Another One Bites the Dust

Red Bank, NJ, 1974

That'll sound pretty irreverent when you understand I'm talking about ex-husbands.  The day of my last post something told me to check my first husband's name, followed by the word Obituary, and sure enough, it popped up.  I was shocked to read that he'd passed away suddenly back in July of 2020 at age 69. Services delayed as a result of Covid, no other information, but remember, people were dying faster than they could be buried.  As far as I'm concerned, everyone's death since 2020 is in some way a result of Covid.

I was very happy to read W.E.K. was survived by his wife of 35 years, and the Obit photo showed a smiling, portly, happy-looking fellow; the same face I remembered, but with a more serene countenance. They married 3 or 4 years after we divorced and his second wife had two children, which I'm sure pleased him because he loved kids and grew up in a large family.  I never wanted children.

He popped into my life a couple of times since our divorce, and I knew he'd been reading over my shoulder for a number of years, including posts about my second, third and fourth-exes.  I figured he'd be curious what I'd write about him after he was gone so I always intended to end the suspense and finish a fun story I'd begun several years ago, focusing on our good times.

It's too late for him to read but not too late for me to write, but not today.  I'd filed for the divorce, therefore was surprised when I burst into tears.  "I have no idea why," I told Rita, who along with her husband were our closest friends back in the 1970's.  While I filled her in on my housing dilemma, I mentioned I was unwilling to give up my dog to secure a place to live.

"I've had BC longer than any of my husbands."

Rita burst out laughing, then apologized, then laughed some more, adding, "well, it's true."  Of course it's funny, in a sad sort of way.

Perhaps I was feeling sorry for myself, or jealous; since Ex-man #1's subsequent, lengthy marriage proves the problem's been ME along along.  Four chances and nothing stuck?

Well, why shouldn't I cry...I loved him once.  For seven years he was a major influence on my very young, very naïve life, for better and worse.  I suppose it's natural that as people we've known gradually disappear, we feel our mortality a little bit more. 

I'd never have guessed he'd have been the first of the four of us to go, I said to Rita.  I've often written, God's keeping me alive until I'm at least 100, just to piss me off; so there's nothing I can do except watch and wait.  And given the opportunity, hope God decides to take me instead of some young person destined to 'go' in a natural disaster.