the weirdness of losing a child when you’re divorced
It might seem weird that my ex-husband and I get along so well.
So well, in fact, that many people suspect that he is the reason my second marriage ended.
He was not. I can firmly, emphatically deny that rumor. There were a million reasons and a year and a half of counseling appointments behind why my second marriage imploded. Our ship had been going down for a long time, with me frantically flinging water over the side to try to save it. At my own expense, and frankly — at the expense of my kids.
When Libby died, I threw that bucket over the side of the fucking boat and set out in my own life raft, because if I didn’t, I was going to drown.
Now, with that out of the way — back to my first marriage. David and I were friends since junior high school. We started dating before our senior year and were a couple for 23 years of ups and downs before our divorce was final. We had three children together. And then one of those children died.
Unless you were Libby’s parent yourself, it’s impossible to understand what it was like having her for a daughter. She was so… easy. So happy. She brought joy to our lives that is truly beyond words. She made us feel like the sun and moon revolved around us. She wanted to spend every second she could hanging out with us (when she wasn’t dancing or talking to her friends, of course). She was up for any adventure, and just infused our lives with something akin to liquid happiness. She was, in a word, incredible.
Luckily, David and I always had a cordial and effective co-parenting style. With both of us coming from divorced parented families, we knew what we DIDN’T want to do to our kids. The children went to his place on Wednesday evenings and every other weekend, but the schedule was flexible if it needed to be.
And so, it was a Wednesday evening when our son Max picked Libby up from her dance studio to drive to their dad’s for a visit.
Except this time… this night… Max had problems with his car. He called his dad, and David told him to pull into the parking lot of a market that was coming up. In a hurry to get there, Max went through a stop sign at a notoriously dangerous intersection.
David heard Libby scream right before their car was hit by a 16-wheeler truck. I was the first person he called, and I could barely make out words. All I heard were screams and crying.
This man heard his daughter get hit by a tractor-trailer. He had to be tackled down by policeman and firefighters trying to get to his daughter in my son’s mangled car. He sat with me day after day after she died, caring for our son, looking through pictures, videos, song playlists, urns, and everything else that goes along with planning a memorial for a dead child.
We may be divorced, but David and I are the ONLY people who understand what the other is going through. And we’re going through a hell of a lot. We can call each other now, at eight months after the accident, and all we have to say is “I’m having a bad Libby day,” and the other one knows EXACTLY what that means.
We try to do things together with our teenage boys, because they are all each of us have left. And yes — sometimes it’s a little bizarre for all of us trying to navigate being a family as two single divorced people. But more important than the weirdness right now is the comfort of having been best friends for 23 years and the familiarity of someone that knows you better than you know yourself to look out for you when you feel like you literally can’t go on.
David and I had seven years raising Libby together, and three raising her apart, and they are now the most wonderful AND painful memories that bind us in grief.
I recently interviewed David for my YouTube channel. You can watch that video HERE. You’re used to hearing my side of the story — I thought it would be interesting to hear his. It’s not for the faint of heart. We choke up. We cry. But it’s a real conversation between two grieving parents, and I’m so grateful that he agreed to let me show the world what grieving is like from a man’s perspective. And I’m grateful that we have each others’ backs through this shitty journey.
