My ex-husband, Skip, the father of our twin daughters died on October 5, 2022. He suffered a stroke on September 3, 2022. He was 87 years old. It was completely unexpected. He’d just retired 2 and a half months earlier from a 65 year real estate career. Our daughters and his three older children were at his bedside every day until he passed.  It was very hard to say goodbye.

No one plans to get divorced when they get married. I’m certain Skip and I both believed this was it – another chance at married happiness. We planned a life that included children, a farm, horses, and dogs. We both loved the outdoors and gardening. We were both in the commercial real estate business. He was 18 years older, and I believed wiser and smarter about life. I was full of youthful energy and the joy of possibility. We were happy, good friends and spouses until we weren’t. It was a hard, contentious three year break-up.

That was 24 years ago. Through our post marriage, we raised our twin daughters together, usually sitting side by side at every school activity and sporting event. It was hard and easy. Hard because we were no longer anything like friends and easy because we both adored our children. During those elementary through high school years, we sometimes saw each other 5 days a week. After they went off to college, not so much.

When one daughter became critically and chronically ill at 20, we were both there together or tag teaming one another at the many hospital stays, surgeries, and recouperations. Strangely, we rarely disagreed about children’s issues. It’s sad we couldn’t use those skills when we were still married and ran into disagreements.

So now, 25 days after Skip’s death, I am mourning. Mourning the full-stop end. The full-stop end of our knowing each other, of forgiving each other, of coming to a more caring communion. A “double loss”, that’s what the experts call losing your ex to death. Double because you lost each other when your marriage ended and now once again when one of you dies.

Any conscious or unconscious hope/wish for a different, happier outcome is now officially over. Any hope for a deeper more considered and welcoming relationship is gone forever. Strangely, all the happiness, good family times and laughter you shared are suddenly remembered as if it were yesterday. The scenes fresh and real and oh so sad. You muse: Why couldn’t we have done better?

And yet, my life moved on many years ago. Moved on to a wonderful, loving 20 year relationship and marriage. Moved onto a 23 year career in higher education. Moved on to the Adirondack mountains, hiking, paddling, fishing, writing, teaching, and cooking. So why was I mourning a person I rarely thought about unless he was mentioned by one of our daughters?

At first, I thought my heart sick feeling was only for the terrible loss my 31 year old daughters were suffering. They are bereft and will mourn for a long time as all children of good parents do.  But it wasn’t only for them I was heart sick. I realized I am heart sick for myself, too.

I mourn the happiness I knew with Skip. I mourn the end of our parent to parent relationship. I feel sad he isn’t here as my back-up, another parent to console and counsel our daughters. Another parent who is as excited as I am when Anna Lou or Campbell has a happy adventure or success.

My heart aches for my children. Losing a parent is hard. A deep sense of security is suddenly and irrevocably taken away. One of their two rocks is suddenly gone…forever. Our children will never be able to pick up the phone and call or stop by for a weekly visit. Go on a walk. Watch a game together. The finality.

And yet, our coming together at Skip’s funeral and family reception created a space for loving, caring and mourning together as a family. Anna Lou, Campbell and Susie, Campbell’s partner were supported and loved by their three older siblings and their spouses. My husband, Kevin, and I were welcomed to all the family gatherings. Love and care were everywhere.

I am so grateful for everyone in the Hearn family. Along with the sadness and finality of death, life and love go on and on and on.