Grief: Round II

Other than occasionally noticing the life-long scar that I assume accompanies the failing of any marriage, I've pretty much grieved my divorce.  In fact, I think I did 95% of my grieving while still married as we slowly, agonizingly and reluctantly worked our way through (per my therapist) the "five stages of divorce."  While I feel like I've finished my grieving of our 19 years together and the loss of the ideal of "till death do us part," I haven't yet grieved the side-effect of a divorce, being alone.  A divorce usually means you'll be spending some time alone, at least from a romantic perspective.

The above statement is not as obvious as you might assume because one doesn't really have to be alone after a divorce.  I mean, you could leave your wife for another woman (I didn't) or you could immediately throw yourself into a new relationship (I did that, for awhile, but backed out before it became permanent).  It would seem to me, though that a healthy process of healing after a divorce would necessitate a time of aloneness.

I didn't take that route, at least not immediately.  A different counselor supported me in that decision, believing that I'd spent the last few years of my marriage basically alone.  I can certainly understand that perspective, as I've seen a difference in recovery time between those who, like me, were staring down the barrel of divorce for years and those who had it immediately thrust upon them.  That line of reasoning was why I dove straight into the dating pool immediately after The Move Out.

I'm not sure whether to slap a "good" or "bad" label on that decision.  Truly, I don't think it's that simple. I gave and received a lot of joy, dished out and was served some heartache and created good memories which now stand alongside some regrets.

As my last dating relationship was ending, I felt an emotion I hadn't felt during the ending of the others, relief.  The relief wasn't due to something being wrong with her, but due to my heart's longing for, and my spirit's realization that I'm in need of, aloneness.

This isn't to minimize, however, the other emotion that accompanies aloneness, which is fear.  Maybe the season of dating I just came out of was partly motivated by that fear; a fear of being alone can prompt one to continue swiping through Bumble and updating your Match profile.  I guess it's time to stop kicking the can down the road and to finally embrace aloneness.

Of course, that brings grief.  Massive amounts of grief. Grief I'm no longer trying to cover up with the fun of sharing laughter and drinks with someone new or the emotional rush accompanying an evening that ends with breakfast.

A few months ago, I stumbled across one of the more heart-wrenchingly honest and vulnerably self-disclosing blog posts I've ever read.  I almost feel voyeuristic in sharing the blog post, but if it's helped me, I'm sure it's helping others, so here it is - Grief, Forgiveness and Love.

There's a paragraph in this post which I've printed out and have been reading during my evening reflection.

GRIEF
To experience grief in all of its awful fullness is human and healthy. To sidestep it, whether through alcohol, travel, social media, shopping, sex, or tattoos, is to cauterize our humanity. It’s best to lean straight into the pain; if we don’t, it will seep like oil through a bed of dead leaves, poisoning life from the ground up. Numbed-out grief leads to anger, anger leads to depression, depression leads to a critical spirit and a lack of peace.

But grief? We are promised that grief leads to comfort.  Beauty.  Dancing. I want to be a person who looks my pain in the eye, regardless of what it costs me, and then rest in knowing that there is still goodness ahead — eventually.

I've lived the grief that comes from an unfulfilled desire wrapped in uncertainty.  As a matter of fact, it was exactly ten years ago.  As I approached my 30th birthday, having recently received a diagnosis of infertility, I was acutely aware of an unfulfilled longing that had all but overtaken my heart, the deep ache to be a dad.  I celebrated my 30th birthday in the backyard of our suburban home, surrounded by a large group of friends.  What was conspicuously absent, however was the answer to the question of whether that longing would ever be fulfilled.  I was only turning 30, but I felt the injustice that eight years of marriage, 30 years of living and a newly discovered bald spot hadn't yet been enough to produce an heir.  To put it bluntly, I felt fine physically, but emotionally, I felt too old to not yet be a dad.

My 40th birthday is exactly three months away.  If I do, in fact, have a party, I'll have to face another conspicuous absence, the absence of her.  I'm not sure what I'll be doing that evening (it will be a rare rehearsal-free evening) but I'm fairly certain I'll be feeling fine physically, but emotionally, I'll likely feel too old to be single.

As I grieved, during that 30th birthday party, the pain of infertility, the loss of failed adoptions and unsuccessful IVF treatments, while simultaneously observing my friends interacting with their kids, I had zero idea that my soon-to-be-adopted son had been conceived just a few weeks earlier.  No idea whatsoever.  I also had no idea how a heart which seemed to be missing a part of itself would, (to borrow a phrase from Dr. Seuss) grow three sizes at the sight of his newborn baby boy.

The time for grieving my way through a season of aloneness is long overdue, that I know.  I don't know, however how long this season will last.  Will it be a month or years?  I know I won't be searching for her for awhile; no swiping, profile creating or flirting (okay, maybe some flirting as my natural charm has to find an outlet somehow...).  If something happens organically, though, I'm not going to shy away from it.

Neither do I know how or when the "comfort, beauty and dancing" referenced in the above quote will become a reality in my life.  I do know, though that the grief will likely gut-punch me anytime I'm reminded of how this yet unfulfilled longing brings not a lovely forehead to kiss but rather an empty uncertainty.  That's the grief which must be faced.

To quote the same friend who signed off my last post:

It does have to be faced. Grief that is. And there is no rule that says it has to be faced perfectly, presently, or passively. There is no timeline or stopwatch. You face it over and over again until it no longer has any power over you. I’m not even sure it ever stops existing. You just learn to live with it and decide it doesn’t define you, or the decisions you make. You are spot on in what you need to do for yourself. Face it. You got this.


I agree.  I got this.