For the second time in four months, I am watching the marriage of one of my best friends crumble. In late November, it was B_____. Nine-plus years of marriage suddenly over. I didn't know her husband all that well; he was only my friend through her. I am heartsick for B_____ and her two young daughters. But it's clear I probably won't ever see her ex-husband ever again. I'm trying to be there for B, trying to help her be strong.
Now, this time it is J_____. It is J_____ and F_____. They've known each other for twenty years; were together for fourteen; married for twelve and change. I've known them both for almost twenty years (how is that possible? How has it been so long? ).
I am the first person that B_____ and J______ each told about the coming apart. Because I am a lawyer, because I would know what to do, would know how to help. I am glad to be there; I would do anything for my friends. I wish it were not this.
J_______ is one of my best friends; F_______ is my beloved friend too. It's shocking and frightening. They are the couple that, out of all of them, we all believed would make it. They are beautiful and optimistic and strong; they can conquer anything.
Except for so many things, all piling up, one on the other on the other, years of accumulation. The horrifying death of F_____'s older brother P_______on United Flight 175, the second to hit the World Trade Center. The diagnosis of F_____'s mother with ovarian cancer, a mere few months later. The perpetual struggle to find gainful, meaningful employment in the Green Mountain State of Vermont, which is thick with charm and tourism, but thin on careers. F______ gone all week long, on the road, traveling for his sales job in high-end construction, coming home exhausted, while J_______single-mommed it all week with three young boys, ending the week also exhausted. Everyone drowning in grief and need. Moving close to F______'s parents, only to find them consumed by their own grief, by 9/11 advocacy groups, by their own charitable foundation in P_____'s name and its work in Afghanistan. Opposite views on money, on personal gratification. The death of F_____'s mother, right before Christmas. Needing things from the other that neither could give anymore.
Many marriages don't survive any single one of those things. And it isn't necessarily any of those things, or all of those things. It's even more complicated than that. It wasn't fair; no one should be asked to carry all of that. But I still believed that they could, and that they would. I believed because I love them both so much.
J_____ and F______'s home has always had an open door. Everyone knew where the spare key was, under the hedge trimmer in the garage. They'd always invite you to dinner, always had a bed you could sleep in. Their home and their generous hearts have been my haven, my solace on more than one occasion. They have the most amazing comfortable house, on the street where F______'s mother grew up. Space enough for three little boys, plus their friends, plus houseguests, plus dinner guests to all gather and laugh and play and eat and jostle. An enormous rolling yard of grass and trees, ready for the Slip'n'Slide and a soccer game.
In my head, I see the house cracking in half, like an earthquake has hit it, broken forever more. I want to pick up the jagged pieces, force them back together, fix it, make it better than new, make it warm and lively again. But the pieces don't fit anymore, and the cold comes in through the cracks.
Bert - this has had me in tears several times. I love your writing and this is painful but lovely. That second to last paragraph is a part of our relationship that I took particular pride in. We will have a new home - one without F___ - but a new home nonetheless. It will be a safe haven for friends and family alike - the doors will always be open, you will know where the spare key is and there will always be space at the dinner table for anyone who wants to stop by. I love you and can't wait to see you!
Posted by: Neenmama | Sunday, March 13, 2011 at 05:00 PM