The Four Stages of Loss

I'll get straight to the point - My last boyfriend cheated on me. This surprised no-one, least of all me. He had cheated on every woman he has even been in a relationship with including his wife, who he then abandoned with their 6-month-old baby to care for. Which is never a good sign. 

You may be bewildered to hear, having read that previous paragraph, that I have been advised by numerous people that the reason I am still single is because I am "too picky".

In my case, he cheated on me with a 50-year old from Hemel Hempstead which - aside from the whole infidelity issue - renders him un-dateable on account of him being willing to spend that much time in the suburbs. 

Joan Rivers once said "Whenever my husband is late home, and I know he is either lying dead in the gutter or is with another woman, I always hope he's dead". She is really on to something. Because the night my boyfriend was sitting sipping cocktails with this woman (to be fair, she was probably drinking a mug of Ovaltine) I really do wish he'd been standing in the middle of the M1 getting hit by a freakishly fast Juggernaut.

At times like these, it's important to be thankful for small mercies. I'm thankful that we weren't living together so the break-up didn't involve a division of our belongings. I got to keep everything that is mine (a savings account, a home full of designer furniture and a Porsche Boxster) and he got to keep everything that he owned (2 tents, 3 snowboards and a toaster. And not even a Dualit toaster. Just a regular Morphy Richards one).  

But even so, I prepared myself for the four stages of grief:-

Denial 

This is a phase that changes in nature depending on the era. In previous years, it was categorised by such activities as:-

• driving by your ex-boyfriend's house in the middle of the night, for no particular reason. 
• asking friends he hasn't met - and therefore won't recognise - to follow him to his new girlfriend's house to learn her address. Again, for no particular reason. 
• going through his rubbish bins to gather receipts and credit card statements, thus  enabling you to piece together his movements since you broke up, including where he has taken her for dinner, what movie theatres they are frequenting and how many Mars Bars he bought at the petrol station. 

Nowadays, all of this psychotic stalking (and more…. so very, very much more) can be done from the comfort of your own sofa, simply by logging onto Facebook. It's a fair bet that the new girlfriend will be receiving congratulations from her "friends" on changing her status  from 'Single' to 'In a Relationship' and that she will be plastering her 'wall' with pictures of her new beau (who is technically speaking, your old one, although, in my case,  the term "beau" is a bit of a stretch). 

After one particularly productive evening on Facebook, I learned that the woman he cheated on me with was called "Pam", was an awful photographer and had big gums. I also learned that she owned a horse named Penny who was originally suspected to have a knee problem that would prevent her from competing but was given the all-clear by the vets, causing  Pam to comment on her wall "Yippeeeee……!!!!!!". 


It's my personal belief that any 50-year-old who still uses the word "Yippee" in a sentence should be approached with caution, but her friends were once again full of congrats. (Wow, this woman really was having a great month, wasn't she?). 

Anyway, my ex commented on the picture of Penny "She's sooooo beautiful…. I can't wait to see her…. xxxxxxxx", which, once the dry-heaving wore off, gave me an overwhelming sense  of elation. Because he can't stand horses. 

He was lying to Pam already. 

Anger

Of all the four phases, this one was the most enjoyable. 

Disbelief that he cheated on me with someone not only in her 50's, but in Hertfordshire of all places, quickly turned into fury when I realised that he had taken the Apple TV with him! With my Columbo Series 1, 2 and 3 on it!!  If he wanted to go, fine, (I never really saw him all that much anyway), but who in their right mind gets caught out for cheating and stops to pick up some electronic gadgets as they sprint out of the door?

Then again... who in their right mind buys a Morphy Richards toaster? The signs were there all along, weren't they? 

It is during this period, you will learn who your true soulmates are. My good friends came over, told me that I could do better, said that they never liked him and pointed out that neither, in actual fact, did I. When they finally understood the true nature of my distress, after I explained "But you don't understand! It was Series 1, 2, AND 3!!", they kindly clubbed together and bought me the DVD boxset. 

My soulmate, however (and she knows who she is) was the one who spent the evening helping me to hack into my ex's Match.com account.  Knowing that his type is skinny blondes, we sent flirtatious messages from his account to every obese brunette we could find and replaced the descriptor "Honest" in his Dating Profile with "Would say black was white if it would get me laid".

I'm not making this up, by the way.  If you ever need another reason not to internet date, remind yourself that this guy actually described himself as "honest" and "responsible" in his profile. 

Take Note: If you are a man reading this, it is during this phase that you will take up long-distance cycling and triathlons. In one sense, this is as healthy for you emotionally as it is physically. After all, you will be spending time with the only other demographic that is as sexually-frustrated as you are, namely groups of 40-year-old married men, mostly corporate executives, who have been married for twelve years and haven't had sex for the past six. (For some reason, they think that getting fit and lean enough to cycle 90 miles will make their wives attracted to them again. It won't).  However, you would do well to consider that if winning the Tour de France seven times didn't make Lance Armstrong a well-adjusted emotionally-healthy middle-aged man, how much do you realistically think a Saturday morning ride around The Chilterns is going to do for you?

The highlight of the Anger phase for me was the day I cleared out my laundry room and discovered that my ex had accidentally left behind two jackets. One was a beautiful crushed-suede Armani blazer which I gave to the homeless man at the end of my street who sells The Big Issue. I'm all heart.  


