LOVE, HATE, TRAGEDY (PERSONAL ESSAY)

Love, Hate, Tragedy

I learned to hate my ex-husband as though he were Lucifer himself. Once I had loved him madly and deeply, but that was before he had walked out on me and taken our two small children with him. He got legal custody because he had the money and the legal power. I only made a part-time salary (so I could be with the kids), so I ended up losing everything. His weasel of a divorce attorney had done my bankruptcy case a couple of years earlier.

I did not go gently into a childless land. I raged and fought him with everything I had. I thought the fact that he was having his girlfriend spend the night in the house where my kids were was not just high treason but immoral, and that it should be illegal if it wasn't. It wasn't.

It was hard to fight back when my legal aid lawyer was a crumb bum who didn't give a damn. John, the soon to be ex, simply retaliated against my slightest complaints by keeping me from seeing my kids. I felt like I had never really known what it was to hate somebody before I started hating him. There was a raging in my blood that kept me awake at night and from eating during the day. I hoped he'd die and soon.

Eventually the case was settled. As predicted, I lost all rights to my children. I could only see them if he was feeling generous. Lord knows, I could get old and die waiting for that day. He had turned from the man I loved most in the world to an uncaring monster whose only joy in life seemed to be striking at me with vengence. To make matters worse, I had to pretend there were no hard feelings--that I thought he was one great guy--if I ever wanted to see my children.

I smiled. I asked about his health. I sympathized with him about how difficult it must be for a single dad to raise two children. I wanted to cut off my head I was so phony, but it was effective, and I was allowed regular visitation. I made sure to never say an angry or harsh word about their dad in front of the children, no matter what terrible things he said about me.

And then one day he had them run out to the car and he stayed to talk to me. He wanted to tell me that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He said that they hadn't caught it in time, and he didn't have much time left. By this time he had remarried. I inquired after how she was taking the news. He showed little emotion as he told me all this, and I returned the favor.

As time went on he began to look like the dying man he was. He lost so much weight he looked like a concentration camp victim. His false teeth were too big for his mouth so he went around toothless. The kids were in a state of perpetual fear, but they didn't want to talk about what was happening to their dad.

He soon was taking morphine everyday, and living in his own dream world. I went over to see him every day because I again felt the love that I'd buried beneath the hatred. His new wife was busy pretending nothing was happening. She went on with her busy schedule of daily activities, and tried not to let his dying interfere with her plans.

One day he cried and told me he wished he'd never divorced me--that he still loved me and always would. It was very sad, but besides the fact by now.

He did break my heart another day by asking me to look at a lump he felt in his neck region. I felt it and it was a huge, movable lump. He asked me what I thought it could be in a worried tone of voice. I replied, "John, I think it's cancer." He had known it but wanted another opinion I guess. He actually looked surprised for a minute.

I asked him to help me write down his memories about the children. We started with their births. We had waited too long. He was on too much morphine to have clear memories. What he did say was all jumbled up and spacey. I was disappointed for the kids. I had even hoped we could write letters for them for special occasions like their high school graduations, 21st birthdays and wedding days, but it was not to be.

And then one day my daughter came to my apartment crying uncontrollably. I knew why she was there before she could speak. I held her a long time. She knew I felt his loss as well.

It was hard to remember that I had once hated this man like the devil himself. I felt only love and compassion now. My heart was breaking for my children. He was, after all, a good man. It just took his dying for me to see it again.

I learned to hate my ex-husband as though he were Lucifer himself. Once I had loved him madly and deeply, but that was before he had walked out on me and taken our two small children with him. He got legal custody because he had the money and the legal power. I only made a part-time salary (so I could be with the kids), so I ended up losing everything. His weasel of a divorce attorney had done my bankruptcy case a couple of years earlier.

I did not go gently into a childless land. I raged and fought him with everything I had. I thought the fact that he was having his girlfriend spend the night in the house where my kids were was not just high treason but immoral, and that it should be illegal if it wasn't. It wasn't.

It was hard to fight back when my legal aid lawyer was a crumb bum who didn't give a damn. John, the soon to be ex, simply retaliated against my slightest complaints by keeping me from seeing my kids. I felt like I had never really known what it was to hate somebody before I started hating him. There was a raging in my blood that kept me awake at night and from eating during the day. I hoped he'd die and soon.

Eventually the case was settled. As predicted, I lost all rights to my children. I could only see them if he was feeling generous. Lord knows, I could get old and die waiting for that day. He had turned from the man I loved most in the world to an uncaring monster whose only joy in life seemed to be striking at me with vengence. To make matters worse, I had to pretend there were no hard feelings--that I thought he was one great guy--if I ever wanted to see my children.

I smiled. I asked about his health. I sympathized with him about how difficult it must be for a single dad to raise two children. I wanted to cut off my head I was so phony, but it was effective, and I was allowed regular visitation. I made sure to never say an angry or harsh word about their dad in front of the children, no matter what terrible things he said about me.

And then one day he had them run out to the car and he stayed to talk to me. He wanted to tell me that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He said that they hadn't caught it in time, and he didn't have much time left. By this time he had remarried. I inquired after how she was taking the news. He showed little emotion as he told me all this, and I returned the favor.

As time went on he began to look like the dying man he was. He lost so much weight he looked like a concentration camp victim. His false teeth were too big for his mouth so he went around toothless. The kids were in a state of perpetual fear, but they didn't want to talk about what was happening to their dad.

He soon was taking morphine everyday, and living in his own dream world. I went over to see him every day because I again felt the love that I'd buried beneath the hatred. His new wife was busy pretending nothing was happening. She went on with her busy schedule of daily activities, and tried not to let his dying interfere with her plans.

One day he cried and told me he wished he'd never divorced me--that he still loved me and always would. It was very sad, but besides the fact by now.

He did break my heart another day by asking me to look at a lump he felt in his neck region. I felt it and it was a huge, movable lump. He asked me what I thought it could be in a worried tone of voice. I replied, "John, I think it's cancer." He had known it but wanted another opinion I guess. He actually looked surprised for a minute.

I asked him to help me write down his memories about the children. We started with their births. We had waited too long. He was on too much morphine to have clear memories. What he did say was all jumbled up and spacey. I was disappointed for the kids. I had even hoped we could write letters for them for special occasions like their high school graduations, 21st birthdays and wedding days, but it was not to be.

And then one day my daughter came to my apartment crying uncontrollably. I knew why she was there before she could speak. I held her a long time. She knew I felt his loss as well.

It was hard to remember that I had once hated this man like the devil himself. I felt only love and compassion now. My heart was breaking for my children. He was, after all, a good man. It just took his dying for me to see it again.