You can talk to me

Tuesday was the day of big "reveals" from friends.

My dear, sweet Jill has finally come to the realization that her marriage is unfixable, and after much discussion with her husband, they have decided to separate. She is so lost and I wish I could do something for her, other than listen and encourage. They began dating when they were 18, and she has never known anyone else. I think she's more frightened of being alone and having to start "over" than she is of being without him, because, sadly, they've been unhappy for quite some time. It's a long, convoluted, and all-too familiar story ... but as sad as it is for her at this moment, she's really doing the only thing she can to further her own positive development. I hate feeling so helpless, however. She is truly a part of my soul (I feel that way about so many of my friends) and it pains me to "see" her in such turmoil. I know she's going to find her strength and conquer this with grace and aplomb. And I've got her back, now and always.

Tony and I had dinner with our friend from New York and he, too, decided to drop some revelations our way. He has been married for over 30 years, leading the stereotypical double life for most of that period, burning his candle at both ends. He's always stated that he's "happy" with his life ... he likes his family, his home, and genuinely loves his wife. But, of course, he enjoys playing around with men from time to time ... especially when he's out of state for work. Anyway, he told a lovely story about casually meeting a guy at a bar not far from his home in New York, and how the two of them really strummed the same chord together. They met for dinner a couple times, played some pool, and then our friend invited his new fella to accompany him on a weekend work trip a few hours from the city. Their evening was filled with wonderful conversation, continued camaraderie, and the gnawing sensation of a growing connection between the two of them. The new fella asked where his older paramour saw their "relationship" going, and our friend replied with his stock answer: nowhere. He reiterated that he's "happy" with his life, isn't willing to give it up for something else at his age, and all the other requisite statements he's been making to men who have fallen for him for over twenty years. Now, a week or so later, our friend is struggling to accept his latest predicament. It seems that the new fella did more than strike a chord with our friend ... he cleared a space for himself in his heart and moved right in. So -- the dilemma. He asked our advice, saying he really wanted to call this young man and meet with him once more, just to "say goodbye in person" or "hold him one more time." I don't think he liked what we had to say (at first), but I'm pretty sure he knew we'd say it even before we actually did. "Let him go," we said. "Allow him to grieve and move on. He wants something you aren't prepared to give him, and the only fair thing to do is say goodbye." Our friend was crestfallen, but finally realized how right we were. When we parted ways that evening, he thanked us for our honesty and shuffled toward his hotel, his head hung somewhat and his burden no lighter.

Both situations make me happy I have what I have, in all its dysfunctional glory. So I say a silent "thank you" as I fall asleep each night and another one each morning as I wake. In the grand scheme of things, it ain't so bad from where I sit...