I was talking with someone at work the other day, and the conversation drifted into the story of my divorce. It started out as the story of how I got my house, but that’s basically the same thing, right?
I’ve gotten to the point where I can tell the story without having a lot of emotion in my voice, and despite having lived through it, I’m now kind of surprised when I’m telling someone what happened, and they get outraged in my behalf. I don’t know why it surprises me, given all that happened, but it does. Anyway, the person I was talking with was supportive, and some of her comments were dead-on.
It dawned on me this afternoon that this is the same thing that happens whenever I tell people about my dad’s alcoholism and suicide, and having to deal with my mom not dealing with that very well, when I was a teenager. For me, it all happened so long ago, and I’ve told the story so many times, that I truly do forget how horrific it sounds to empathetic, compassionate people.
The death of my father and the death of my marriage – who knew that the telling of these stories would follow such a parallel path?