Betrandonment Grief

On the morning of September 11, 2001, just three weeks after my divorce was final, I lounged in my robe, idly watching the morning news. My quiet morning was shattered as footage of a plane crashing into one of the Twin Towers filled the screen. Like many, I assumed it was an isolated, tragic accident—until a second plane struck the other tower in a fiery explosion. In that instant, the sickening reality hit me—our nation was under attack.

Glued to the television, I watched in horror as desperate souls, trapped in the burning towers, hung from windows before plunging hundreds of feet to their deaths. The live footage felt surreal, like a nightmare unfolding in real-time. My heart ached, and tears streamed down my face as I listened to haunting voicemails—final pleas for help and heartbreaking goodbyes to loved ones.

As I grieved with the nation, I felt a strange connection to that day’s terror. While terrorists had inflicted death from the outside, my husband had detonated a different kind of destruction from within. He had conspired with another woman—not to take lives, but to assassinate our marriage.

James was still alive in body, but emotionally and spiritually, he was gone. Detached. Indifferent. Severed from me in every way that mattered.

In the days following 9/11, I found myself identifying with the ambiguous loss[i] experienced by the families left behind—many of them had no “body” to bury as evidence of their deaths. All had been incinerated under the rubble. The ruins of the Twin Towers felt like a metaphor for my current reality. My beloved spouse was gone forever, our family permanently altered, and my life seemed like a rubble of smoldering ash and contorted metal, with no visible remains to acknowledge and bury.

Yet it in some ways, his death would have been easier to bear than his desertion. At least then, I would have known I was loved and been met with respect and condolences.

While I could strangely relate to this national tragedy, I felt alone. I didn’t have a country collectively sharing my grief. I heard no parting, “I love you,” as my husband brutally cut me out of his life. No outcries by others against the injustice of my loss. No public displays of sympathy. No rallying the troops on my behalf. For the most part, I suffered my humiliating loss in isolation.

Please don’t misunderstand me—the horrors the 9/11 families endured were unimaginable. And for the sake of his parents, himself, and our children, I never wished my husband dead. Yet, in some ways, his death would have been easier to bear than his desertion. At least then, I would have known I was loved and been met with respect and condolences, rather than discomfort and isolation.

Instead, dejected, I had to unravel a messy ball of scorn. I felt shame for not keeping my husband faithful. And I winced when I noticed the averted eyes of others who struggled with how or whether to acknowledge my loss. A romantic delusion had ripped his heart away from me, leaving a gaping, jagged hole behind. Since he was still alive in their eyes, they couldn’t comprehend that for me, he was worse than dead.

The losses from an affair-sparked divorce paint a different picture than loss through death. Both are life-altering. One is met with reverence, the other with disgrace.

The wreckage I saw on television on September 11th gave me a visual aid for my personal devastation. My husband’s affair and change of heart blew my dreams and hopes for the future to bits. The ugliness of our split overshadowed my once-happy memories of our life together. The toxic fumes of mistrust and betrayal, once absent, now tainted what was once beautiful. Our friends, ministry, and community lay in ruins, never to be rebuilt. Losing my husband’s love, devotion, and presence—against my will—was the most agonizing experience of my life.

It never occurred to me that James would fall in love with someone else, let alone forsake our marriage. Before our divorce was final, I had cried out to God for months, begging him to save our marriage. But no restoration ever came. So here I was—forsaken, traumatized, and alone. Heaven felt silent, and a suffocating cloud of desolation hung over me.

That is, until I saw President Bush with his megaphone, standing on top of the heap of destruction that used to be the Twin Towers. He aimed his megaphone upward for the cameras and the terrorists to see: “I can hear you. We can all hear you. And soon, you will be hearing from us!” I burst into tears.

As I sobbed, I heard more than just the president’s voice. I sensed God saying, “I hear you, too.” It felt as if the Lord himself was assuring me—he had heard my cries, seen the wreckage, and would summon heaven’s armies to stand by my side. That moment has never left me. God was with me in the rubble.

The Retreat
A month later, I attended a women’s retreat at my church. Just two months divorced, I felt awkward and out of place. My husband had once been a respected elder there. Now, he was gone, and I was the discarded spouse sitting among mostly married women.

Few knew what to say. I was still raw, longing for someone to acknowledge my pain.

Eventually, I found two women I could relate to—one a recent widow, the other suspecting her husband of same-sex infidelity. We gravitated toward each other, skipping the usual activities to avoid pretending we were having fun.

During one of the worship times, I saw our pastor’s wife slip her arm around my widowed friend to comfort her. I rejoiced for my friend, but I envied the outpouring of sympathy everyone showed her. She was showered with hugs and expressions of support. Yet, I don’t remember anyone even touching me over that weekend. No one said a word of condolence for my loss.

