Dealing with the Past

I've been divorced for almost 16 years. My ex-husband remarried 3 months after the divorce. He married a woman I'd considered myself to be friendly with, whom he started seeing when we were separated. But we also were seeing a therapist then, talking, meeting, planning time together, trying (so I believed) to work it out. I'd made it clear that I was seeing no one, wanted to focus on him, us and expected the same in return. He even told me during this time that, if we could get past the hurts, we were going to get married all over again. He always knew how to give me hope. So I was shocked when I discovered he was involved with her. I've come to understand that she never considered herself to be friendly with me or she wouldn't have slept with my husband or hurt my children. But I'd sung at her first wedding, worked on a committee with her. She'd been a guest in my home, met my kids, heer father was my mother's doctor. We were not strangers who barely knew each other, which she's claimed to relieve herself of guilt or responsibility. The truth is she didn't give a damn who got hurt. Silly me, I've always thought women should treat other women better than this.

Of course, none of that lets him off the hook. My ex-husband had many gifts: looks, intelligence, humor, creativity, charm, ambition and drive. He was exciting to be around, intriguing to know. We had a lot in common, brought out the best in each other for a long time and loved each other so much -- at least I thought so. We had two kids, Kate and Kevin, and his career as a lawyer took off. The prospect of a happy life lay ahead. But he was also a high-functioning alcoholic and that quick, witty streak in him turned mean, hateful when he drank. He hit, he threw things, he physically intimidated me -- 5'1" vs. 6'2" -- what chance did I have? I learned, as did my kids, not to push the wrong buttons or there would be an explosion. Even when he wasn't drinking he had unpredictable mood swings, an acid tongue and we walked on eggs around him. Over time, he became as nasty to the kids as he was to me, calling them names, tossing off the put-downs, making them feel horrible about themselves with his digs and barbs. We lived in a constant state of suspense and he exerted all the power. This once charming man became arrogant, full of himself and, a lot of the time, full of crap. He could lie to your face with such sincerity you'd believe anything he said. When he wasn't home, he was either working, entertaining clients or.....well, he wasn't faithful to me. I came to realize that he was very insecure despite his gifts and I felt for him. But he also was the most narcissistic person I've ever met and his self-absorption increased as he became more outwardly successful - or drank more. It was so painful to love a man I sometimes couldn't bear, or was afraid, to be around. I know I created distance both to find myself and to protect myself and my kids from all of this. And I'm sure that was painful for him.

Why on earth, you may ask, would you try to repair such a life? Because I loved him, the kids loved him and we'd see flashes of the other side of him and keep hoping it would resurface for good. I also believed alcoholism was at the root of most of the behaviors that alienated us from each other. I hoped that if he could admit he had a problem and get help we'd have a chance at rebuilding the trust that had once been there. I even had him close to going to rehab once but he twisted it into "You just want to get rid of me" and refused to discuss it. And, oh yes, because I was a classic enabler who could not envision my life without the insanity that I had come to know as normal.

Perhaps we might never have healed but I was committed to trying, face to face, no other "distractions" in the way. So I felt betrayed all over again when I discovered that he was sleeping with her, and the fact that it hit so close to home this time was doubly infuriating, humiliating. In hindsight, I'm sure he chose her because he knew the wound would cut too deeply and we wouldn't recover. A gutless move. I ran out of forgiveness in that moment of discovery and realized that I'd lost any self-respect I'd once had in this relationship. What would my children think of me if I took this from him too? What destructive relationships would my daughter get involved in with this as her example? What had my son learned about how to treat or relate to women in this house? Could their expectations about relationships or marriage get any lower? Enough. So we had an acrimonious divorce, our kids suffered tremendously and occasions like graduations, confirmations were avoided like the proverbial plague because of the layers of bile that piled up between us. It took Kate and Kevin years to recover to the extent they have. I'm so scarred I doubt I'll ever date anyone let alone marry again. And while I take my responsibility for the part I played in all this, I admit I feel nothing but hatred for that man and that woman even now. There's no other word to pin on it. Irrational, old news, wasted energy? Maybe, but that's the way I feel. Hatred coupled with a deep sadness that can still wash over me at unexpected moments. I try not to dwell on it or let it control me anymore and I've worked hard on pushing past the bitterness that I carried for years. But the feeling is there even now.

