My Ex-wife died

My emotions are in chaos

Photo by Fey Marin on Unsplash

I was with my daughter watching the Great British Baking Show when my cell phone rang — my oldest son told me that his mom — my ex-wife — had died.

There were good reasons why we were divorced.

She had filed for divorce from me four times in our lives and went through with it twice — yes, I remarried her once; I was done with her. I the issue didn’t deal with one of our children, I wanted nothing to do with her.

We met in college. I was a nerdy music major and two years older than her. She was a sweet innocent farm girl. She was my first kiss — my first sexual partner — my first love. I proposed to her a year later.

We had a fairy tale honeymoon. My grandmother had a fudge shop on Martha’s Vineyard. We spent the summer selling candy — or on the beach — or making love. I was deeply in love and married to my best friend.

The first time she cheated on me (that I know of anyway) was four years into our marriage. She was on a work trip with another female, had too much to drink, and a couple of guys picked them up. She blamed it on the alcohol and promised not to drink anymore unless she was with me. I forgave her and tried to move on with our marriage.

She filed for divorce the first time when we had been married for six years. I had moved from Albuquerque to Kansas City to find a job, and the plan was she was going to follow me when I got work — the plan changed.

We had our first child in Kansas City. Within six months: we reconciled, she filed for divorce again (her job was more important to her than I was, her words not mine), reconciled again, and she finally moved to KC. She was a loving mother, and we had a perfect little family. I was warily happy again.

I thought we had an idyllic life. We had our four children, lived on a nine-acre farm with chickens, cats, and dogs, and were happily homeschooling. She said that is what she wanted, but her bipolar tendencies started showing more and more. It was at the bottom of a significant mood swing that she blamed all of her life’s problems on me, divorced me and took the four kids, and moved four hours away.

Two months later, she was on the phone begging me to try again.