My dear friend _______ puts the final signature on her divorce papers today. Before her appointment with her soon-to-be-ex and the arbitrators, I went with her to see THE PUFFY CHAIR, a DYI film that is best at recording the cross talk and mutual incomprehension of young lovers, in particular when one of them is a slacker male who likes to say "dude," a lot, not so much unlike my friend's ex. The film was a reminder of why she needs to sign those papers.
Nonetheless, my friend was carrying the weight of all the world's disappointments on her shoulders, when I hugged her, and she turned away to look for her car in the parking lot. Divorce is hell, a rite of passage much more difficult to undertake than getting married in the first place. I would know, having been through it twice, once by choice, once not. I healed more easily from the one I did by choice, whereas catching my breath again after being dumped took years. My friend is choosing this one. She'll do fine. Still, my heart broke watching her go.
I've seen divorce test and forge character. It's a rebirth, for better and worse. A moment of silence, please, for those who find the courage to walk alone to the car when the time comes.