DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Written the last week of September 2012

They say in divorce that there is a death in the family…that you grieve. I didn’t believe it, until this week.

 

On Friday, September 21, the marked the death of my Aunt Brenda that was 13 years ago. I was so caught up in my own world that I didn’t go to her grave site to visit with her. I regret now that I didn’t make that decision. I go every year. It is a time of peace for me, of reflection. I visit with her for a few minutes on my lunch hour. I wonder how close we would have been if she had lived through her cancer. I think often that I am a lot like she was…I try to be like she was. She worked with the public, and she treated everyone like family. I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to visit her until I was on my way home from work, and it hit me hard that I had been so consumed with my new life that I forgot to pay honor to the old one.

 

On Sunday, my new life fell apart. My boyfriend, my angel, broke up with me suddenly and unexpectedly. Things between us had not been right. He felt that he had cold feet about the direction our life together was taking. I don’t know if he just gave up on us or himself or what, but he broke up with me instead. I knew he needed some time to “work things out” but he skipped over that step and went straight for the devil…the one thing he was trying to get away from when we first met. This break up was unlike any that I had ever experienced. I had not felt for anyone the things that I had felt for him. He was the total package. With him I had a hope for the future. I had never hoped that the future would ever become a reality. I had never thought that the dream was ever attainable. With him, I saw the dream in sight. I had the promise of a family support unit, land in the country, peaceful sunrises and sunsets and someone that I enjoyed them with. It was work, as every relationship is, but the work was worth the effort. What he offered in return was as much as I could ever ask for.  With Angel’s departure, I felt as if I had lost a member of my family.  There was grief there, as there is when someone dies. Never before had I experienced such loss, such despair…never. I had given all of myself to him. I worked so hard to build a life with him. I was there for him at every turn, and he was for me…for a while. I never cussed anyone as badly as I did him the day I left. I was angry that the dream was being stolen from me. What had I done to deserve this grief?

On Thursday I was given the task of going to the home my ex-husband and I shared for eight years and removing the items that were left behind when he moved out. Even when I divorced him and left the home I had helped to build, I did not have feelings of sadness or loss. This week, however, after all the rest I faced, I finally grieved over the loss of my marriage.  I was angry at him for not loving me. I was angry that he did not keep the house. I was angry that I had worked hard for something and lost it. I would have still been there if things had been different. I grieved for the loss, not of the man, but of the home. I felt cheated…again.

This week, I lived through three deaths in my family. I think I have grieved sufficiently. The hardest part is carrying on with life without a break in between each of these deaths…work, children, soccer games, laundry, meals, snacks, homework. My friends have been there for me with hugs, and words of encouragement, shoulders to cry on, and helping hands. They have helped the grief be more bearable, and I hope one day they will let me repay the favors.