It's More Than Merely Coping; It's About Accepting Your New Life

It happened again yesterday: Bob was on my mind throughout the day. I had sent a college friend a happy birthday email, and he casually replied that the reunion weekend was coming up and that he hadn't heard yet if Bob was coming.

Heart pang. I loved going to campus with my husband during the spring to watch lacrosse, and meet up with the old gang. Oh, sure everyone was getting grayer, last time I went, but there was the comfort of seeing old friends, their wives and their families, and talking about the good old days. I attended a woman's college and met Bob at an all-male school, and these reunions are on his campus. The last time I went to an alumni reunion, only one of our group was divorced and remarried. This time around, three of them will be bringing new spouses, none of whom have the history that the old wives had. In my case, I have known the guys since I was 19 years old when they lived in the fraternity and looked younger than their sons. I knew all of the old stories and then some. I wonder if I will ever see this group again? While Bob and his new spouse are invited to their children's weddings, I no longer receive even a Christmas card, except from a few.

When I divorced, my mourning extended farther than simply losing my husband, I lost many of our friends and his family, which was unforeseen, and I lost all those rituals that I so adored: these reunion trips, vacations with couples, tennis night out, etc. This is the toughest part about moving on: the landscape of your life changes radically after the loss of a spouse. At first you are lost, and reel from place to place, clueless as to which way you should go. Slowly, you start to regain some sense of direction.

Oh, I've regrouped and formed a new life. In talking to other women in my situation, I realize how lucky I am. One woman, who has been single as long as me, has yet to bond with a close group of women her age. Although she works, she feels lonely and isolated. She told me that if it weren't for her teenage daughter, she would have no social life, and then she asked me, with a hint of envy, how I had been able to move on.

Being an extrovert helps, I replied. I didn't add how much hard work it had been to fight off depression, or how much of a sea change my own attitude and emotions had gone through, so that I was able to embrace and recognize all the good things going on in my life. Tonight I will go to a restaurant with a group of single friends after work to decompress; on Saturday I will visit a friend who is recovering from knee surgery; and on Sunday I will visit a friend's house to pick out some clothes (she sells the Doncaster line on the side). We will chat, discuss clothes and Jane Austen, joke and giggle, and drink wine. Last Sunday, three of us went to a movie. So, although there is no man lurking in my dating horizon, I lead a full and active social life.

The toughest part about being suddenly single, when every cell in your body craves a mate, is to embrace your new life. Letting go of my preconceptions (divorce is bad, I was a lousy wife, single women are losers in the game of love), and enjoy each day for what it offers. It's hard, I know. I still have setbacks, like I had yesterday, when the old yearning and wishful thinking takes over. I was melancholy all day long, but that is part of my new landscape - recognizing that this yearning for a lost past will always be with me.

As you find your way in your own new landscape, take heart. You have it within you to find your new direction. Carving that new path takes hard work, however, and time, but with patience and the help of friends and family, you will find your way out of your heart ache. Just follow your instincts, and keep moving. For your own emotional health, you simply can't stay where you've been.

• Ways to Move on After Divorce

• Moving On After Divorce: Women's Divorce
  

Memories of Then and Now

I ran across a photo of my ex yesterday. Well, I googled it. He looked old and tired and gray.

Here's why I searched for his image. Last week a college friend came over to visit and inevitably the talk turned to those bygone days ... and Bob. Last Friday Animal House came on. That was our (Bob's and my) favorite movie in the 70's. In fact, when Bob's fraternity brothers would get together they would act out the parts. All felt that the movie portrayed their fraternity life in the house to a tee (I'm sure all partying fraternities from those days think the same thing), and I will always associate that movie with Bob and his friends. The guys had "adopted" my friend and I, the two blonds as they called us, as honorary fraternity members and we reveled in our special status.

Yesterday, talk at a women's lunch I attended turned to divorce and acceptance. Of the five women, two of us were divorced. We spoke of our exes without rancor, having made the decision to move on. One of the women asked if I still had contact with Bob, and I said "No, I don't care if I ever see him again. He's part of my past."

After lunch I thought about my statement and realized I was wrong. Bob still plays a huge part in my life. My relationship with him, which spanned over half my life, helped to make who I am today. Whenever I walk along the river and see a bicyclist whiz by, I think of him. Whenever I enter the garage, I see his handiwork. We chose some of the furniture I still use. And while I enjoy myself immensely when I am with old friends I haven't seen for a while, I feel like half of a whole. Something is missing in the chemical mix: Bob.

My memories of Bob fall in two categories. The old Bob who I loved with all my heart; and the Bob of the days of our divorce. Somehow, I am able to separate the two and recognize that my old life, filled with so many happy memories, had value. But that my present life, which has taken on such a different direction and tone, has meaning as well.

So, feeling nostalgic but not alone on a Saturday night, with my faithful pooch at my feet, I googled Bob's name and came up with two photos. One was taken of him when we were married, standing at a tourist spot with the Rockies in the background. The other must be a recent faculty photo. Before clicking on that photo I felt trepidation, but on seeing it I felt ... nothing. Nothing at all. He looks like some distant uncle I had never met, and a faint shadow of the Bob of my memories. Which is where he belongs.

Photos: Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul, and Mary, then and now