I wondered if the ladies thought I deserved my unwanted divorce. Or that my broken marriage was somehow contagious. I felt like a leper.

During a break, my widowed friend invited a small group to visit her cabin near the retreat center. I stayed back, sad that I had lost everything we owned together. It struck me how different our losses were. While she had lost her husband, she never lost his love or their marital assets. While I felt compassion for her, I also felt awkward about my own devastation. I, too, had lost a beloved spouse. Only two people out of a hundred women at the retreat seemed to notice.

Widowhood vs. Betrandonhood
Author Miriam Neff became a widow after 41 years of loving marriage to her husband, Bob. On her blog, “7 Tips to Help a Widow,” she wrote advice for friends of widows. When I reached the fourth point on her blog, I stopped short. Miriam advised friends of widows to continue referring to the deceased partner in fond ways. She states,

Do refer to our husband’s acts or words—serious or humorous. We are so comforted by knowing our husband has not been forgotten. Do not leave our husbands out of the conversation.[ii]
Oh, how I wished that were true for me! Instead of fond remembrances from my friends, my ex-husband remained a hushed subject as though he never existed. And if he did come up, it was not about his finer qualities or our happy moments together. It was about his betrayal.

Yet, from the moment he proposed and throughout our marriage, I was convinced he loved me. In all my years of dating, I’d never had a man pursue me so vigorously. He charmed the socks off me. We embraced and kissed throughout our marriage, expressing our love multiple times a day.

But when he fell in love with her and told me, “I’m not sure I ever loved you,” that vanished. His blunt declaration cast a shadow over our past, darkening every good memory of our life together. Whoosh! Gone! Smashed!

Rather than bringing comfort, memories of our life together mocked me. I questioned my perceptions. Had I been delusional about his love for me? Had he been faking it all those years? The love, security, and connection I always felt when he wrapped his arms around me evaporated. I took James’s disloyalty and desertion very personally, as if he had marked my worth as a wife with a big, fat “F.”

Unlike a widow, I had no comforting memories to cling to—nothing to remind me I was once loved. The love I once believed in now seemed suspect. His betrayal turned every treasured moment into a mockery.

If he had died, at least the goodness we once shared could’ve remained intact. Instead, I had to bury my marriage without the dignity of a memorial or Celebration of Life.

After all, he was still alive—just not in my home.

In my discussions with others, I have noticed some unique ways Betrandonment Grief differs from other kinds of losses. One woman, “Alice,” who had experienced both the sudden death of a spouse and later intimate betrayal by a second husband, explained,

My shock over my first husband’s sudden, premature death was devastating in the beginning. He was only 45. It helped that I had lots of good support from friends and family. My second husband’s betrayal and upcoming divorce seemed less horrible in the early days. But as I thawed over time, the devastation from his unfaithfulness and our pending divorce became even bigger than the death of my first husband. This time, I had to suffer alone. I felt unloved. It was more personal.[iii]
Complex Grief
One widowed client came to see me a year after her husband died from a heart attack. She’d been through the phase of receiving sympathy cards, meals delivered to her home, and the support of friends and family. With her adult children grown and gone, she sold their home and purchased a smaller house. As she prepared for the move, she rifled through a box in the attic, only to discover love letters exchanged between her now-deceased husband and another woman.

Instantly, her internal status switched from Woeful Widow to Scorned Wife. She questioned her entire marriage. Was he unhappy with her? Who was this woman? Did she sneak into the memorial service unbeknownst to her? How long were they involved? How did he manage to deceive her?

Oh, the rage! The insult! How dare he!? Who knew? Who didn’t know? She wondered if she should keep this terrible secret to preserve his image and their reputation as a couple. Or should she tell her closest friends the truth so she could receive additional support?

My heart went out to her. She had been robbed of a normal grief process and thrust into Complex Grief, which forced her to navigate a confusing labyrinth of unexpected trauma and prolonged agony.

A year after my divorce, I briefly dated a pastor I’d met on a Christian dating site. I learned that “John” had lost two wives. His first wife was an alcoholic who eventually went to treatment. Excited to welcome home a sober wife, his happiness turned to dread when she arrived and announced she had fallen in love with a man in the program and planned to leave and file for divorce. She then went on to live with and marry the other man. John’s world came crashing down.

A few years later, he met and married a woman he fondly called his “soulmate.” After they’d been happily married for four years, she was diagnosed with a virulent form of breast cancer and died.

I once asked him, “Which was worse for you? Losing your spouse to another man or the death of your second wife?”

John didn’t hesitate. “Oh, the first loss was more painful than the death of my wife.” He meant no disrespect to his second spouse. He still missed her horribly. But the rejection, shame, and pain of being replaced by another man was a crushing blow beyond the sorrow of losing his newer wife to death. At least this time, he found comfort in knowing he was loved. I appreciated hearing this.

