of incredible sadness. I closed that door, and realized, at that moment, that my ex is truly, really gone. I can never again purposely ignore him. I can never again block his emails or texts. I can never again be annoyed by him using his kids to get something from me. There is nowhere for the anger I have stored up for him to go. No chance to one day, be friendly with one another. Never an opportunity to be cordial at a child’s event.

Since he fell ill, I’ve been focused on helping the kids. Since he died, I’ve been focused on helping the kids. I was sad for the children. I did not grieve, myself. Side note: this is a pattern: do not feel the feelings, focus on the others. Been doing this my whole life – but that is for another post entirely.

I spent the bulk of my life with that man. Despite the bitter end of our relationship, we had three decades together. We raised three kids, for better or worse. We built a home, a family and a life. We had a whole lifetime together before we went our separate ways. Three decades of shared experience. And there is no chance, now, for that experience to morph. That chapter closed behind me with a bang. Finally, I mourned the man I once knew.

Cue the ugly tears

I hadn’t realized how his passing affected me – I’d spent years being resentful and angry – but that afternoon, sweaty and dirty, locking that door behind me, I could feel nothing but sadness. How he’d spent his whole adult life working in a job he didn’t like, waiting for the day he could retire and sit on a beach if he wanted to, and now…he won’t. How he’d been terrified of doctors and hospitals, only tolerating them so he could continue to play soccer, just to spend his final days alone in an ICU. The very thing that probably caused him to wind up there was the thing he spent his life being afraid of. How he’d believed that he’d have time with his kids, and help his mother as she aged. I let the tears flow, for me, for him, for our relationship, however that looked. I remembered when our firstborn came into the world and how proud and overcome he was. The countless gatherings we hosted together, the friends we got drunk with, the culinary delights that came from our kitchen. The summer vacations when life, and our temperments, were easier. The people from all parts of his life who got to experience the incredibly nice, fun man he was when that was the only expectation. I mourned the marriage we should have had but didn’t. The experience our children should have had, but didn’t. He deserved better than how his life ended. He should have grown old and more crotchety, along with all the other old men he’d have been surrounded by. This, and all the other things, cracked open the floodgates.

Hoping for peace

My children are still hurting. The boys put all of his suits and shoes and other belongings in a storage unit. It is too early to let go. Hopefully, each of them will work through this season, and the tides of grief will become gentler with time. That they will remember the things about their dad that were special. That we will all find ways to recall the moments of hilarity and joy, and let go of the rest.

Life goes on. We all go on living, making our way through this life as best we can. And when the proverbial door closes, may we all be remembered with fondness and love.