Beat the Reaper
May 23rd, 2006 at 2:47 pm by Susie
I spent Saturday with my best friend, shopping for stuff for her new apartment.
First of all, she hates to shop. Second, she’s a Scorpio and like many of that sign, she has, shall we say, issues with money. (She has more than enough, she just can’t stand to spend it. Because then you don’t have it anymore, and what if something awful happens and you need it? It’s all about control, and death. Typical 8th house stuff, for you astrology fans.)
We finally stopped for lunch to allow her to recover from the trauma of parting with large amounts of her cash. Her cell phone rang. “It’s A.,” she said, looking shocked. “What’s he doing, calling me on the weekend?”
A. is my ex. He works for her. (I got him the job. Kept him from getting fired three or four times, too. But that was a while ago, and now I don’t care. Let ‘im eat cake, I say.)
But it wasn’t him on the other end; it was his new, much younger wife, the one who just had a baby. (It is with no small satisfaction that I note he hooked up with her within a few weeks of my breaking it off. And really, I’m sure he’s much happier with someone so much younger, so much more gullible pliable flexible. Okay, she wanted to have a baby and get married, and he didn’t, so she took matters into her own hands and look how well it all worked out!)
My friend looked concerned. “You’re kidding me. When? What? How is he?” She finally got off the phone and told me A. was in surgery, he’d had a major heart attack. An hour later and he would have been dead, the doctors told him. (Something called a widowmaker.)
I took it rather well, I thought; we immediately started cracking jokes of the “who knew he even had a heart?” variety. Even though we were upset, it just didn’t seem that bad. Part of it is, I knew he was a walking heart attack. I’d nagged him to go to a cardiologist and he just wouldn’t. Oh well.
I told my friend, “You know what’s funny? I’ve actually prayed for God to open his heart.” A beat. “But I didn’t mean with a scalpel.” We both laughed.
Anyway, I was fine. We haven’t been together for a long time, and he’d done some pretty shitty things to me (so awful, I’m embarrassed to write about it) but I’d finally gotten over it. I forgave him, mostly for my own sake. Life goes on and all that.
Sunday night, I got another call from my friend. “Your boy almost checked out last night,” she said. “He went into v-tach and they had to bring him back.”
I lost it. I don’t know why, really. But I did. I was a soggy mess. Weeping, sobbing, shaking.
My friend told me she was going to see him in the hospital Monday, and was there anything I wanted her to say? “Tell him if he dies, I’ll kill him,” I sobbed. I slept badly that night.
She called me after she left the hospital. “His wife was there, and I assume she doesn’t even know you exist, so I couldn’t say much,” she said. “So finally, I said, ‘The people I’m close to who also know you are very concerned about you, they send their love and don’t want you to die - unless it’s at their hands.’ ”
“You’re a good friend,” I sniffed. (I’d been taking Ativan because I was so upset.) “I guess I’ll send him an email.”
I tried to write one; I kept deleting and starting over. Finally, it dawned on me I really didn’t want to write him, or see him, or even think about him. In fact, breaking up with him had brought nothing but improvements into my life and what was I so upset about, anyway?
I think the ending was so ugly, with so many remaining questions (”How could you have been such a lying asshole?”), that the thought of never getting those answers was overwhelming. But I realize now I have all the answers I need. We weren’t right for each other, we were too different in too many ways, and he just wasn’t a nice person. He was mean and selfish. (Still is, from what I hear.) So the letter I wrote instead was to myself, and my readers.
And I realized: I really am over him. Hallelujah.
I was going to write something but decided not too…..ahh what the hell
aren’t blogs great for the soul some days?
As a Scorpio who hates to go shopping, I resemble those remarks!
I’m glad none of my ex-wives writes, especially as openly as you do. I post that with admiration, I hope you understand. I also *hope* that their experiences weren’t as horrible as those you allude to, as well.
Offering another perspective, I wonder what “being over it” really means, in light of lost sleep and tears. Are we ever “over” them?
Gug
attagirl!
hey, did you know that accepting you will never know “the why” is a spiritual practice? yep, one of the hardest ones, too.
love,
w
Oh, I cried when my ex-husband died, too, and believe me, there was no love lost there. Nostalgia and regret is always a trigger for tears. He’d left things in such a mess with my kids, and now there was no chance at all of him straightening it out.
Sometimes we write for our own hearts. I know where my x of 20 + years lives. I could call him or write him, but then I stop. What do I want? Why would I want to go through so much pain again. A part of me wants to know he’s alright, that every thing is better (he had a mental breakdown, I wanted to stay he said go away, and then it really got stupid) And I wonder if he’s still too hot and too bright for his own good.
What about the ashes in the trunk? I’ve missed some important parts of the epic… I think… or was that a dream?
Well, the Dead Ex-Husband is the source of the ashes in the trunk. The Live Ex is the one who had the heart attack.
It’s great that we can love people even when we don’t like them.
Yes, Pandu, and it’s even better when we realize we can still love them without ever having to see them again.
HA! I was going to call you when I had a minute and ask you if that wasn’t really what you wanted from writing to him. Guess I don’t need to now! Way to go!! My mom always called that “loving the eternal soul without needing to connect to the ego”.
Your mom is a very wise woman. How exactly right: I did/do love his eternal soul. It’s his ego I don’t want to be around.
I feel the same about my ex. So many times I wanted to locate him and ask why he was such a big liar as well as an asshole. However, I realize its best to forgive him and go on with my life. At age 55, I don’t need the stress!