Half empty, Half full

One of the 'big' issues that Renfrew had when he called 'time out' on our marriage was that I was always 'negative'.   At the time, I couldn't see it.  Now, I realize that I was spending an inordinate amount of time focusing on the empty part of the glass.  There was a dark cloud following me, sort of like Schleprock in the old Pebbles and BamBam cartoon.

But, in fairness, we both were.  It is an unavoidable trend for a person who is unhappy...even if they, themselves, can't see the unhappiness.  It leaks out.  Like when you try to pour 8.2 ounces into an 8 ounce travel mug.  Not a lot leaks out, but what does escape stains your clothes and often burns your hand.  Unhappiness colours everything in your world to the point you don't even notice the grey filter over your lens.

When "the worst thing that could happen", happened; followed by the "even worse thing that could happen" within hours, I got a wake up call from the Universe.  Did my negativity attract the bad stuff?  I doubt it.  Bad stuff happens in everyone's life.  Mine just decided to all happen in the space of 48 hours. 

In my journey to where I am now, I made a conscious decision to look for the positive.  And believe me, there were many days there was not a lot of it around.  At the start I spent most of my time accepting condolences on the double whammy life had handed me.  After a while I realized I had to reframe those events or they were going to pull me irretrievably into the Pit of Despair.

The easiest reframing was dealing with Mom's death. 

Don't get me wrong, I miss her ever minute and wish I could not just ask her what she thinks about the things going on in my life -- work, parenting, romance -- BUT ALSO hear the answer clearly. 

But Mom and I had talked about death.  Not hers specifically, but that is what we were really talking about.  She spoke to me of friends who were taken to the hospital and who had lain, somewhere between alive and dead for weeks, months and some even years.   She talked about, Glenn, a distant cousin of ours who was a fixture at our house when I was growing up, hiding out from his religious sister, drinking coffee and playing cards.  Glenn slid into dementia before he died and spent a period of time in the local nursing home before being released to the next life.  To Mom both of those fates were much worse than death.  Mom did not want to linger.

She also did not want to move into a 'care home'.  My sister and I had broached the subject of maybe moving into a seniors' apartment complex the summer before.  Suggesting perhaps Mom would be more comfortable in a place where she would have people around to socialize with and where the day-to-day chores would be taken care of by someone else.  She was pretty adamant:  "My next move will be out West on the hill next to your Father." 

Yup, that pretty much said it.  After decades of caring for others, she was totally happy in the small, but comfortable ground floor apartment where she lived for the last 14 or so years before she died. She did not want to end her days dependent.

When she died . . . at 85 after a year of less than quality life caused by a bout of shingles that had started almost a year earlier . . . I knew she was at peace.  She had the good death she had wanted. 

The end of my marriage. 

Well it was harder to find the silverlining in that event.  I still loved my husband.  Part of me wanted to believe he was just 'going through a phase' and that he would end up back on my doorstep asking to put things back together.  Let's just say I wasn't ready to process that particular loss yet . . . it took another year, at least, before I not only accepted that the marriage was over BUT also that it had not been as blissful as I had wanted to believe.  At least in the last few years. 

Once I made that paradigm shift, I realized that while Renfrew and I had continued to inspire growth in each other (for me helping the other person grow is a big part of what defines a marriage), the ONLY type of growth we had been encouraging was negative.  Instead of bringing out the best in each other, as well we did for many years; we now brought out the worst.  Renfrew's growth is his to tell.  My growth was in the areas of sharpening a nasty tongue, prolonged pouting, sarcastic comments, ice freezing glares and generally bitchiness.  I now acknowlege that for about the last year or so, I wouldn't have wanted to live with me. 

Now I realize the real death knell to our marriage was simple:  We stopped being KIND to each other.

I can also now frame the loss by what I have gained. 

We get along . . more than just being civil to each other . . . we are able to participate in things together and to be a part of our child's life.  She sees us laugh together and cooperate.

The end of our marriage did not negate the good years we shared or the love.  Love (as I've said before) is the true content of ALL relationships.  The form of our relationship as 'marriage' was no longer working for either of us.  The form of our relationship as dear friends who share a history and a child is what IS now.  It is still one of love.

From the end of our marriage, I learned I could forgive and make peace.  I cannot emphasize what a true GIFT this is.

The end of our marriage brought a new friend into my life in the form of Renfrew's new wife.  Some people marvel that I like her.  Well, why on earth wouldn't I?  Renfrew is still basically the same person he was when we chose each other.  Stands to reason that he would chose someone similar to me.  And that she is.  He always had phenomenal taste in women.  In fact, there are times I think Renfrew gets a bit nervous when the Pumpkin, she and I are plotting together.

The end of our marriage has brought other people into my life.  A new career and new co-workers.  A move and new neighbours.  And last but not least a new man who is becoming part of my life.

Yes, my glass is more than half full these days.  It runneth over.

Has it really been 5 years?