The second was a casual jacket that I gave to charity, but not before checking the pockets. In it, was a leftover £10 note. I took the £10 and bought an extra-large rawhide chew for my dog and an Iced Custard Slice from the French patisserie for me.

It was the most delicious Custard slice I have ever tasted.

Depression

This phase can vary in length depending on how good your parents were, how good your therapist was, and how many REM albums you own. 

I accepted that I was in for 6 to 12 months of various states of distress, ranging from 'a bit cheesed off' to 'clinically depressed'. So, I decided to embrace it. I bought myself a new duvet and comforter, loaded a selection of murder-mysteries onto iTunes and stocked up the fridge with milk chocolate truffles. I cancelled all social plans, put on some baggy clothes and hunkered down to spend the next few months staying home, feeling down and watching back to back Sandra Bullock movies.

That was on the Sunday. By Wednesday, I was bored to death. Happy as a clam, you understand, but bored to death. 

I really did give it my best shot to be miserable but none of the symptoms of depression appeared.  I just couldn't seem to see a downside to him having gone from my life.   Never again, for example, would I have to explain why hanging a surfboard on the living room wall is not appropriate decor for anyone over the age of 19.  I realised I would no longer have to fly economy (he had always refused to spend the extra money to fly in Upper Class because he argued, "after the flight was over you have nothing material to show for it" although he never seemed to mind spending £500 a month on drinking beer). Then when it dawned on me that I had sat through my last ever episode of 'Deadliest Catch' I finally wept. With delight. 

(What is it with men and 'Deadliest Catch'? It's a series about a bunch of fishermen. They go out on a boat. They catch a load of fish. They stink. THE END"). 

Admittedly, I was plagued by a lack of sleep.  But I remedied this when, after 2 nights of insomnia, I decided that enough was quite enough and bought a copy of The Financial Times, which never fails to make me nod off. I don't even have to read it, just having a copy in my handbag makes me feel tired and listless. 

Realising that baggy clothes have never made anyone feel, or look, better,  I threw them out, polished off the chocolate truffles and moved on with my life.  

Acceptance

Some months after all this occurred, I was having dinner with some friends in a restaurant called Asia de Cuba.  By then, things had quietened down. My ex was still with Pam, Penny's knee was healing nicely, and I was happy in my new life watching Columbo and flying first class (sometimes I was even doing both at the same time. You only live once). 

"Oh my God" said one of my dinner companions, Elizabeth. "A woman on the table behind you has just shrieked, jumped on her boyfriend's lap and is all over him". 

My friend Julie and I turned to look. 

It was my ex-boyfriend.  And the blonde sitting on his lap wasn't Pam. 

To summarise, he was cheating on the woman he had cheated on me with. You're probably thinking I was ecstatic, euphoric and overcome with the desire to take a photo of them both to send to Pam via Facebook. Lets see if she posts that one on her wall, right?  No more "Yippee........!!!!!!!!" for Pam.  

But no. All I felt was sad. Sad for him. Sad for Pam. Sad for all of us. (Not sad for Penny because like I said, her knee was doing great). 

He seemed genuinely pleased to see me and came over as he later left the restaurant. Despite his date's attempts to pull him away, he was obviously keen to chat for a while, although I wasn't very talkative because by then my Black Cod had arrived and when you've paid £34 for a fillet of fish, you want to make the most of every bite. 

As he asked how I was and how my puppy was, there was no malice in his eyes, only fondness.  In truth, he looked completely and utterly lost. And it occurred to me that he always had. 

My ex-boyfriend lives a high-octane life. Constantly hopping from one city to the next and never staying in one place long enough to develop any lasting relationships or friendships. Moving from one woman to another - too afraid to be alone, but equally afraid to let anyone get too close. He risks his life in extreme sports, lives on the edge financially and surrounds himself with acquaintances who love the man he pretends to be, rather than standing still with someone who accepts the man he is.     

Some may think he runs at life, but the truth is he runs from it.  

Seeing the loneliness in his eyes, a strange thing happened. I was able to see past Deadliest Catch and Economy travel and instead remembered that during the time we were together, he had supported me through one of the most difficult periods of my life. I thought back to one evening in particular, when he had driven to my house just to walk me to the end of my street to get a slice of pizza because I felt unable to walk 500 yards by myself. (No, not even for pizza. That's how bad it was). 

Dating him had been like dating a hurricane, and holding on for as long as I could had used up all my energy. But while he will live out his life that way, I was now free to partake in the simpler things in life, things that were too "normal" for him to enjoy but were enough to make me happy. Things like baking rhubarb crumble, or swimming in the ocean, or reading books. Or buying a new Porsche 911 Carrera.   

Now free of all my anger, I wish him, wherever he is - probably Ibiza - only that he can be happy. I wish that he can live the life he would have lived if only his parents hadn't messed it up before he even had a chance to get started. I wish that one day he will shed the need to climb a mountain just to feel alive, and will instead experience the joy that I feel from simply sharing a bag of cheese doodles with my dog. 

Alas, I can not say the same for Pam. I'm only human and I am not yet ready to wish her anything other than hemorrhoids, especially when I think of her sitting curled up in his tent watching my Apple TV. 

But then on the other hand, bless her, I sure hope she likes toast.