When my eldest daughter was three (she’s almost 15 now), she decided to throw our family cat a first birthday party. She lovingly crafted noisemakers and party hats made from construction paper for everyone in our immediate family, including the cat. My girls and I baked a homemade cake (for us) and decorated it. And after dinner on the night of his party, we all sat around the table singing Happy Birthday to our furry family member. The party was so precious it became a beloved family tradition, and we have celebrated the cat’s birthday this way ever since.
As the years passed, either my husband or myself would snap a quick picture of the kids at the party. The photo would be the same each time, with little variation; one of our three children holding the cat on their lap, while the other two kids huddled closely around one another, grinning wide, toothy smiles over a birthday cake with a burning numerical candle and one for good luck.
“Make a wish,” I never failed to instruct the cat (wink, wink) just before taking his picture. My kids laughed every single time because I sounded so ridiculous. But silently I always made his wish for him.
In January of 2012, my husband and I separated. We briefly reconciled over Passover three months later, but after realizing being married was something neither of us wanted, we officially separated on April 8, also the cat’s birthday.
Our divorce was imminent, and my husband returned to Asia that afternoon. As our family tradition dictated, the children and I celebrated the cat’s birthday after dinner, this time without my husband to join in the festivities. The party was bittersweet, comfortingly familiar and yet not. But we pressed on anyway, even though none of us felt very much like celebrating.
That was three years ago.
Before my children left last week to spend spring break with their dad, they reminded me the day they were scheduled to return would be the cat’s birthday, his thirteenth, and requested I buy a cake to celebrate the occasion. However, in my confusion, I forgot. When the children learned of this, my eldest daughter asked her dad to buy a cake before going to the airport. He agreed, and the two of them promptly left.
That’s when my 10 year-old son told me: “Daddy got married last week.”
I looked up from my computer screen, dumbfounded.
“Are you sure?” I calmly asked, already knowing a large wedding celebration was penned on the calendar for late August, and knowing even better my son was awaiting my response to gauge his own.
“Yes,” my 13 year-old daughter confirmed. “He told us a few days ago. We asked if you already knew, but Dad said it was none of your business. He wanted us to tell you after he went home.”
But before I could fully comprehend the news, in walked my ex-husband and daughter, birthday cake in hand.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” I goaded him.
“For what?” he said, pretending he hadn’t a clue.
“Didn’t you get married last week?” I continued.
My ex-husband looked down at the floor. “Yes,” he answered, emotionless. “I did.”
I hesitated before speaking, my atypical silence eventually forcing my ex-husband to look at me as he braced for my response in very much the same way a misbehaved child awaits his punishment.
But that evening there would be no tongue lashing. Not from me.
“You’re a lucky guy,” was my one and only remark.
With that, I casually picked up the cake from the kitchen counter and brought it to the table where we all sang Happy Birthday in unison.
Before blowing out the candles, our children posed for their annual picture as they always did, a moment I thought my ex-husband and I would never again share.
For the longest time I anticipated how I would feel on my ex-husband’s wedding day, the day he would marry someone else, that someone being the woman who facilitated and expedited the dissolution of our marriage. Would I be sad? Would I be happy? Would I feel anything at all?
I no longer have to wonder. That day came and went without my even knowing, truly a blessing in disguise.
My ex-husband and I spent 24 years together, 16 of them married. We’ve known each other since we were teens and share three children together. Yet he thought nothing about keeping his nuptials from me, instructing our children to do the same.
Admittedly, I was at first offended. Hurt. Angry. But not because he married someone else. No, that wasn’t it at all. It was because I believed I was deserving of something more from him, that something being respect.
Indignant as I initially was, the truth is he’s no longer my husband. And what he owes me, apart from that which is specified in our divorce agreement, is absolutely nothing. A friend took the liberty of explaining this to me. Yes, he could have done things differently. Been more considerate of my feelings. But he didn’t. And he wasn’t. Truth be told, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
With or without his respect, what I do believe is life has a way of turning out for the best, even when it may not always seem possible, the end of our marriage being one of those instances. Though the children were disappointed, they are each doing fine.
“Make a wish,” I teased the cat, just like I had done during all those previous birthday parties before this one.
As our children blew out the candles on the cat’s behalf with an ease and lightheartedness I was once unsure I would ever see again, I wished my home, the one we worked so hard to rebuild over these past three years, will continue to be the happy home it has finally come to be.
So yes, my ex-husband is a lucky guy. Very lucky indeed. We all are.
Do you believe life has a funny way of working itself out for the best?
Your ex has the emotional maturity of an 8 year old. You have shared over half your life with him and he does this? And telling the kids that “it’s none of her business” is so disrespectful. He’s the epitome of a schmuck. You’re doing a good job of not engaging. I’m afraid this would have chapped my ass enough that I would’ve responded, “I wish you both all the happiness you deserve.”
The way your ex handled his marriage announcement is a bit dissapointing and he broke one of my big no-no’s, never let kids carry a message between parents, but he did you a favor by letting you know after it was done.
My ex was very supportive of me after our divorce when it came to moving on and eventually re-marrying. We had a mutual agreement (at my insistance) that we would meet each other’s SO’s WELL BEFORE introducing them to the kids and WELL BEFORE integrating that person into the kid’s lives. He helped me out a dating jam couple of times (kept the kids on “my night” so I could go out and rescued me from a disasterous date or two), wrangled kids at my wedding, walked me down the isle because my dad couldn’t, and has included my new husband in his little dad’s club. To put it mildly, I owe him when it comes to being supportive of his efforts to move on. I know it’s the right thing to do. One of these women is going to be my kid’s step mom and they will spend half of their time in her house.
The frustrating thing is that even though I was the one who needed the divorce, I struggle with being that person. I’ve met many of these women, including the four that managed to graduate from meet the ex-wife status to meet the kids qualified. He’s been with the same woman for a while now. The kids like (maybe love?) her, she’s respectful of my mom status, and she’s nice and pretty and successful and ugh… If he’s ever going to remarry, she’s probably it. And so now what? Am I a jerk if I don’t throw them a wedding shower (J/K nobody expects that)? Honestly, if he’s going to remarry, and I really probably do hope he does, I hope he just goes on a vacation with the kids and comes back hitched. I can’t imagine him doing it without them (your ex was an idiot in that regard), but I don’t want the have to live through a count down. Just rip that bandaid off and let me know when it’s over. Welcome back from vacation, send the kids in to unpack their stuff, suggest we go for a short walk and tell me, and I’ll do my best to be the person that we agreed that I would be.