I met with a grief specialist, Suzanne Kirsch, who, with six children to raise, lost her first husband in an airplane crash. I wanted to know the similarities and differences between what she experienced as a widow and what I went through in losing my spouse through betrayal and unwanted divorce. With her input, I created a chart (included in the Workbook) that I will partially discuss here.

I recognize that many factors can deepen the pain of losing a spouse through death, such as trauma, stigma from murder or suicide, medical mistakes, drug overdoses, a loved one missing in action, or other complexities.

However, in the list below, I aim to distinguish the experience of losing a spouse to an uncomplicated death versus the pain of betrayal and unwanted divorce.

1. Loss of Self-esteem. While a widow’s loss is heartbreaking, the death of their partner is not personal. Typically, no rejection was involved. On the other hand, a Betrandoned person feels intentionally abandoned. Often, the departing spouse shifts blame onto the rejected partner, disregarding the affair’s influence on their decision to leave. Betrandoned partners lose not only their spouse’s commitment and presence but also their love, leading to a deep sense of rejection and diminished self-worth. They question their lovability and value as a man or woman and may even mistakenly blame themselves for their partner’s affair and choice to leave. As Dr. James Dobson says, “Rejection by the one you love, particularly, is the most powerful destroyer of self-esteem in the entire realm of human experience.”[iv]

2. Shattered Trust. While a widow(er) may lose trust in the world for a season, Betrandoned spouses lose trust in their partners and themselves as well. The deceit, lies, and secrecy shake their previous assumptions of loyalty and commitment to the marriage. They often second-guess their own judgment and doubt their perceptions. Many avoid socializing because they fear risking another experience of betrayal.

3. A Stigmatized Loss. When a spouse dies by accident or disease, widows/widowers receive the deserved honor, respect, awe, and empathy of friends and family. While the widow may feel alone once the furor dies down, there is typically no shame associated with the death. Society accords them an elevated status for their grief. In contrast, the Betrandoned experience a stigmatized loss akin to suicide, murder, or a drug overdose.

Friends and acquaintances often feel awkward or avoid the forsaken spouse, as if spousal desertion were contagious. Others silently judge, assuming fault. Despite divorce’s prevalence, those abandoned against their will often face disapproval—especially in the church. The shame of being replaced and discarded by a mutinous spouse is a heavy burden to bear.

4. No Rituals. We perform rituals around death that we do not perform around divorce: We write affirming obituaries, organize memorial services, deliver glowing eulogies, conduct reverential burial rites, send kind cards, offer flowers, give hugs, bring meals to the bereaved, and allow time for the widowed to grieve (although often not enough time is allowed). The support is open and involves no dishonor.

However, the Betrandoned have little public acknowledgment of their losses: no services, cards, few hugs, and no meals brought to the aggrieved. Their rituals consist of sequestered courtrooms, legal papers confirming their failure, and discreet glances from others. Deserted, unwanted spouses suffer in isolation. Well-meaning friends encourage divorced people to reenter the dating scene and “move on” much sooner than they might the recently widowed.

5. Loyalty Conflicts. When a partner dies, no one needs to “choose sides” between the living and the deceased. Everyone is safe to care for and support the surviving spouse. Yet, divorce tends to divide certain parties. In-laws no longer show equal concern for the discarded spouse. They usually side with the spouse who is biologically related, despite knowing about the affair. Some friends may struggle to maintain equal closeness with both partners, while others may only hear and believe the infidel’s side of the story, further deepening the betrayed spouse’s wounds.

6. The Loss of an Intact Family. When a spouse dies, children experience profound loss but typically feel secure staying close to the surviving parent, maintaining a sense of home. Widows find comfort in this stability. In contrast, divorce—especially after infidelity—fractures the family unit. The abandoned spouse must navigate shared time, resources, and holidays with the rejecting ex and, at times, their new partner. Losing both a spouse and an intact family magnifies grief by stripping away the comfort and cohesive family unit they once knew.

7. No Closure. A tangible death brings a sense of finality that divorce does not. When a partner dies, family members identify the body, which is then laid to rest in a casket, preserved in an urn, or scattered in a meaningful place. Reminders for the deceased remain, but the person is no longer on earth. However, the death of a marriage offers no body to bury, leaving the grief process suspended. The one who left is still alive, walking around—yet as good as dead to the rejected partner.

The Betrandoned endure the loss of their spouse’s love and presence without the solace of closure. Wounds are reopened through ongoing contact—such as during exchanges with children, milestone events, or painful updates from the kids and well-meaning friends. Unlike death, the deserting spouse remains alive, often becoming a prolonged source of torment. When legal battles over custody and finances resurface, it feels as though the agony will never end.

