Da Da Da Da D Word
This is somewhat of an old writing, about 3 or 4 months, when my parents first decided to divorce. Or rather, when it was revealed to me. But after sitting down for coffee today and hearing someone almost nonchalantly tell a friend that her husband told her on Sunday that it was time for him to move on, and she was not what he wanted, I started pondering, and wondering, just what divorce is, or means, especially in this country. I was saddened as I heard her talk of immediately moving in with a friend and startled by how everyday she seemed to treat the situation. I pray that I and my friends who are embarking on committed, lifelong relationships, may have the faith, patience, and love to see things a little differently. So, here is what I wrote in response to my own experience with divorce, just a few short months ago…
I don’t feel like being poetic or having anyone say “Well said Andrea.” What I do feel like doing is driving off into the deep end of the pool and sinking to the bottom until I can escape, air burning in my lungs, and feel something stronger than this. Dream something bigger than this. Hope something greater.
My dad says he used to love my mom, but was never in love with her. My mom says she had always loved my dad, but now she can’t anymore. I always thought that love was simple and that if one person felt in their heart something was right and the other person agreed, then it probably was. Not so says….well…people. I have to believe in love though. I have to give in to my optimism where my love is concerned. Or I will be haunted by things that cannot define but seek to control me for the remainder of this short life.
How though, can persons be so compassionate for the masses and so dispassionate towards those they know personally? How can people love, then hate, and walk away? I have done it myself- one time. And it is an action that never wants repeating, never lacks repulsion in its aftermath, and can create pain for more than only the selfish person who caused it. Sometimes you are lucky and you can come back. Other times you are not.
But say you think you never loved in the first place? Will both parties be better off from one’s decision to walk away. Or will someone always remained scarred. Not only haunted by the things that were said to them, but killed by the oppressive stench, air hanging in the rejection of that person who left and wears a smile, or did not offer remorse, or did not even turn around to glance back in the rearview mirror. How is hope passed down when such pain exists? How do marriages survive when one person always has a problem that seems bigger than themselves? I don’t know, but I have to believe. I have to believe, because I love more than I could have ever imagined. I want greater things for another than I want for myself. And I believe that is possible. And I believe that you don’t have to give up yourself.
I have to believe.
In Love.
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