Caring for a Former Spouse: A Journey Through Love and Loss

Lee passed away in February. We gathered to honor his life the Saturday before Father’s Day. Rather than mourning, my focus was on receiving flowers and preparing brisket for the gathering after the memorial. I embraced siblings, grandchildren, and neighbors while coordinating with old colleagues and setting up Zoom links for distant friends. I had been grieving Lee’s loss for a long time, throughout the years from middle age to now. Completing this grieving process may never happen, yet I have grown accustomed to it.

I work as a historian, and events and dates shape my life. Lee and I met in 1977 and married in 1978. At the time, I was 26 and he was 36. Our four sons were born between 1980 and 1983, with the youngest being twins. Together, we navigated through numerous challenges and remained married until 2010, when we divorced. Detaching 32 years of shared memories and belongings was painful and filled with anger. Lee moved on to other relationships, which deepened our estrangement.

Our interaction was limited until the weddings of our twins in 2016 brought us back together. Communication improved, transforming from awkward to familiar. Old memories supported a tentative friendship, even leading us to dance together. It felt mature, civilized, and unexpectedly easy. The burdens of hate and responsibility ceased to exist.

In 2019, just before his 78th birthday, Lee received a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease and Lewy body dementia. The signs had been present for years, and while not shocking, hearing it was still daunting. Lee’s girlfriend informed our sons and me, stating she couldn’t care for him alone. This act refocused our attention on him and initiated necessary interventions. Surprisingly, I remained an integral part of Lee’s family.

Lee was challenging to assist. He possessed an Ivy League Ph.D. and a matching ego. He had a fiery temper and drank excessively. Conversations often ended with him asserting his correctness. His conditions intensified his fears, seeing adversaries where none existed. Despite everything, he still listened to me. I convinced him multiple times not to move to Arizona and considered relocating to Minneapolis to be near our grandchildren and assist with Lee’s care.

Before moving, I already started to help. I spent weeks sorting through Lee’s home to prepare it for sale. His library, spanning four rooms, was eliminated. Trips to charity shops disposed of household items he no longer needed. I even tackled his extensive paper files, shredding and recycling a lifetime of collected documents and research.

After closing his house’s door, I returned to Wyoming as our sons reported on his adjustment to a single-bedroom apartment in Minneapolis. I acquired a puppy and embraced cross-country skiing. Then Covid hit, prompting me to drive to Minneapolis in March 2020 to assist with my granddaughters, aged 2 and 4, allowing their parents to work from home.

My son and daughter-in-law, Lee’s closest relations, frequently supported him. The pandemic shifted dynamics as everyone required more help and Lee’s condition worsened. I initially managed tasks like finding new healthcare providers for him. As he deteriorated, I located a memory care facility, transitioning from hands-off to hands-on involvement.

As restrictions lifted, I accompanied him to medical appointments and became his healthcare advocate. I drove him to family gatherings, shared lunches, and organized his clothing. I also offered comfort regarding his phone, wallet, and watch. Parkinson’s and Lewy body dementia inflicted relentless damage, eroding the essence of who Lee had been.

Early into his diagnosis, Lee lost the ability to read, write, or follow sports or movies. His body bent and stiffened, causing pain even in sitting. His shuffling walk rendered movement painful. Emotionally, he faced boredom, anxiety, and depression.

Despite this, Lee retained an incredible long-term memory, often engaging in conversations about shared acquaintances and adventures. Through these talks, Lee held onto his identity, and the fractures created by our separation began to mend.

We initially kept our separation from affecting our family, but our sons still felt pain from the divorce. They viewed our marriage as sturdy and remarkable, not realizing underlying issues. The divorce felt like betrayal. Lee’s search for a new partner further complicated matters, yet our sons remained loyal to both parents. My involvement in Lee’s care brought unexpected family unity.

The out-of-town sons visited, and we shared holidays together. Family dinners and barbecues filled with reminiscing about special times and discussing Lee’s care became common. By the time Lee passed, we faced it together.

In late November 2022, a memory care nurse informed me Lee hadn’t moved all day. He hadn’t engaged in meals or conversation. I was needed, marking the beginning of his final stage. Hospice care ensued, alongside emotional goodbyes and a strange holiday season.

I found myself feeding Lee small bites of coffee cake while sitting beside his bed. The hospice staff, knowledgeable and kind, guided on preventing pressure sores and managed his morphine for discomfort. Like countless others before me, I waited for that final moment, which arrived on a sunny February day with our eldest son by Lee’s side.

Upon reflection, there are many forms of love. During those last years, Lee asked, “What is our relationship now?” “We are dear old friends,” I replied, accurately reflecting our journey. He often introduced me to caregivers as his wife, capturing an essential truth despite the lack of legalistic accuracy. Our shared history and family endured through our narrative.

Planning Lee’s celebration of life, I realized countless individuals care for former spouses, motivated by reasons like love remembered and honored. To Lee, rest gently. May peace embrace you.

Born in Chicago’s suburbs, Lucinda Myles McCray, a historian of medicine and public health, served in academia as a researcher and faculty member. As an author of numerous works, she now enjoys reading, writing, and grandmothering in Minneapolis.