In memoriam to my ex-husband

Remember last week when I wrote that death had been stalking the outer circles of my acquaintances?

Well, this week it arrived at my door. On Monday I found out that my son’s father, my ex-husband, had died suddenly at age 50, in his sleep.

The most surprising thing about experiencing the death of an ex-spouse is just how devastating it is. Not that I thought a person would shrug it off, nonchalant, like “eh, I ditched that guy years ago.” But it turns out, when you vow to love and cherish someone until death do you part, those words remain true even if the physical parting happened years before.

The night before I married Chris in 2008 I had the best night’s sleep of my life. There was not a single part of me that harboured doubt. Not a sliver of my mind thought the person I was marrying would be anything other than my rock and my lifelong partner. Even years after our breakup I could not be in his company for more than a few minutes without crying. The last time I saw him was in 2019. He and I went for dinner with our son, in Brooklyn, the night before Danny and I were leaving to return to Ireland. I sat across the table from him, this man who had once been my best friend but who now radiated hostility and bitterness toward me, and felt utterly bereft, choking back tears and excusing myself to go weep in the bathroom. What a calamity for our tiny family. What a failure. What a terrible waste of good intentions.

Going through old emails these last few days reminded me of just how close we once were. I have thousands upon thousands of messages between us, sent as we sat at our respective desks in offices in Manhattan and Brooklyn, sharing the minutia: how’s your day going, baby? How was your meeting? I hope your boss isn’t being too annoying. What should we do for dinner? A series of small tender gestures, each one a tendril of connection that I thought made up a strong, unbreakable bond.

And the later ones, full of misery, as I tried to reach him through a miasma of depression and dysfunction and chaos and drama — and then his emails to me, begging me not to leave.

If I have learned anything from this sad experience it is this: chose to forgive. Chose to keep loving. Chose to not just to live, but to thrive.

Chris, I promise you your son will grow up to be strong and happy and he will remember the best of you — because that is the face you showed him and because those will be stories he will hear from me. Your sense of humour. Your talent. Your generosity. Your romantic side. None of it will be forgotten. Yesterday on the train into the city I told Danny about the day, two days after we met at the end of April 2005, when you called me up and said there was a problem with our arranged first date for later that week — and that problem was you could not wait that long! So we met that night and had dinner at Bernard’s, on Smith Street. That was the beginning of Danny’s story. And it’s a good one.

I guess the hackneyed phrase is true. Love never dies. Rest in peace, Chris.

Chris Horoschak with our son Danny in England in 2011

Below are two poems that best express the poignant sadness of this experience. The first poem was sent to me nearly 20 years ago by a dear friend of my father’s, after my father’s death. The two men had not seen in each other in years, separated on opposite sides of the earth. The second, was my choice for Chris and my wedding ceremony.

Po Chu-yi (trans Arthur Waley)

At night I dreamt I was back in Chang-an;
I saw again the faces of old friends.
And in my dreams, under an April sky,
They led me by the hand to wander in the spring winds.
Together we came to the ward of Peace and Quiet;
We stopped our horses at the gate of Yuan Chen.
Yuan Chen was sitting all alone;
When he saw me coming, a smile came to his face.
He pointed back at the flowers in the western court;
Then opened wine in the northern summer-house.
He seemed to be saying that neither of us had changed;
He seemed to be regretting that joy will not stay;
That our souls had met only for a little while,
To part again with hardly time for greeting.
I woke up and thought him still by my side;
I put out my hand; there was nothing there at all.

A Love Poem, by Garrison Keillor

Here on this summer night in the grass and the lilac smell

drunk on the crickets and the starry sky

oh what fine stories we could tell

with this moonlight to tell them by.

A summer night, and you, and paradise,

So lovely and so full of grace,

Above your head, the universe has hung its lights,

And I reach out my hand to touch your face.

I believe in impulse, in all that is green,

Believe in the foolish vision that comes true,

Believe that all that is essential is unseen,

And for this lifetime I believe in you.

All of the lovers and the love they made:

Nothing that was between them was a mistake.

All that is done for love's sake,

Is not wasted and will never fade.

O love that shines from every star,

Love reflected in the silver moon;

It is not here, but it's not far.

Not yet, but it will be here soon.