Category Archives: Friends

A note to Mormons (and others) trying to help friends avoid a planned divorce.

This is what some of them would like to say to you, but don’t necessarily know how:

Thank you for your concerns about me and my family. I know you have the best of intentions for us, and want to do what you can to help keep my family intact. I love that you want to do this for us.

You can’t do this for us. We’ve already tried every available option, looked under ever rock, and prayed as much as we can. We will be divorcing. That isn’t a question. We don’t know what the future holds beyond that. I don’t yet know when or if I will be married again. This is a very difficult time for me, and I’m none too sure what I will be doing tomorrow. I might just cry a lot.

When I say things like “We just grew apart,” or “We’re not in love anymore,” or just generally don’t tell you anything bad about my marriage or my spouse, this is my attempt to tactfully tell you that what you’re asking about isn’t your business. I’m not going to tell you why we’re divorcing, and you should be grateful that I won’t. There are any number of things that may or may not have led into my decision that you don’t want to hear about: emotional, physical or sexual abuse of me, my children or both, addiction, mental illness, infidelity, and a great deal of pain. I don’t want you to think of or treat my ex badly, and I really don’t want to talk about any of this with you. And I really do want you to drop the questions about what we’ve done or not done, or tried and not tried. As I’ve said, this is a very, very difficult time, and your well intentioned inquiries just poke at emotional wounds that haven’t had the time to become scars yet. It feels a lot like getting kicked when you’re down, and this is why many people leave the Church after they divorce.

I have a support system that’s working for me right now. I appreciate your willingness to be a part of it, but right now isn’t the time for that. Perhaps later.

requiescat in pace

It’s been an interesting week.  Sunday, I found out that Norm, a friend of mine, died the previous Thursday.  This wasn’t a surprise — he was a WWII veteran whose health had been quite bad for several months — although his late diagnosis with bone cancer was.  It explains why he was in so much pain when I visited him last in the hospital.  I’m glad he’s done with that pain.  I didn’t get to go to his service — it was yesterday, while I was at the last Secret Harbor Island Picnic. 

Said picnic was good, but a bit disappointing.  I was expecting to see more of the former staff and former residents than I did (one former staff that I knew, and no former residents).  I did some networking with some of the state social workers there, and might be able to use them to try again to be hired to be one of them when I’m done working where I am.  But it was sad to be on the Island and know that I won’t be back. 

But the biggest loss of the week was my cat, Baby.  She didn’t die this past week — she likely died nearly a month ago — but this week was when her remains were found.  She wandered off about a month ago and found a secluded spot in my basement that she could lay down in and go to sleep, and then she didn’t wake up.  And it was a secluded enough spot that it took this long to run into it (my basement is like that).  Until then, I wasn’t certain where she had gone (it could have been outside) and whether she’d died or just found a new home.  Now I know what it was. 

Those who know will know that Baby and I did not have a warm nor fuzzy relationship.  She was annoying and frequently grouchy.  She loved attention, was afraid of people, and drooled when she purred.  However, she lived in the same house with me for more of my life than anyone who was born after me.  She was at least two years old when we adopted her, and that was about fifteen years ago, so she was at least 17, which is darn good in cat years.  As with Norm, I’m glad that she went peacefully, and that she’s done with pain.  And I will miss her, strangely enough. 

I’m not afraid of death.  I don’t see it as a bad thing.  It’s a part of life.  I like to think that Baby is stretched out on Norm’s lap, or, more likely, on my dad’s lap (like she used to) while he talks to Norm (they loved to have long conversations).  But I am sadder than I thought I’d be.

I don’t pick up naked girls.

I told this to Crystal several times today. I told her to get some clothes on, but she wandered away instead. She did come by carrying some clothes on her way out the door one trip, but never seemed to get them back on her.

Oh, well.

I was helping my roommate move his kid’s stuff from his ex’s house today. That and reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (second time through) is all I’ve gotten done thus far today. In a few minutes, I’m going to go start getting ready for my dance evening — warm up with the beginners workshop of the Contradance and the first dance of the evening, then drive across town for the Scottish Country Dance demonstration at the Burn’s Supper for the Highland Games Committee, then back to the Contradance for the rest of the evening.

Pretty exciting, I think.

For those who weren’t already clear on this, btw, Crystal is almost three years old. She’s very, very cute and she thinks I”m really cool, but I still don’t pick her up when she’s naked. I have a reputation to think of, after all.