December 30, 2016
Dear Cherished Heart,
That separation was an event—a main event that other people would feel the need to attend, in voice or thought, with opinions for or against.
We have been married for a long time— together for twenty-one years. Some people came to be my friends and family through him, and some people befriended and loved him because of their connection to me. So it goes, each person a ripple in the pond of their community, touching a myriad of people. I thought that my ripples created concentric circles that would not be broken.
I am by nature naive and most often believe in the inherent honesty in others, and that people are offering their best. So my legs get kicked out from under me when this basic notion is challenged or flipped on its head. Some people are mean. Things get said that are hurtful, whether intentional or not.
I didn’t know that separation meant my husband and I would stand in an arena, staring through all the joy, debris, admiration, disappointment, confusion and heartache, like an ever-changing weather system. How could I have known that there would be people who would stop cheering for “us” and only cheer for him? The fact that my presence in the arena still contains elements of loveliness, commitment, intuition, uncertainty, success, failure, and grace, no longer conjures up thoughts of my inherent goodness—for those few.
I am fifty, and I have only once felt the need to choose between him and her in a divorce. People may move closer to one side of the arena or the other, given their history with and affinity for one person. But to support one does not mean to condemn another.
As a teenager, I chose my mom—who stayed, over my dad—who walked out. And though I may have originally condemned him, I’ve kept the hope that my dad would one day turn back toward me; in other words, I continue to believe in his goodness whether he choses to act on it or not.
Right now, I don’t believe my husband or I have given anyone a reason to choose victim or villain. Our mutual admiration and respect continues, despite all else. Separation was not part of the master plan for either of us. Who—after all—gets married with a notion that “growing old together” will not come to pass? We got married with the conviction that it would last forever.
So when those that I have known and loved turn toward my husband and unnecessarily against me, it hurts a lot.
I’m sitting in a Cochrane coffee shop, Dejà Brew, and a song by Jim Croce has started to play. “Time In A Bottle”—a song I have long loved. Today its melancholy lyrics have slipped out of the bottle, and smashed all over the arena floor.