Why I Really Do Miss My Ex-Wife After Divorce
Geplaatst op 04-04-2025
Categorie: Lifestyle
I miss her sometimes. Wife #2.
Sometimes I miss her a lot.
I don’t know why. At the end, I gave her far more than I had to if she would sign something saying she’d leave me alone and never again attempt to make contact with me. That’s how bad it had gotten.
For the longest time, the mere act of thinking about her made my stomach turn itself inside out. The way she treated me. The way she hurt me. The way she actually believed that I was the horrible one. The way she believed it was all my fault. My undoing. My acts. My deeds. My real and ugly self finally shining through.
It made me come real close to hating her, though I don’t think I ever truly did.
And don’t get me wrong. I have no tainted memories that lack personal culpability. I don’t delude myself that I didn’t have a very real part of the demise of what once was so beautiful between us. On the contrary. I know that half of it was me. Not more. Not less. We were both so dysfunctional in that relationship that neither of us can fairly take or place more than half the blame on the other.
But she did. And even worse, she really believed it.
And that hurt more than anything because I know that she’s a really beautiful person. Most of the time. I believe that I’m a beautiful person. Most of the time. We just didn’t work and never would. Why couldn’t she just believe that? Why couldn’t she give that to me?
And why, these two and a half years later, do I still miss her sometimes?
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Why do I secretly and occasionally think about meeting up with her again? As time dims the pain of the past, why do I find myself thinking such positive thoughts about her? Why do I find myself pushing away every happy memory before those memories make me do something stupid… like call her.
Why do I miss her? Wife #2.
I don’t know.
Maybe I miss my stepdaughter. Hell, I know I miss my stepdaughter. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of her, and all the work I put into forming that bond. I still love that child more than I’ve ever let on.
But that’s not it. I know because when I find myself missing my ex, I think only of her. Missing her daughter is something different. Something I permit myself to feel as often as I need to so I know that’s not it.
Maybe it’s having a nuclear family that I miss. She was the last one I had a nuclear family with.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s just having someone on that pillow that now sits empty next to mine every night.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s her genuine kindness she seemed to have for everyone else.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s that she did fight with me. Maybe having someone to fight with was nice once in a while.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s nothing more than a feeling of unresolved failure that makes me miss her. Maybe such failure will always taunt me, secretly whispering that I could have done it. I could have succeeded. I could have made it work.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s my need to be liked.
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s my need to prove to her that I’m not all those horrible things. I’m not a jerk. I’m not a quitter. I’m not a bad person. I’m not a bad dad. Maybe it just doesn’t sit right with me that someone who knew me so well thinks such harsh things about me.
I don’t know.
Maybe it all ended so quickly that I never got needed closure.
I don’t know.
Maybe I just want to see if she has a single kind thought to lend me.
I don’t know.
I only know that sometimes I miss her. A lot.
On my way to the gym a few weeks ago, I passed her. She was out jogging and never saw me. I hadn’t seen her in years. My heart screamed ten different things at me all at once. Some of them angry. Some happy. Some sad. Some confused. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. And suddenly I missed her more than ever.
I pulled into my parking spot, pulled out my phone, and pulled up her number. What could it hurt? Why not see if she’d let me buy her dinner? Why not get to the bottom of why I miss her.
I never dialed her number. Instead I set my phone in my lap and stared at the picture of the devil that I had assigned to her number when she first split. Lucifer. Satan. A bright red face with horns and a pitchfork.
I thought it was funny then. Now it was pathetic, childish, and just plain mean.
Maybe, just maybe, I was more of a jerk than I thought. Maybe she was more right than I ever thought. Maybe that’s why I miss her sometimes.
I don’t know.