C'est La Vie
May, 2000
Where is she now? Where is
the girl who bounced onto the couch next to me, feet tucked under
her, hands gesturing to underline her words as she spoke?
Where
is she, the one who laughed with me over a game of Crazy Eights
or Scrabble while solving the problems of the world in easy banter
or, perhaps, discussing the merits of ground turkey over ground
beef?
Really,
though, it's not that I don't know where she is. I do. And it's
not that I can't pick up a phone or write a letter or send a gift.
I do know how to reach her -- she's just out of my reach. I have
lost her. This bright presence in my life is gone -- not through
death or desertion -- through divorce.
We
didn't see it coming and when reasons are not obvious, no one
can know why a marriage ends. She and my son were known, in today's
vernacular, as DINKs -- Double Income No Kids -- and, from what
I understand, he just didn't want to be married anymore. He wanted
to do his own thing (I'm stifling a groan) and she understood.
If I didn't instill responsibility and commitment well enough
when I had the chance, it's too late to go back and cover that
chapter now.
It's
all so civilized. The bonds of matrimony were severed with tears
and not a few recriminations. But they worked through the tangle
of ties that bind to break free.
But,
where does that leave me? My daughter-in-love becomes my daughter-out-law.
There was nothing leading up to the severing of our close relationship.
At least with a death there's crying time and a funeral before
you must acknowledge it's over. I was just left, bereft.
If
I feel this loss, what do the little nieces and nephews on both
sides feel, those who called her aunt and him uncle? The children
will forever look at snapshots and videos of their early years
and see these loving people who carried them on their shoulders,
pushed them on swings, bounced them on their knees -- always smiling,
always loving. What do we say? "Welcome to the real world, kid?"
Love
and loyalty can be a divided set; I love her but must be loyal
to him. The bond we formed was strong. And why wouldn't it be?
After all, we both loved and were loved by the same man.
My
love was filial and hers conjugal but, nevertheless, he was the
object of both our affections.
Where
she saw his human failings and accepted them, I saw them and overlooked
them, seeing only what I wanted to see. I has happy because his
wife loved me; he was happy because I loved his wife.
Endearing
words spoken generations before Christ are such a part of our
language ever since they are often engraved inside plain gold
bands. "Wither thou goest, I will go..." I know of no purer way
to express a bond, yet, those words were spoken by the biblical
Ruth to her mother-in-law, Naomi. In the days when no one dared
put a marriage asunder, Naomi welcomed Ruth as the cherished bride
of her son -- and the two adult women bonded. Their friendship
survived the death of their husbands.
We
didn't agree on many things, she and I -- the origin of man, for
instance. But we acknowledged our right to disagree and thoroughly
appreciated the spirited conversations. We don't share similar
backgrounds. She's a proud GRIT, acronym for Girl Raised In the
South, and I'm a New Yorker.
Our
relationship grew out of mutual love for each other's company.
We were sympatico, as the Italians say. We were in sync -- as
closely as I can define it in our language.
Speaking
of language, that was our common ground, initially, aside from
my son being her husband. The books she brought into her marriage
were books I read and loved or wanted to read. This mutual passion
for words and literature spread onto avenues we could travel verbally
for hours, much to the delight of our husbands who didn't have
to play listeners. Yes, we are talkers, and didn't we love it!
We
scoured flea markets together searching the obscure little bins
for the odd compact perhaps found in the top bureau drawer of
some recently deceased Flapper from the Roaring Twenties. She'd
pick up a little mother-of-pearl case, carefully open it's clasp
and look in the powder-dusted mirror, turning her head from side
to side to catch the light. Although she wore no makeup herself,
she studied her image as if the original owner were looking back.
I
am one of four daughters so I know sisterly love; I have close
friends, so I know friendship, I have four daughters of my own
so I know a mother's love. My other son's wife is the light of
his life, the wonderful, loving mother of my grandchildren, an
ideal daughter-in-law to me, and through her, I do know mother-in-law
love and a grandmother's love.
With
so many children, it's natural for a family to form attachments
to each other's friends, then feel misgivings if a relationship
sours. C'est la vie. That's life. It's also natural to accept
a relationship once the bond is announced. This couple said "for
better or for worse" and, ever-trusting, we opened arms and hearts
to this delightful, accomplished, young woman. "You're one of
us," her family said to him. "You're one of us," we all said to
her.
The
young couple, two years later, continue to enjoy a cordial relationship
as each goes their own way -- he goes on with his life; she goes
on with hers. Once again, we say c'est la vie.
There
are those who suggest I not let their divorce keep me from my
friendship with her. But, no. Mothers develop a keen sense of
what loyalty means. In this case, it's not only being loyal to
my son, but loyal to protecting what she and I enjoyed. Mothers
have an uncanny way of seeing down the road and I know continuing
a friendship would mean one day, as she moves on, I'd become no
more than unfinished business -- or, worse, "baggage."
I'm
not fanning this flame but I do quietly reflect on those eight
years -- believing she does the same, just to feel as I do the
warmth and brightness of this light that just can't be put out.
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