The Blog of Joe

I was married to her for about seven years and she was the mother to three of my children. We had a rocky marriage and split on less than amicable terms. She struggled with alcoholism and other things and failed to see, as most alcoholics do, that she had a problem. Her issues poured over into my life. I didn’t want to drink anymore, but she couldn’t drink alone so she would either make me drinks I didn’t want or go find others to drink with. There were a number of other things that happened that I won’t get into here. After a failed inpatient treatment, we divorced in 2012. 

I didn’t want the kids to be around that – something I experienced when I was a kid. Since then, we’ve had our ups and downs and tried to keep things civil as much as possible for the kids. Sometimes, that was much harder to do than it seems. There were DUIs and jail, domestic abuse issues, and again alcoholism and who knows what else. 

We watched her destroy herself physically over the next few years and she began to look like someone twice her own age. 

Last year, her husband reached out to her family for help. He was concerned that she was going to drink herself to death. She was having a series of kidney and liver issues and went to the hospital way too often for someone her age. Her parents, even though they weren’t even on speaking terms anymore, paid for her to go to an inpatient treatment facility. This time, it seemed to help.

She had accountability and responsibility in treatment. She was strangely more coherent than I ever remembered when she would call to speak to the kids. It was a good sign. There was hope. We were all optimistic that she had turned a corner. 

It didn’t last. 

As soon as she got out, she started drinking almost immediately – even while on medication designed to curb the cravings. First, it was small, just a glass of wine with dinner. I called her out for it, as I’m sure others did as well, but she brushed off any concerns. After all, it was just one glass of wine. 

Well, one glass turned into two or three. Eventually, she would start having a morning drink just to get things off on the right foot, and soon it became an all-day thing. More medical problems began to pop up. 

It wasn’t long before she told me her kidneys were failing and she needed dialysis. Her liver was almost non-functioning. She would tell me that she wasn’t drinking much, but the kids told me otherwise.

The kids could see that she was destroying herself and they didn’t want to be around it or the drama that seemed to follow her. They would fight and argue about not wanting to go see her. Sometimes I relented and gave their mom some excuse as to why someone wasn’t going to be there that weekend. I understood where they were coming from. I had been there. 

Things progressively got worse. Her health declined. She spent more time in hospitals. The kids heard about some of it but didn’t see it. We canceled some weekend visits so she could recover. 

This last weekend, the kids went there on an off weekend because they missed the weekend before. Some didn’t want to go. This time though, I made them and I was adamant about it. I don’t know why though. Maybe, deep down, I knew time was growing short. 

They spent a good weekend with their mom. She told me that she was really ill though and that she couldn’t move around very well or even dress herself. 

Sunday afternoon she dropped the kids off for the last time. When she came to the door, she looked like hell. She was weak and barely walked with a cane. Her skin sort of just hung from her body and was pale. We briefly discussed the next time they would come to visit, and she hobbled away slowly. 

I wouldn’t see her again. 

Early the next afternoon, I got the call. 

I was completely shocked and saddened to hear the news and didn’t know what to say.

A little backstory. 

The previous year before this all came to be was a rough one on the family. The kids’ grandpa (my ex’s stepdad) passed away after years of battling cancer and heart issues. We were all devastated by it. We lived less a few blocks away and while a tough and brooding fellow, he was always willing to help the family. He was the one that helped my wife and me get back to Washington State after a move to Texas that didn’t work out for us. It was completely unsolicited too. I respected the man immensely and kids absolutely adored him. It was the first big loss the kids ever experienced. 

The kids were still dealing with his death less than a year later when we got the news about their mom. 

It’s now been two years since that day and a lot has changed. Those first six months since her passing was really rough on the kids. It was unexpectedly rough on me as well in the days that followed. 

I was on a roller coaster of emotion. Since we had divorced, she had caused me a lot of grief and created unnecessary drama around the kids. She had stayed in abusive relationships and exposed the kids to traumas and things and that she should have been protecting them from. I occasionally, and regrettably, had fleeting thoughts that that things would be better off if her destructive behavior would get the best of her. I of course didn’t want that and would have much preferred that she would have bounced back from hitting the bottom of the barrel instead of digging a deeper hole. Especially for the sake of the kids. 

Anyways, those fleeting thoughts haunted me after I heard the news and felt incredibly guilty. Both for thinking those things and that I could have done something more. Could I have though? I had so many emotions and had a hard time processing them. I spent a total of 8 years of my life with her, and not all was bad. I tried to be stoic as possible and act like I wasn’t affected by it for the sake of the kids and our other family, but I was. And more than I led myself to believe. 

Even though I had lots of people call and reach out to me, there was one call in particular that had a lasting effect. An acquaintance in the area that I used to do photography with, called me randomly a day or so later. It surprised me for two reasons. One, we don’t talk outside of photography functions and two, I didn’t realize he had my phone number. Anyway, he called to see how I was doing. After some initial pleasantries at the beginning of the call, talking about the kids and such, he asked me a simple question that would have a profound effect.

“Dude… are YOU okay?” he asked inquisitively. He paused and waited for me to answer. 

The question caught me off guard and I needed a second to gather my thoughts. Most everyone before this call was rightfully concerned about the kids, but not many people asked how I was doing, personally. And if they did, I wasn’t ready to tell them. When I opened my mouth to explain the myriad of emotions I was feeling, it opened the floodgates. I broke down and wept as I tried to explain everything. He just listened. I was completely vulnerable at that moment and he was the ear that I didn’t know I needed. Thanks, Tom. 

I tried to talk to my wife about it before this. Well, I thought about it anyways and sometimes I skirted around it. She was incredibly supportive, but to say that it’s tough talking about your feelings to your current wife about your late ex-wife. Well, it’s the understatement of the year. 

Anyway, having that friend there, at that moment, asking the right question, and would listen without judgment as I dumped years’ worth of baggage; was a cathartic experience, to say the least. I’m incredibly thankful he called. If you happen to be reading this – Thanks, Tom. 

The first couple of weeks I spent a lot of time with them. We went on walks. We did some group journaling and letter writing. I sought out and got them started with counseling.