An Unlikely Event

It's taken me some time to write about this at any length.

A short while back, I attend a memorial ceremony. It was for my ex-husband.

I married him when I was 18 years old. We were married twelve years. The last five were very difficult; I would say we were married by law only. 

But I was raised to believe once married, always married.

He never hit me, though he came close. I was never afraid of him until one night toward the very end.

I learned you can't be married to someone who doesn't want to be married to you.

I know the exact moment God released me from that marriage. It was a revelation. I would have had serious doubts if anyone told me that God had released them from a marriage until it happened to me.

I'm not saying that I believed women who were being abused should stay in a relationship; I never believed that.

But I didn't consider myself in an abusive relationship. Others, after the divorce, told me differently. Many people felt he was abusive.

But you know how it is, you stay out of other's business.

All that was a long time ago. Husband and I have been married nearly 33 years. 

I was surprised at the grief I felt when  I learned that my ex-husband had been killed. Partly, I think, was that he was killed instead of dying from an illness or old age.

The sad parts were many. He died living in a homeless shelter.

He had alienated his family with his hate and his feelings of "you owe me" so badly that his cousin's wife called me and asked me could I tell her something good about him, because no one else could come up with anything.

He could shoot pool really well. Played the drums really well. He could dance. He was a sharp dresser. He was smart. If you were with him, you never had to worry about getting lost. He was like a homing pigeon, always knowing which way to go. 

All superficial things, but it's all I had.

She wondered if I had a photograph they could use at the memorial service. No one in the family had a single photo.

I cropped one of our wedding pictures, getting his head and shoulders. It turned out very nice.

A man, who had been my pastor for a few years, had been taught by me in Sunday School when he was eleven and twelve years old, said he would say a few words at the service if they needed someone, because he had some fond memories. The family appreciated the offer and took him up on it.

So the state of S. C. handed my ex-husband's ashes over to a cousin. They finally found his half-sister who gave them permission. They did the memorial service before their family reunion. That way, the cousin said, at least some family would be at his service. His sister didn't come.

It's all really sad, isn't it?

So I grieved. I felt sad. I also felt relief. I didn't have to worry about him approaching Daughter some day. Or knocking on my door. Or barging in on my Mother.

Because he would have thought nothing of doing those things. He just didn't have a way back home.

And now?

Is he Home?

I just don't know.

And that's the saddest thing of all.