Exactly five years ago this weekend my life imploded with a cosmic *SMACK*.   Life as I knew it was over [for the whole gory story go here LifeQuake .  LSS - marriage ended on Friday, Mom died on Sunday.

It would be easy to say that I grieved, did the emotional and psychological work, and moved onto a wonderful new life in record time and with minimal disruption.  It would also be a lie.  The combined losses of my marriage and my mother, in that order in that many days flattened me. 

For the first while, I went into autopilot.  I knew what I was supposed to do and what the 'right' responses were and I kept to the script.  Honestly, the 'role' of responsible, directed woman planning both her mother's funeral and her husband's move from the matrimonial home at the same time came easy.  It felt like I was in a 'Lifetime' movie. . . perhaps being played by Valerie Bertinelli (before she lost the weight -- we want authenticity here).

I wrote the obituary and the eulogy.  I sat with my siblings to select a casket and plan the order of service.  I scurried around the music store to locate a copy of the sheet music to Amazing Grace (I still shake my head in wonder that it doesn't appear in the hymnal of the Church I attended as a child).

I gave Renfrew the time and space to move from our home to a nearby friend's house with the plan that the Pumpkin and I would move to the City once we found a place.  But for the time being, she and I would stay in the house.

Three weeks after my LifeQuake, I went back to work.  My siblings and I had cleaned out most of Mom's apartment -- shredding 30 years of bank statements and old cheques, receipts for everything from utilities to her Readers' Digest subscription.  Furniture that could be used by family members was re-homed and that for which there was no current purpose was donated to the nearby thrift store. Everyone who wanted a memento was allowed to take something that reminded them of Mom.

It was time for things to get back to "NORMAL"... Normal, I now know is simply a setting on the washing machine.  That December was unquestionably the lowest my life has ever been.  Slowly, and I do mean S L O W L Y, I started to find a new way to be in the world.  During the course of my journey I learned some pretty amazing truths:

Failing at marriage did not mean I was a failure.  My marriage was, truthfully, everything to me.  I had made that commitment with the view that it was irrevocable.  Divorce was NEVER in my playbook.  But I had to recognize that marriage was making Renfrew miserable and he did not believe that it could be fixed.  I had no choice to let go.  It was a slow and sticky process and I am the first to admit I did not handle it gracefully at first. I cried buckets of tears.  But as the 'process' moved along, I began to realize that the ending of marriage did not nullify the years we had shared -- most of them pretty happy.  

Don't get me wrong, there is still a small part of me that mourns not having a life partner to whom I can say "remember . . . ." and have him smile.  The shared history still exists, but it is no longer accessible.  I just read in a book about marriage end (a memoir by a woman who lost her husband not to your average mid-life crisis, but to his gender change to a woman) that one of the hardest losses in a divorce is the loss of the collective memory of a family.

Slowly I cried less and smiled more.  I would heal and the edges would soften around the wound. Then something would pull the back the scab and I would bleed tears again.  At some point, the tears more or less stopped.  My focus moved away from what was lost to what remained. . . a beautiful child and a friendship with her other parent.

My kid is both smarter and stronger than I ever imagined. Shortly after we separated, we (I) dragged the Pumpkin to a clinical social worker.  I figured she'd been handed a couple of biggies, just like I had been and as a good parent it was important to give her someone to help her debrief.  Her assessment of our separation:  "If living together makes you unhappy, why would you live together?"  Wisdom from the mouth of a 9 year old.  In the intervening time, she has continued to grow -- and WOW.  She is self-possessed with a confidence and sense of humour about life that will take her far.

Forgiveness is truly the path to Peace and Happiness.  Along my way I discovered A Course In Miracles .  It is not a religion (and I remain as irreverent as ever), but a spiritual mind training program, the goal of which is to FORGIVE everyone for everything as a way to PEACE. 

Trust me, I did not WANT to forgive Renfrew for pulling the plug on our marriage.  I was hurt and, for a time, I was pretty good at trying to reach out and hurt him too.  It wasn't until I was given the 'miracle' of seeing things a different way, that I forgave.  It was a conscious choice I made initially for two people:  my child and myself.  I knew carrying anger and resentment toward her father would spill over onto her.  I also got really tired of trying to move forward with that stone around my neck.  I set it down . . . at first for only seconds at a time, but eventually I left it in the distance. 

I have gotten SO MUCH out of that one choice.   In addition to a child who sees her parents behaving like adults, when Renfrew married my Wife-in-Law (or WiL as I'll call her) three years ago, I got a friend and another co-parent for her.   Seriously, Renfrew always had great taste in women (with a few exceptions that occurred during his post-marriage break up craziness), so why would I not like his choice in a partner?  And if I did, what on earth would it say about me?

Now, I am substantially healed.  I am not the person I would have been if neither of those losses had happened.  I am stronger.  I am more cynical.  I am more patient.  I am less trusting.  I am more at peace.  There have been losses and gains.  It was a weekend . . . and I sincerely hope I never have another one like it.