My Zoom group friend, “Melanie,” expresses this well:

Grief from betrayal is fierce and merciless and misunderstood by those who have not experienced it. The “unfinished story” chosen by someone else without my consent has left my heart exquisitely tender with a yearning for a goodbye that will never be understood. Finding closure alone in the deafening silence of betrayal has been the hardest road I’ve ever traveled.[v]
8. Painful Mementos. Widows have a mix of sad and fond memories associated with mementos like pictures and photo albums. Yet, down the road, these serve as treasured reminders of love and affection shared with the deceased. Widows keep cherished photos on the walls. Mementos are proof of having been loved by the deceased spouse, even if imperfectly.

For those who are divorced, this is not the case. Pictures tend to mock the deserted spouse. Photos are ripped up or concealed in a box, closet, or attic. If still displayed, the betrayer gets snipped from family photos. Such mementos only remind the one who is deserted that they were unwanted. The painful behaviors of the betrayer have tarnished the sheen of past vacations and family gatherings.

9. Divided Assets. Widows and widowers may experience a loss of funds due to the death of their spouses. If they are retired, they lose their partner’s Social Security income. Yet, whatever assets they possessed (other retirement plans, cars, houses, furniture, etc.) remain with the family. Even if they need to be sold for financial or aging reasons, the survivor has the option to choose what to keep, give to the children, or sell at their discretion.

This is not the case with divorce. Almost no one comes out of a divorce feeling like the property division was fair. Women often experience a significant decline in their standard of living. For both men and women, everything once shared as a couple is divided, sold, or lost. Mothers who home-schooled their children—some of whom may have disabilities or social anxiety—are forced to place them in public schools they find inadequate or objectionable. Stay-at-home moms entering the workforce may have to settle for low-wage jobs (or even multiple jobs) just to make ends meet.

10. A Stolen Past and Future. Widows/widowers mourn the loss of future dreams shared with their deceased spouse, often cherishing the good memories while filtering out the bad. Meanwhile, Betrandoned spouses lose both past and future dreams—their history rewritten through the lens of rejection and their futures stolen by the same spouses they planned them with. While widows find comfort in the bond they once had, the Betrandoned suffer an irreparable attachment wound. Their loss feels intensely personal—intentional, even malicious.

My new mother-in-law, Hope, was married to her cherished husband one month short of 70 years. They had a sweet marriage and shared a love for family and ministry over their decades together. Harry always fondly referred to Hope as his “bride.”

Hope and Harry’s lovely home of 27 years was the center of all the family gatherings. My brother-in-law, Tom, referred to their former home as “The Mother Ship.” As they aged, Harry wanted to ensure his wife was cared for, so they moved into a local retirement center. He passed away several years later.

Hope kept pictures of her deceased husband stationed all over her condo. She placed the photo of Harry smiling in his doctoral robe on a low cabinet near her entry, where she talked to his picture daily as if he were still alive. Her cozy place still felt like home. While she greatly missed Harry, she bore no shame over their relationship. His memorial was a beautiful event that still brings tears to my eyes whenever we watch the DVD.

What a contrast to my divorce. No ceremonies. No public support. No couple or family photos on the walls as a testament to my former life. My kids have no intact home to come back to for holidays and special events. While I know they enjoy my current husband, Dan, it is still not the same as the original family they grew up in.

I recently scanned the wedding pictures from my first marriage into my computer for the sake of the kids and then tossed the album in the trash. Sadly, I felt no desire to display them or share the memory of my first wedding with anyone. I doubt a widow or widower would similarly dispose of their precious wedding album in the same way.

One former client, a schoolteacher, put it this way:

When I was in the midst of my gut-wrenching divorce, the husband of a co-worker died suddenly and unexpectedly. Knowing of my predicament, she said to me, “Well, at least your husband is still alive.” While I know she was in shock and probably later regretted what she said, her words and the actions of our staff magnified the disparity of how our society treats the victims of divorce and widowhood. I was expected to continue to work and compartmentalize my emotions; she was given weeks off to mourn and recover. I was left in financial shambles with half of an estate but full-sized bills; she was left with an entire estate, death benefits, meal trains, and a monetary gift from our staff (to which I, ironically, contributed). I was pitied; she received love and empathy.[vi]
NOTES

CHAPTER 2: Betrandonment Grief

[i]. The term, “ambiguous loss” was introduced by Pauline Boss, a professor at Harvard University and author of the book, Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief, (1999). A more recent book on ambiguous loss as applied to marital rejection is SoulBroken: A Guidebook for Your Journey Through Ambiguous Grief (2022) by Stephanie Sarazin.

[ii]. http://widowconnection.com/resources/7-tips-to-help-a-widow/

[iii]. Personal communication with a Zoom group member. April 23, 2025

[iv]. Dobson, J. (1983). Love Must Be Tough: New Hope for Families in Crisis. Waco: Word Books. 82.

[v]. Personal communication with a Zoom group member. December 1, 2022.

[vi]. Written communication with a former client. Used by permission.