Grieving the Married Man

PAST

 

If you follow me on Twitter or on Facebook, you will have seen that recently I, yes, attracted yet ANOTHER married man.

WTF?? Do I have a sign around my neck or something?

I wanted to like the guy (well, before I found out he was married), I really did. Every time some new guy shows up at a club meeting, I think, maybe this one will be interested; if so, I should give him a chance. Maybe this will be the new healthy relationship with an available person of like mind who will make me forget about Chi.

That’s the litmus test for a man these days. If he can make me forget about Chi, he’s got real potential. I try to give ‘em a chance, I do.

I didn’t like this guy before I found out he was married. Well, no, I don’t mean that. He’s a perfectly personable human being. Before, I guess, he started IM’ing me incessantly in that annoying way, and then at the end of one meeting he turns to me and finds an excuse to invade my space and stroke his hand up and down my arm. That was about the moment that, “I’m trying to like the guy,” turned to, “Ewwww!!!”

He's a smart enough person, and definitely accomplished. It’s just that everything about his personality reminds me of everything Chi was and this person is not.

When a guy you loved more than anything dumps you, and then you realize the emotional problems the guy had, do a little research, and find that some manifestations of these problems are downright scary in terms of the health and longevity of a relationship, you start to think maybe you dodged a bullet. And it’s easy to accentuate the negative, and separate yourself from the situation.  


I was lucky, you think. This person can never have a healthy relationship with anyone, not without a whole, whole lotta work he didn’t seem willing to contemplate (and frankly, his therapist didn’t seem to have a clue, either. Was one senile or the other less than forthcoming?) How would I ever know when he was being real with me and when he wasn’t? How will I ever know that this decision he says is OK with him now won’t come back and haunt me in ten years: “I’ve never really been happy with that. I just acquiesced to please you, because I was too afraid you wouldn’t love me if I didn’t. And then I couldn’t be myself, so I talked about you instead of to you and now I’m cheating on you.” 


I love you, you love me, stuck in codependency!

Then a guy like this Ewwww Dude comes along and makes you remember, by comparison, all the things you fell in love with. I was having a hard time, for a while, remembering Chi’s voice. I remembered his face, all right. He has such a handsome face and the most beautiful blue eyes. But suddenly his voice came back to me. He really does have a lovely voice. And I remembered what it was like having him around. He has such a nimble mind. Such a sneaky and original sense of humor. He’d come up with some one-liner nobody else would ever have thought of, and it was always just so funny and so right. He was so smart, so curious and so interested in everything. He knew so much about books and movies I’ve never heard of, music I’d never heard of. Every year or so he’d come to a club meeting talking about some new hobby or activity he was into that I’d never known existed. He was multitalented and very good at all he did. He could debate anything and everything with a keen intelligence and no trace of ego or superiority. Long before we got together, while I was still married to Simon, even, I’d notice when Chi wasn’t there, and I’d miss him. And I adored Simon. He was the love of my life.

And this oaf made me remember all this. Not that I’d forgotten it, but in my fear of How Chi Could Destroy My Life (Not To Mention: His Own), it had gotten a little fuzzy.

It isn’t fuzzy anymore.

My therapist says I am experiencing a wave of grief. Yep.

Like I haven’t had enough of that already. I’m a young widow, for fuck’s sake.

I know that I truly love Chi. Yes, mixed up in that at the beginning was some pathological stuff. I was afraid for my future, afraid of facing life alone, attracted to his competence in the world and the things he can do so well that I was afraid of doing. I was addicted to the wonder-woman high of trying to save my mentally ill mother since early childhood. I was chuffed that such a smart, such a funny, such a sweet, nice, tall, handsome, well-off, good-looking, sexy, adorable guy with such a beautiful voice would actually want me.

But get over all that (and I did. It’s clear to me now that I am doing just fine, and I can survive on my own quite well, thank you. And I know now that I am something special, and he would be lucky to have me.) Get over all that—and there’s an awful lot left over.

To me, love is not only when you can put the welfare of someone else above your own needs—you don’t love someone if you will cause them pain to get your needs met—but also when you just love who they are. When that quality of mind that that person has, the tenor of their voice, the way they furrow their brow when they concentrate…the way you know something that just happened is going to draw some original and funny dry barb out of them and you wait to see what it is, and then it just hits the air like a little firecracker, and you just sit there and say, Wow…

That’s love. When every way of the person’s being who he is is just precious to you, and you know you will be forever poorer for his loss. And you cry just typing the words.

Who knows if horoscopes are correct? Maybe Chi and Rory found each other again, maybe they got excellent help, maybe they’ve both worked their asses off in therapy and their marriage is very, very happy now. Maybe Chi is looking back on me now with shame, embarrassment, and regret. Maybe I will always be the villain in their story, not only to Rory, but also to him. But the love I gave him and still do was a true gift, whether he is ashamed of it or not. And as I sat there in tears in therapy today, I knew that. I’ll always be glad I gave it, and I’ll always be glad I knew him, whether I’m just shameful and embarrassing to him now, or not.

None of this pity party should suggest in any way that Chi should have picked me. Chi should not pick me because I’m sad. Not because I’m crying, not because I miss him, not because I appreciate the way he has of being in the world, not because I’m unhappy without him. Those things are MY problem, not his. The only reason Chi should consider picking me is if I’m the right one for him. If, in his judgement, I’m the right one for him. That’s the only reason anyone should choose anyone. We all have that right to make that choice for ourselves. We don’t make it because of other people, we don’t make it for other people, and it’s never good to allow other people to make that choice for us. The only reason to make it is when it’s the best choice, for US. If Chi picked me, he’d have to live with me. Nobody else would have to do that.

I have been blessed twice in my life by men with these fabulous minds and personalities: Simon and Chi. Both precious, wonderful souls, both fascinating, extraordinary men. Most women don’t even get blessed to be with a guy like this once. So I know how lucky I’ve been. Knowing what many women, friends of mine, have been “blessed” with in this  department, I know I have no right to complain.

The truth is that, for each of us, one day will be the last day we have sex, the last time we hold the one close to us, the last day we ever have the love of a special other in our lives again. For me, that day may have already come and gone. (Unfortunately, I’m very hard to please.)

But when the guy is married, and he goes back to his wife—and 99,999 times out of 100,000, they do, no matter what he says or what the situation is, how long you knew him, how much you know he really doesn’t want to hurt you, or how good a person he is—this is the special flavor of the grief you will be left with.

And that is why you stay the fuck away from married men.