UNSANCTIONED MOURNING

Last week, I went to my final divorce hearing, alone. Nobody really feels good about getting divorced, even if it is inevitable – a welcome relief from a relationship that has become painful, even toxic. I believe there is always a sense of grief, loss and failure over the death of What Might Have Been. Divorce spells an end to the hopes, dreams and possibilities that existed at the beginning of that relationship. After all, who begins a marriage without good and strong feelings?

I had been rather quiet about the breakup of my 18 year marriage, discussing my pain only briefly with two or three of my closest friends, who don’t happen to live in the same state. Otherwise, I had mentioned what was going on to my nearest and dearest living locally, but had, rather heroically, I thought, refrained from whining and crying on their shoulders. I never want to be an emotional burden to my friends or relatives; however, I never for one minute thought they would interpret my silence to mean that I didn’t care or wasn’t in pain at the ending of a relationship of more than two decades to which I had devoted time, attention and sacrifice. I really tried hard to make it work.

Imagine my surprise when none of my friends offered to go to the hearing with me, or even suggested that, since I might not feel like being alone that evening, we should go out to dinner. I was very, very hurt. Rather than curling up in a ball of pain and abandonment, however, I called a relatively new acquaintance, who had never met my ex-husband, and asked him to meet me for dinner, which he was glad to do. We had a nice evening, catching up on mutual acquaintances from “back home,” and our conversation touched only briefly on the events of the day.
Unfortunately, my hurt feelings over being ignored by my friends soon turned to blazing anger. I started to mentally review my relationship with individuals and think of the myriad ways I had supported them, emotionally, during their difficult times. I could not imagine why they had chosen to pretend nothing bad had happened in my life. It didn’t help matters when certain of them suggested that I should throw a big party to celebrate. Nobody noticed how I was really feeling and I was feeling worse by the minute.

Several days later, someone I regarded as one of my closest friends noticed I was not interacting normally with him and asked me if, “we” were okay. My first impulse was to coldly repulse his inquiry with, “Of course. I can’t think why you would believe otherwise,” but, fortunately for both of us, the hurt and anger I was feeling burst out and I told him, in no uncertain terms, how I really felt. He was completely stunned. His take on the whole thing was radically different from mine. He said I had revealed so little of how I was really feeling that he honestly didn’t think I was pained by the divorce.

Honestly, is there anybody out there who ISN’T pained by a divorce, no matter how bad the underlying relationship? If so, I haven’t met them yet and I was a family lawyer for 15 years.

He then compounded what I regarded as overwhelming insensitivity by telling me that it was my responsibility to ask for what I needed from my friends! Now, we’re never going to see eye-to-eye on this one. I felt (and still feel) like, by behaving like a reasonable adult and NOT drowning my friends in my sorrow, fears, and misery about the breakup, I was building capital in the Friends Emotional Support Bank, to which I had made many, many deposits of time and attention to others. I expected that my investment would pay dividends in my time of need, but I guess, according to him, I forgot to fill out the withdrawal slip. I feel as if some of the other patrons of that institution should have known, without me tugging at their coattails and whining, that I could have used some support.

It was a painful conversation for both of us and, although I’m not sure we are yet over this speed bump in our relationship, I believe we are important enough to each other that we will try to understand the other’s viewpoint. We have each learned something from this life episode. I learned that I need to be a little more open about needing things from others, instead of being the bastion of unlimited strength and independence, as others apparently view me. To me, it’s another thing that proves the squeaky wheel really does get the grease. This is a hard pill for me to swallow and it’s going to require some serious effort, but I can learn to mewl and whine with the best of them, I suppose, if the occasion requires it. I think he learned that things aren’t always the way they appear on the surface and that he does have an obligation to pay attention to what‘s going on to people who are important to him; that just because it’s happening to someone else, doesn’t mean it is less painful than it would be to him and just because the other person isn’t visibly injured, it doesn’t mean she/he isn’t bleeding inside.

I also had a startling personal revelation about why I felt so very, very angry and betrayed over the lack of support I received. I realized I was angry out of all proportion to the event. I had more distant friends that I called on and got through things just fine, because I am, usually, an adult about such matters, but that didn’t dissipate the anger I felt toward those I regarded as closest to me. I was sweeping the kitchen floor on Sunday afternoon when it struck me.
I felt just like I did long ago, after my father’s suicide, when, my loss was not acknowledged by my high school friends.

Suicide carries a stigma with it that, even to this day, prevents people from fully acknowledging and sympathizing with the loss, the way they would in the case of a normal death. I found my father, after he shot himself, and the natural devastation I felt at such a loss was further compounded by the way my extended family chose not to reach out to me and deafening silence from my friends. Although my family was comprised mainly of teachers and other educated professionals, not one of those people ever considered that I might be in shock or need counseling, or even someone with whom to talk. I received no condolence calls, none of my friends sent flowers or talked to me my loss, when I returned to school. Nobody even asked why I resigned from my sorority and clubs.

One person in my class, however, sent me a card and a note immediately after hearing the news of my loss and I clung to that card like a magic talisman, hanging on to the knowledge that someone knew and cared what had happened to me as if it were a life raft. After all these years, I still have that card and I still feel such an enormous debt of gratitude to the person who sent it that I would move heaven and earth to help him, if he ever needed it. Many years after high school, I saw him at a reunion and tried to tell him what his actions meant to me, but I don’t think he ever fully understood that his simple act of kindness may have saved my life.

After I connected the feelings generated by the two, long-separated, yet mutually life-altering events, I better understood my visceral reaction to the fairly understandable failure of my busy friends to rally around me, unasked. It got me to thinking about other events for which we are not generally permitted to openly grieve and for which we cannot expect unsolicited support. Miscarriage, infertility, loss of an ability to do something important , such as drive or see or hear, hysterectomy, mastectomy, death of a severely damaged or impaired infant, death of a beloved pet, and death of an aged or very ill loved one all join divorce and suicide in the ranks of unsanctioned mourning events.

I have been guilty of not adequately marking those sad events in the lives of my own friends, even if I never uttered insensitive platitudes like, “It was probably for the best and you can try again,” or “lots of other cats need homes.” Never again, though. People who are already hurting should never have to ask for comfort. There will be no more unsanctioned mourning events among my friends. Shouldn’t you make that promise to your friends, too? One of these days, you’ll be the one needing that spontaneous comfort. Count on it.