I had moved so often in my life that I knew how to take control of a relocation. I immediately googled storage units. I contacted my realtors in both states to reactivate my search engines for homes in my price range. I was still working only part-time at the college, so leaving a job would play no part in my decision. I alerted my financial advisor that change was on the horizon and explained that we would need to have an immediate discussion about monies, as I would likely need funding for a new home.
I had lined up my professional network and felt determined to move forward—and out. I next turned to my personal network and received one consistent bit of insight from all three individuals.
I made my first call to Mary-Ann, who listened patiently to the recounting of my experience. She confirmed my feelings and validated my decision with her immediate retort, “I never really saw you settling there forever.”
The response from Robbie was a bit different, as she sympathetically suggested, “We are here to offer our continued and total support to you in whatever you choose to do. Whether you stay where you are or choose to move will likely be the hardest decision you will ever make. You will know the right time to make that decision. However, today is perhaps not the right time. Because you have been hurt by a casual acquaintance, you might not be thinking clearly or reacting sensibly.”
Audrey was the most direct in her assessment of the situation and her interpretation of how best to handle it. “Get yourself some real friends outside the neighborhood. Get involved with other people. Get busy, get out, and refocus your life on you. If you still want to leave, we’re here to back you. You will know when the time is right, but for right now, take a bit more time.”
So I was again propelled ahead and began another chapter in my efforts to discover a new normal for myself as I determined to follow their sage advice. Through all of these experiences, I knew I needed resilience and determination, but I despaired of ever finding either. However, little by little, the solutions to these problems appeared, and my improving circumstances opened windows onto new insights as I determined to explore potential opportunities for a new life right where I was, before I contemplated uprooting myself yet again.
EIGHT MONTHS AFTER Jim left me, I had rallied the strength required to return to an exercise class at the fitness center. Understandably, women I had spent hours with each week were surprised and happy to see me again. I pulled aside those I had been closest to and briefly updated them on what had transpired over the missing months. A big step. But even bigger was the new woman, Judy, who introduced herself. She was from Boston and recently retired. She and her husband had purchased a condo in the neighborhood, thinking they would move south when they had both retired. While her husband was still working and remained in Boston, she had decided to stay in South Carolina on her own for the entire winter. She wanted to get a real feel for how they might like it if they settled here permanently.
After class, the two of us chatted and went for coffee and biscotti. We experienced an immediate connection over a long and intimate conversation. I was filled with joy to have met a woman my age who was open, frank, and available during the days. We shared frequent workouts, a dining and painting outing, and a spontaneous alfresco dinner on my porch. Then spring arrived and Judy was gone. She returned home, and I was again left alone.
Nevertheless, the memories and positive feelings from my experiences with her were enough to nudge me in the direction of venturing out to new activities and meeting new people. I was hopeful that I would find another woman to befriend, another opportunity to step outside my box. I had to dig deep and go back and try again. I knew there were people in existence as eager as I was to explore new activities and new friendships. I must reach out and find them.
I returned to my laptop and the Internet. If “trying times are for trying new things,” I needed to discover something new. I needed to broaden my support system. I found a local book club, which would be meeting that Thursday. I ordered Erik Larson’s Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania and read it on my Kindle, anxiously anticipating the gathering. It was not easy to walk into that group, but all were welcoming and supportive, and we had an animated and insightful discussion about the book. I was intrigued by the depth of research the members had done, not only on the Lusitania’s history but also on the author’s background—including details of his research process. I was particularly impressed by the woman in the group, older than I and without a computer or Internet service, who presented so much information. Overall, I thought the evening had been a success, and I felt as if I had made a huge first step.
Fortified by that initial effort, I located a social group in my small town through Meetup and RSVP’d to a dinner and movie the following weekend. Ironically, Meetup had been at the top of my list of things to do when we had arrived in our new state. However, I had never had a need for connection at the time, because of the frequent activities in our neighborhood in which we participated. Again, all were friendly and welcoming. I suddenly had the prospect of a social life.
I returned to the book club the following month and learned it had a “think tank” that met once a month to discuss current events and controversial topics, ranging from political campaigning to the demise of the family, as well as the lack of equal opportunities for women in business and in the world at large. I attended that, too, and while some of the people were also in the book club, I saw new faces as well. This group had also been together some time, so it was easy for me to allow them to carry the conversation while I just sat and absorbed the experience. I had been praying for women friends, and it turned out they had always been there.
I felt like a prisoner stepping into the sunshine after a long confinement, and I wanted more. I made myself embrace the opportunity to discover friends, and I began to cautiously and judiciously share my story. I signed up for a square-dancing lesson, chocolate making, and a psychic reading. Many years before, my younger daughter and I had been curious and had scheduled a psychic reading. We had both been doubtful about the legitimacy or the outcome but had been equally impressed by the insights we’d received. Now seemed an appropriate time for another reading. I certainly had nothing to lose. I had no need for conversation with the psychic, as she uncannily laid my recent existence before me and outlined a future for me on her own. I was determined to provide no clues and, having a very limited amount of time, eager to discover what she might have to say.
