Grieving the Death of Your Ex When You’re in a Committed Relationship

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My ex-boyfriend died in a freak accident on a solo hunting trip in Alaska a few months ago. He was 33 years old. We’d known each other since we were 13, we dated when we were 20, and after that, we became really good friends. Oh yeah, and we were briefly lovers when we were 26. We weren’t in love, but we did love each other.

It’s always hard when someone you love dies, but it becomes complicated when you’re in a committed relationship with another person. I wasn’t prepared for the devastation and longing I felt when I found out he was dead. The last time I saw him was two years ago when he stayed with my husband and me while he was passing through on his way to move to Alaska full-time. It meant a lot to me that he got to see where I live and spend time with my husband and dog. It made me feel closer to him.

What Were We?

I never know whether to refer to him as my ex because the time that we dated was so short. The summer we were together brought us closer and turned us into lifelong friends. He and I had talked about this and that we never really felt like “exes.” Things just sort of ended, he did a few stupid things, I cried for a few days, and then we moved on.

His Impact

I can’t believe he’s dead. I used to think he was invincible. He survived so much pain and loss and yet still went on all these amazing adventures. His heart was in Alaska, but before Alaska was the dream his heart was always west of eastern Pennsylvania, which is where we grew up. He had a thirst for open skies, mountains, rivers, and adventures. Truth be told, I wanted to be more like him.

I was jealous of all the things he did and how he lived his life. I was always too cautious, too unsure of myself, to be anything like him. But as wild and adventurous as he was, he always made me feel safe. The few adventures we did have, I always felt like he had my back and if something bad happened we were in it together.

How He Saved My Ass On More Than One Occasion

A lot of my stories, as a friend of mine pointed out, are about him saving my ass. She’s referring to all the adventures we went on and all the things we did together. Like the time we went tubing in a fast-moving river and I fell out of my tube and he caught me from a large rock. Or the time we climbed up an abandoned bridge and I nearly lost my balance on the narrow planks you had to cross to get to the ladders; he stabled me. But what she doesn’t know is that he saved my ass in many ways.

He saved me from drowning in pain and sorrow that summer we went out. The fall that followed our brief romance would bring a mental health diagnosis that changed everything for me for a long time. I was in a world of pain that I didn’t understand, and although he didn’t know it, he helped make my life a little bit more bearable with his presence and his adventures.

Years later he saved me from feeling unlovable when I thought I would never be able to find someone who wouldn’t walk away from me because I was damaged. I was recovering from the trauma of a sexual assault and an abusive relationship with an alcoholic narcissist. Whenever I was intimate with someone during the several years following the traumatic events I would either shut down completely or burst into tears. Guys walked out on me in the middle of the night or kicked me out of their apartments. I was convinced I was broken.

Then I moved to Philadelphia from Seattle, and he moved to Buffalo from Alaska for the winter. We were both feeling lonely; I was afraid I could never be loved again and he was mourning the ending of a serious relationship. We decided that he would visit me in Philadelphia for a weekend.

After we made our plans, I met someone on Match.com.

The man who would eventually become my husband and I spent 3 weeks talking via email and text. Eventually, we set up a first date, which would take place the week after my friend’s visit. I was nervous that my now-husband would like me and eventually find out how broken and damaged I was. Needless to say, by the time my friend came to visit I was confused and scared.

My friend and I had a lovely weekend sharing stories and catching up. It had been a few years since we’d seen each other so there was a lot to talk about. I remember distinctly the moment before he kissed me. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said “well here we are, 7 years later” and with that my fears melted away.

The After-Effects of our Brief Romantic Entanglement

After that weekend I was less afraid of intimacy. I realized that it was possible for me to be with someone without freaking out as long as I trusted them and felt safe. When we were together I didn’t cry, but if I had I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have walked out or made me feel bad about myself. I can say with confidence that he would have held me until it passed.

That’s the thing about him: he was incredibly sensitive. Many people don’t know this about him because he was the fun-loving, outgoing guy who was always down for an adventure. But he was also thoughtful and deep and felt things fully and intensely. We had a lot in common in that way, which is one of the reasons why we never would have worked as a couple.

When I met my now-husband the following week, I was still scared, but less so than I was before. When we eventually became intimate and I told him about my trauma triggers, he was just as caring and gentle with me as I could have hoped for. Without having had the experience with my friend that one weekend, I’m not sure I would have been able to put myself out there. In a way, that short-lived time when we were lovers in Philadelphia set me up to be able to be with the man I would choose to spend the rest of my life with. My ex led me to true love.

Grieving and Remembering

He was the best — and I hate talking about him in the past tense; I just can’t believe that he’s gone. One of his friends made a website for him after he died. I couldn’t stop staring at the dates. 1986–2019. That feels unreal.

Yet, somehow I feel like he didn’t want to grow old. I believe that if he had to pick how he would die, it would be somewhere in Alaska on an adventure. Maybe not when he was 33, but all the same I feel like that place is where he would have wanted his last adventure to be.

He loved Alaska but I never got to see it. I never got to ski down mountains that were way too hard for me. He never got to teach me how to hunt and fish. I never got to go backpacking and camping with him. He would have been so patient with me. Maybe. Or maybe I would have driven him crazy. I don’t know. I’d like to think it’s the first one.

He was one of my favorite people, I don’t know if I ever told him that. His spirit was infectious, and I can still see his lopsided grin and hear his laugh. I wear one of his old sweaters that he gave me every day when it’s cold. He couldn’t bear to look at it because it brought up painful memories (there are many patches all over it sewn on by an ex-girlfriend), but it’s all I have of him now. My husband does not complain that I do this as many husbands would. He is not jealous of our relationship or the feelings I had for him. I realize that I am very lucky.

Life Without Him

I miss him so much. Just knowing that I’ll never get to speak to him on the phone again or see him when he visits his family or has the option to cavort with him in Alaska makes me cry.

I miss all the things I don’t know about him. I wanted to be more to him. I wanted to be a bigger part of his life. I think that’s what’s so hard now is that I question what I meant to him and how important I was versus how important he was to me. I loved him. Love him. Not in a leave-my-husband-have-an-affair-run-away-together type of love, but a confusing, don’t-quite-understand-it type of love. And I have no idea how he really felt about me, and now I never will.

This, however, isn’t about me; it’s about him. It’s about the impact he left on the world and all those who knew him. Most importantly, it’s about how much he taught me about love.

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