I sit here with lots of thoughts in my head, wanting to blog, but running the risk of being a total Blog Dork by posting twice in one day. In defense of my dorky self, I’d like to say that I started my last post on Saturday, but rambled on so long that it didn’t post until Sunday. So sue me. I’m a blogging dork.
I would now like to call your attention to the right-hand column of this blog. I have two followers now. Count ‘em… Two. Whole. Followers. Go me! This excites me tremendously. This blog has also been viewed over 1,000 times since I started it in October. It might be that the same two people have checked 500 times each to see if I’ve blogged again, but I don’t care. It put a little happy in my heart.
A million years ago, I got divorced after five years of marriage. We didn’t have any kids, so in retrospect, it was a pretty easy break up. If you had told me then that I would be saying this now, I would have laughed in your face. Divorce is very painful, it’s excruciating. It’s an obvious stamp of FAILURE that your family, friends and coworkers all bear witness to. It’s humiliating and devastating and what you go through haunts you for the rest of your life. An embittered, angry husband with one foot out the door says things to you that ring through your head forever. The angry dickhead impacts your life and colors every decision you make for all eternity.
And fifteen years later, the woman that was my rock during the most painful time of my life is handed the same deal. Her husband of over 18 years tells her on the eve of her 40th birthday that he no longer loves her and will be filing for divorce. The fact that he did this on a milestone birthday speaks volumes as to the type of person he is. However, it is not my job as her friend to repeatedly mention what a Class A Asshole I think her husband is… but if she were to say it herself, I might give a fist pump and an “Amen Sista!”
I am very, very sad for her, knowing how the initial news rocked her world and knowing that the worst is yet to come. The sleepless nights, the crying jags that come from nowhere, the hatred, the anger, the rage, the love and the good memories. I need to find a way to put aside my own painful memories and be there for her. I need to be empathetic and supportive, but at the same time, deliver a swift kick in the ass when she says no one will ever love her again. I need to remember that this is her process, her grief, now is not the time to compare what I went through all those years ago. She was there, she remembers, I know she does.
I need to be the friend she was fifteen years ago. I need to take her 2 am tear-filled phone calls. I will offer my shoulder and my love and only give advice when she asks me for it.
I need to be a rock.