Of course, he (and the wife - who was skinny, rich and could match him drink for drink when they started up) is sober now after a stint in rehab, has restructured his life, can quote the AA Blue Book chapter and verse until you want to beg him to stop, and would have you believe he has it all together now. I don't really buy it, and will always be waiting for the other shoe to drop on Kevin, Kate or (out on the periphery) me. And while his recovery is better for the kids, who have rebuilt a relationship with him, it all came too late for me, for us. I know this doesn't matter to him a whit, that I stopped mattering to him long ago. And I've been reminded a few times even during these divorced years that he still has the knack for cruelty when it comes to me. But wouldn't you know he finally had to admit to himself he was a drunk to get himself together? Wasn't I just such a miserable bitch for begging him to tackle this when we were together, when it could have given us all the chance we deserved? Wouldn't you effing know it? Irony can be amusing in some situations but in this one...it just pisses me off.

Why write about this today? Because our Elizabeth is being christened this afternoon and I have to see "them" again and hold it together. I'll have to guide my aging parents, who loved my ex like a son and would now prefer never to set eyes on him again, through it. And I just have to steel myself for it. Why must a day of such pleasure carry with it this ugly chunk of pain?

My Kate has to walk through this minefield today. I know it unnerves her. And her state of mind and heart are far more important than mine. It's her Lizzie's moment and she and her family deserve our focus and love. She will have my best effort at this ceremony. I'll acknowledge my ex's presence, turn back to the altar and enjoy the beauty of the ceremony that will welcome Elizabeth into our church. I'll also say a prayer that Lizzie the Wing-Ding doesn't take off down the aisle or jump in the baptismal font -- which are definite possibilities! And once the pictures are taken and the pleasantries exchanged, I'll walk away and breathe.

And in my patched-up heart I'll also ask God to forgive me for being so unable to genuinely forgive where these two people are concerned. The experts say I'd be giving myself a gift if I could forgive them and I feel like such a weak and screwed up twit that I can't get there. I certainly have forgiven and forgotten others who've hurt me in the past. But though I truly have tried, I can't say I've ever come close to genuinely feeling that in my heart. I accept where my life is now. It's a good life. Not what I'd envisioned but it's honest, real, without suspense or fear. I've worked hard to get to this point, as have my kids in their own lives. And my son, daughter and I share such a close bond, in part, because we've been through so much together and come out the other side. Despite all that, on these occasions when we're all in the same room I look over toward my ex, I see her next to him and I feel it all over again.

I've come to acknowledge that my children have established a relationship with her, which is a brutal piece of reality for me. She is married to their Dad. She is a constant when they see him. I suppose their relationship with her, whatever it is, was inevitable. But what did she ever do to deserve more than a superficial connection with my wonderful kids, the center of my little piece of the universe, or with my incredible grandchildren? In my head, I guess I understand how this evolved over time. But it's a blow to my heart that, despite my ramblings here today, hurts me so deeply I have no words for it.

Because this has occurred Kevin has confronted me about trying to "do better" when we are all in the same place. He seems to expect me to engage in chit-chat or extend warmth to her -- a burying of the hatchet, if you will. When he said this, it took all of my composure to keep from just screaming, "Are you f---ing kidding me?" I don't think he appreciates the break I've cut everyone by not talking to her. I think my kids worry that, if I were ever to speak to her, the hurt and fury I've carried inside me all this time would be unleashed. I understand this: it takes a lot to get my Irish up but when you have, look out. But I also know that me "unleashed" would only cause me to look foolish -- and change nothing. Surely he and his sister know me well enough by now to understand that I won't risk my dignity by doing that to them or myself. And I never would try to turn a day that's about them or their children into something about me. That kind of manipulation isn't in me. They can trust me to remain quiet -- even if I'm silently reminding myself today that it's not nice to wish for lightning to strike people when you're in church! Sorry, son, I've borne a lot in this mess but I cannot give you what you want here. She can bury that hatchet right where.....well, you get my drift.

By holding my head up and remaining silent, I'm honestly trying to do those I love the most gracious favor I can under very difficult circumstances. I know it's been years now but, when I'm around them, it's all right there slapping me in the face as if it happened yesterday. So this silence, this reserve is the best I can do in a situation I didn't create and which caused incredible pain to three people who didn't deserve it. I'll focus on the joy of this day, my gratitude for Elizabeth's health and healing, and the wonderful little family she energizes with her presence and laughter. I'll give my daughter what she needs. But I'm not a saint. I'm not God. I hope he understands the rest -- and forgives.