When I was shown to her private room, she appeared quite fidgety and reminded me of a first-grader in desperate need of a bathroom. She quickly asked, “How do you want to begin?”
I suggested, “Perhaps you should begin, as you seem anxious to share.”
She immediately blurted, “There is a serious male aura that surrounds you.”
I explained, “My father has just died.”
She suggested, “It’s more than that.”
I supplied, “I’m recently separated.”
“That’s it! You have no closure!” With no prompting, she went on. “Your life is unfolding, and I see you in a beautiful garden that you are not enjoying. You are unable to enjoy where you are because you feel as if perhaps you should be somewhere else. Your daughters will both be fine. Attend to the garden you have been provided here, and take note of the beauty that surrounds you.”
The accuracy of her insights revealed how easily she had seen into the depths of my soul. Returning to the group, I mingled a bit before excusing myself to begin the drive home and to contemplate what I had just been told.
After that, I went to theater openings; participated in house, garden, and island tours; and tried cocktails and food at new restaurants all over town. I selected a variety of events that would provide new and unique experiences. Each, however, held a commonality: none of the selected venues would require intimate or extended conversation from me.
I was often nervous, and on occasion either left an event quite early or canceled altogether. In adopting Lucy, I realized w
ith crystal clarity, I had gained more than just her companionship. As a puppy, she provided a repertoire of legitimate demands requiring attention. It was easy to excuse myself from an event and head home early. I could avoid extended time spent with others or the suggestion to follow up an activity with dinner or drinks. After all, I was now a pet owner and Lucy was at home, waiting to be fed or walked.
However, after each new attempt, my apprehension lessened, my geographic knowledge of the area in which I lived expanded, and my confidence began to grow. I even ventured back to neighborhood gatherings, although at a much slower pace. Again, this did not go flawlessly. My first effort found me at a costume party in the home of a friend. I was extremely apprehensive about attending this event, as it was my first outing where I would be single in a room filled with couples. I had declined the offers to attend several times, but my friend was supportive and persistent. “Come. You know everyone, and you’re always a welcome guest.” There was nothing I wanted to do less than attend a Halloween party. Even as a child, I had never enjoyed the holiday. As an adult, I always made plans to be away from the house, so as not to have to pass out candy, and I didn’t dress in costume. However, her kind insistence that I attend wore me down and made me feel confident that I could accomplish this next step. I did, however, make a promise to myself and the hostess: “I will make only a brief appearance.”
I was the first guest to arrive, and a glass of wine was poured and placed in my hand. Admiring their new kitchen renovation, I commented on what a difference the changed layout made in the space. I mentioned, “I ran three miles at the fitness center this morning.”
Both offered, “Congratulations.” I clutched my glass of wine, continued to exchange idle chitchat with her and her spouse, and believed that everything was going smoothly. I marveled at how well I was doing in the situation as more and more neighbors and friends arrived. I admired the creativity of their costumes and was particularly impressed with the husband who owned a nursery and appeared as a watering can, while his wife was dressed as a flowering plant. My confidence began to diminish, however, as we approached the moment to document the festivities with a picture. I was flooded with memories as each person scrambled to pair with their spouse. I stood there alone, recalling a time not so long ago, when my partner would search longingly for me and grasp my waist eagerly as we posed.
Suddenly, I experienced unexpected shortness of breath, dizziness, and weakness in my knees as I found myself surrounded by couples with whom we had shared so much. Mingling once again with people who knew me only as one half of a couple was too much for me to handle, and I went limp with despair. One of the women escorted me to my vehicle, questioning my ability to drive and probing for reasons why I had reacted in such a way. I settled myself behind the wheel without speaking. My heart was pounding, my skin clammy, but somehow I made my way safely around the corner. I pulled into the garage, sent Lucy out to the backyard to take care of her evening business, and crawled shakily into my bed, hoping for sleep.
THE FOLLOWING DAY I discussed my dreadful experience with my therapist. She confirmed what I had expected. I had experienced my first—and, I hoped, my last—panic attack. I weighed each subsequent invitation carefully, and accepted them with preplanned escape routes and unconfined spaces in mind. I tried different experiences and explored different connections.
