Point of No Return

Those who desert a marriage have a different set of issues to deal with than those of us who are abandoned. By the time my husband quit our marriage, he had gone through months of making decisions and dealing with the issue of divorce and separation. When he moved out of the house, to his way of thinking his obligations to me were over.

Where I was reeling from shock and grappling with his rejection, he was feeling relieved and ready to move on. Oh, he had some issues of guilt to deal with, which is why I think he came to therapy, but he behaved and acted like a single man.

A major snowstorm, unusual for Richmond, hit the area about two weeks after he moved out. I recall going out every hour or so to shovel the snow to keep my car and driveway clear. Although he had the four wheel drive vehicle, Bob didn’t call or check up on me until three days after the storm. Still stuck on my street, as the plows hadn’t come by yet, I asked him to drive me to the grocery store. He performed this kindness with so little grace that I never asked him for a favor again.

This online article, Saving a Marriage Alone, accurately describes Bob’s reason for abandoning me:

"I find that spouses who are running away from their marriage are in three
main groups:

Group 1) The Dreamy: This is a person who seeks romance, adventure and an
exciting new life. They believe their spouse is holding them back.

Group 2) The Angry: This type of spouse seeks revenge and cannot calm down
because their spouse ignites even more vengeance which they cannot control for
any amount of reason.

Group 3) The Affair: In this group, the spouse has met their romantic match
who fills them with feelings of love and acceptance while their marriage partner
of years leaves them feeling empty.".

It turns out that Bob belonged to Group 1. By the time I began to realize that my marriage was in serious trouble, he had already passed the point of no return

Losing Respect

One thing that surprised me when Bob left was how easy it is to obtain a divorce in this country. The legal system is set up to expedite matters, not slow the process down, no matter how long you've been married, in my case 26 years.

Even the lawyer I consulted about blocking Bob’s moves to dismantle our marriage step by step looked at me like I was nuts. Be realistic, he said to me, your husband doesn’t want to save the marriage. But I still wanted to put a brake on things, thinking he would soon come to his senses and return home. This is before I learned from a reliable divorce source that once a man moves out, taking all his possessions with him, the marriage is for all intent and purposes over.

I should have believed Bob’s actions, not his words. He promised he would go to counseling with me and actively work toward saving our marriage. To demonstrate his sincerity, he had even prepaid both our counselors for TWICE a week visits for a year. I only saw Bob during those sessions, not in-between. I later learned he was busy flying to his sister’s house in Buffalo every weekend to woo his new girlfriend.

Even through my grief and desperation I saw that grand prepayment for what it was: A self serving move meant to make him look good in the eyes of our counselors. Mine was fooled, but she had the good grace to apologize several months after the divorce. My eyes began to open the day of that prepayment, along with Bob's threat that if I saw a lawyer, any attempt on his part to fix the marriage would end.

I learned that you can love someone for 32 years and be married to him for 26 years and not know him at all. I also learned that when you lose respect for someone, it is easy to fall out of love. Bob’s actions and mean spirited words over the next few months caused me to lose all respect for him. The pain of separation and divorce still gripped me. But with each mean step that he took, came the realization that the man I loved was gone forever. His eyes were so cold, that the last time we went to therapy I barely recognized him. And I realized that so much of what I loved about him shone through his eyes. He once reserved the warmest, most loving looks for me, and I basked in that reflected glory. Back when we were happy, there was no better man in the world as far as I was concerned, and I was loyal to a fault.

As a friend later told me, "Through your eyes Bob was an interesting and perfect man. Through our eyes, he fell short." What my friends told me after the divorce about their perceptions of Bob amazed me. He had not stood on the same lofty pedestal in their world as he had in mine.

Would I take Bob back now? No. But back then I wanted him back so desperately I almost considered twisting myself into a pretzel to keep him. I’m glad I did not.

Knife-edged pain

Our separation lasted eleven months before our divorce. At times the pain hit me so hard that I thought I wouldn't survive. Once I recall stumbling down the hall to the bedroom, gripping the walls, unable to stand the knive-edged pain in my body. I had no place to go. My grief was all encompassing.

Great gulping sobs heaved from my throat. I wailed. I moaned. I keened from pain so elemental that I curled into a fetal position wishing myself away from the horror of losing my husband, my best friend, and the man who had filled my thoughts for 32 years.

My new SPCA doggie didn't know what to do during those moments. Dealing with his own loss (he'd been abandoned at eight) he would circle around me, tail between his legs. I was inconsolable. And so alone. And the person I needed the most - my husband, my friend - was not available.

During the worst times I would call a man (an old college friend) who had just been divorced. He would reassure me in a calm voice, telling me I wasn't crazy and that he'd felt the same way. He would let me talk until my tears were spent and I had no more words left. After ten, fifteen minutes I would feel sane again. Then I would ask him how he was doing. He had just found a girlfriend and was recovering slowly from his own loss. He had small children, so he had to deal with his ex on a daily basis. Two years after she'd left him he was still grappling with his own raw-edged feelings. This man, my lifelong friend, was my salvation during these dark hours. Another couple, with whom I remained close, would have me over frequently for dinner or ask me to spend the weekend with them.

If I can give you any advice at all, I suggest that you choose your listeners wisely. Choose the ones who can help you during the most trying times and who have no need to stir up more drama. And remember to be kind to yourself. This is no time to beat yourself up about mistakes and what-could-have-beens.

If you're going through this horrendous period right now, take these words to heart: The white hot pain will subside. Allow yourself to grieve and (now I am sounding like an old cliche) just give it time.

Separation: On Learning He was Leaving

I remember feeling utterly calm that Monday morning in January when my husband, Bob, told me he was moving out of the house and into an apartment the following Saturday. At hearing his words, my suspicions clicked into place.

I had surmised that something was terribly wrong with our relationship. He had, after all, practically stopped speaking to me and moved into another bedroom. Now the worst that I feared had happened - he was leaving. I felt myself grow cold all over but managed to remain calm. There was no shouting and very little crying. Months later I realized that I had gone into emotional shock.

Bob held me after he announced the news, more tender than he had been in months. I clung to him and said without begging, "Please don't leave, we can fix this."But he remained resolute, telling me he would not change his mind. He promised he would work on fixing our marriage and that he would see a counselor with me, but that he needed the time to be alone. "I need my space."

In those first few surreal minutes, I clung to the belief that Bob was serious about saving our marriage. What else could I do? We had been married for 26 of the 32 years I had known him. I was 50 years old and staring a birthday in the face. We were childless, and I had concentrated all my efforts on his career, not mine. Consequently I did not have a fulltime career, but dabbled at working parttime and volunteering.

We did not shout or fight. I cried silently but not copiously, since my hope for resolving this situation quickly gave me a false sense of calm.

Bob left for the university, where he taught accounting, and I was alone in my silent house. Christmas decorations filled every room, mocking me. Presents were still strewn around the tree and in the livingroom, as we had opened our packages after returning from a trip to his family home to bury his mother. It was 2000, the beginning of the new millenium. My New Year's resolution had been to urge him to go to counseling with me to discuss the state of our marriage and his deep depression.

Before he left for work, Bob had warned me not to call a lawyer. That if I did, he would not seek counseling with me. Still calm, I got dressed for the day and walked to my basement office to make a few calls. First I informed my parents about the situation. Then I called two friends, one who had once been a practicing attorney, and asked them for the names of some divorce attorneys.

I made up my mind in those supremely lonely hours that no matter what happened, no matter how scary things got, I would make all my own decisions. I took Bob's warning for what it was: a self-serving threat that had nothing to do with my welfare.

The intricate dance of separation had begun.