I Wished Him Dead So Many Times……
But now 38 years after our divorce, he’s actually dead.
I know the title of this piece sounds maudlin and even vengeful, but it really isn’t. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about since learning the shocking news. The husband from whom I was divorced in the 1980s died over a year ago, and I just found out.
Yes, for years after our divorce I wished him dead. Our breakup was gut-wrenching, unnecessarily so, and I felt he deserved to die for the confusion, anxiety, and pain he caused me. In my mind it was akin to his killing me, leaving me for dead, and never looking back. Anger comes in many forms, and for me it was wishing him dead.
Our Early Years
He had just turned 20 when I met him, two years older than I. For me boys were like the tide. One day they were in and the next they were out. Either I was fickle or they lost interest. Probably both. That’s what my teenage life consisted of — BOYS, BOYS, BOYS! But this BOY was different.
We lived 10 miles from each other in rural New Hampshire. As an ivy league hunk, he differed from other guys I knew. He was considered a prize package — fun, smart, and good looking. From my father’s perspective, one that really counted, he came from a family that a girl’s parents would be proud (and…