Outdoor gatherings and family parties where children were present were far less threatening. I attended small gatherings of women only. I moved carefully as I inched back into the pool of social interaction. Again, I relied on the strength and support of my friends Robbie and Mary-Ann to nudge me forward. I was in Charleston, Robbie in Atlanta, and Mary-Ann in Chicago, yet each provided support with daily phone calls and texts, making me feel as if they were just next door. They watched and encouraged me as I sent them pictures or videos of my selection of outfits for each event. Often, they talked to me on the phone as I drove toward my destination, after I had texted that I had no strength to step out of the house. They clearly understood I could no longer continue to live as I had been living. I had to move ahead. I had to expand my world. I had to rebuild my life.
As is often the case, adversity had provided opportunity. Loss had provided renewal. The experience with my neighbor forced me onward. Meeting new people helped reduce my anxiety and build my confidence. As I settled into a place where people were once again available, I realized I didn’t need an endless array of individuals in my life. That was not my style. To me, friendship was a deep commitment, and it required a great deal of time and effort. I needed just a few good friends whom I could call upon in good times or in bad.
The time I spent with Audrey and her children afforded me the support and love of a wider family circle. My connection to and love for her deepened as our relationship expanded. She and I developed a routine of having long weekly telephone conversations, during which we reminded each other that we both had to eat. We reminisced about the man we both loved dearly, who had left such emptiness behind. We shared stories of our memories of that man, and we clung to the connection that we enjoyed because he had been in our lives. I grew to rely on her insights and seek her guidance. I flew to visit her again in Indiana, and she excitedly made plans to fly to visit me as soon as she was able.
Time with dear friends and my own relatives, many of whom I hadn’t seen in years, reminded me of the strength of the bonds I shared with others. I learned of family stories I had never heard and listened to people I had never met speak of undying respect and lasting love for the father I had lost. I cherished every story, every anecdote, and every opportunity to learn more about him and to embrace all that I had gained from having him in my life. Even in mourning, I was feeling his strength. Feeling that, perhaps, I would not always be punched back down. Feeling that, indeed, I could go on.
CHAPTER EIGHT
What Made You Think This Would End Any Other Way?
“We define ourselves not through what we reveal, but what we hide.”
—AZAR NAFISI, THINGS I’VE BEEN SILENT ABOUT
I WAS SHOCKED AND HURT THE FIRST TIME I HEARD it, but perhaps my therapist was correct. Looking back, I should perhaps have seen it coming. Surely there were signs. I had always placed him on a pedestal, assured him he was one in a million, the one every woman would pick from a room filled with men. I had thought myself fortunate for his kindness and calm, and for the selflessness I thought he had provided to his first wife and to our relationship. I had believed all his words, had taken everything at face value, and was caught completely off guard. A friend told me, “People don’t change. Some are just better at hiding their real identity.”
Four years later, over a glass of wine and quiet reflection on my long and difficult journey, the same friend expounded, “I never got a warm feeling from him.” I had certainly heard that comment before. She went on to explain that her husband, upon meeting mine for the first time, later commented that he was a “snake in the grass.” How had I been so blind? The truth was, I never saw it coming. I was the last one to see the relationship unfolding, and I was the last to know that it was collapsing.
We were different people with different needs and fears. He needed constant nurturing and feared abandonment. I needed independence and space and feared suffocation. He was absent-minded and always taking shortcuts. I was thorough, organized, and efficient. Were we incapable of meshing? I had insisted he take time to find himself after his divorce, and perhaps that time of separation was what had caused a breach. He had been angry but had assured me that his soul searching had been a success and presented as a healthier and happier version of himself. Had he held a hidden grudge? His children had never fully accepted our relationship. They had never known their parents had problems. Consequently, I had appeared to be the cause of the breakup of their marriage. Were their fears an issue?
While I had resisted involvement with him at the beginning, I had embraced the idea of second chances, and when I committed, I committe
d fully. Perhaps my initial reluctance was an unconscious warning. I blended him into my life and my household, even though he contributed very little and gave most of his belongings to his daughter. I worked hard to assimilate his adult children into our lives. I became attuned to their personal tastes in foods, household temperature, and individual quirks. I stood with the family when his son enlisted in the Marines and completed basic training. I was there to say goodbye when he was deployed to Iraq as he gave me a huge hug and whispered to me, “Please take care of Dad.” I sent letters to him on whimsical paper each day he was away. I welcomed him home, honoring his accomplishments and service.
I embraced their friends and love interests, attended their graduations and weddings, and prepared for and hosted all holidays. It was I who suggested gift ideas, purchased those items, and typically even did the wrapping. I spent weeks meticulously laboring over personalized cross-stitched baby samplers for newborns, and I had been diligently working on the third such gift for the infant due shortly after he left. I prepared and froze favorite foods at the births of those children and left those items in their freezers when we departed, after supporting the new parents in their transition when the babies came home. I established the tradition of juvenile-size wooden rocking chairs made by a local artisan for first birthdays, hoping they would later become family heirlooms. I even provided airfare for a surprise visit from his daughter and grandson when it was otherwise impossible to get away to see them.
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