My ex-husband, the father of my son, was near death last November when a miracle happened between us. The man I had divorced thirty-four years earlier lay dying is a room at Hospice House. He was in and out of consciousness, mostly out. After sitting quietly reading while he slept, I decided it was time to leave. I leaned over him as he slept and said, "Dave, I'm going now." He opened his eyes, smiled, and reached up his frail hand and cupped the side of my face, a gesture of love. In that moment, the pain that lead to our divorce was gone. All had been erased. We were both at peace. I will be forever grateful for that moment.
Brilliant: “It was like watching two people in a park, one throwing a baseball, the other punting a football back.”
You’ve given a tremendous gift by pointing out that miracles can be ordinary, small, tiny, unexpected things that happen when you’re not expecting them that change your mind and hence your reality.
The comments nailed what's so good about this piece: the soft touch, the subtlety, yet including just the right elements that make it moving and powerful.
"What in the world is more ridiculous than mortal enemies at a JV volleyball dinner?" You could have stopped right there and I would have thanked you. But your description of your parents facing each other but not speaking (the line about one having a baseball and the other a football!) put me over the top. I love this essay. Love your whispered fight, your imagined fight, and your parents' and their silhouettes. What a joy - thank you.
That's so great to hear, Andy—thank you. I'm especially pleased to know I'm not alone with the imaginary arguments. I asked Emma if she ever does that and... long pause. "Maybe? I'm not sure..." (So that's a no, then.)
Really love your latest piece on a rough night out. Such stellar writing.
Rob, you write so powerfully about elements of the human condition ... but with a measured, deft touch. That's a remarkable skill, and I appreciate your take on life.
Brings to mind the Tolstoy words about each unhappy family unhappy in its own way. Can't predict, or often fathom, what goes on between any two people. Lovely, evocative writing, as always.
Just fantastic. My parents divorced in the late 70s too when I was a child and still don't speak. This made me smile a lot and a very good reminder not to argue about the bins.
I could still dream up a pretty good bin argument if left alone too long. Thank you so much for reading, and for sharing. I'm impressed by your parents' unwavering commitment. Are they ever in the same place at once?
Aww this made me laugh and feel sad. I also grew up like this, and it was so awkward that all three of us kids got married in Las Vegas or in secret to avoid putting them in the same room…. but my mum had reason not to want to be in the same room as my dad as he ran off with her best mate! Who lived in the flat underneath us! I want to write the story but she reads my posts out to my dad now that he has dementia! I don’t want to upset anyone! And they were /are both in my life a lot! But now I’m divorced after 20 years my kids are going through the same! I would be civil, in the same room etc but my ex just hides from me no communication, it must be his guilt, I want my kids to have good memories 🥲 !!
Thank you so much for this beautiful reply. That's such an unbelievably complicated scenario with your parents—especially living in the flat underneath! That's a really honorable and lovely thing not wanting to upset him. I sure hope you do write that story, and I'd love to read it when you do. So sorry to hear about your dad, by the way. Both my parents had dementia, and it's so unbelievably hard for everyone. I'm glad he has you looking out for him, and in his life. It's interesting, isn't it, what keeps people engaged in conflict sometimes, even when the person they're in conflict with is open to moving forward. A friend of mine who teaches conflict resolution is always saying, we can only clean up our side of the street, creating the conditions for repair, but we can't force anyone else into that process. Here's wishing you all the best, and I look forward to reading your writing.
This is so beautiful, Rob. And moving and funny and tender. I loved every word. I can almost see your parents sitting there, having two different conversations, together.
My ex-husband, the father of my son, was near death last November when a miracle happened between us. The man I had divorced thirty-four years earlier lay dying is a room at Hospice House. He was in and out of consciousness, mostly out. After sitting quietly reading while he slept, I decided it was time to leave. I leaned over him as he slept and said, "Dave, I'm going now." He opened his eyes, smiled, and reached up his frail hand and cupped the side of my face, a gesture of love. In that moment, the pain that lead to our divorce was gone. All had been erased. We were both at peace. I will be forever grateful for that moment.
Oh, Karen, this is so beautiful and moving. What a moment. This will stay with me. Thank you for sharing this.
You're welcome. It was a moment of God's blessing.
And yet they were with each other and witnessing each other…
“It was like watching two people in a park, one throwing a baseball, the other punting a football back.”
Rob, thank you for this ❤️. It says so much about presence.
Thank you, my friend. So good to see you here. I so appreciate the kind words.
I love the soft touch of this piece.
Thank you, Sandra!
Amused and touched by this in equal measure, Rob. The wonders and mysteries of communication!
Thank you, Wendy! It is very wonderful and mysterious, isn't it? I appreciate the kind words, as always.
Brilliant: “It was like watching two people in a park, one throwing a baseball, the other punting a football back.”
You’ve given a tremendous gift by pointing out that miracles can be ordinary, small, tiny, unexpected things that happen when you’re not expecting them that change your mind and hence your reality.
Thank you, Kathy! Yes, ordinary moments are everything, aren't they?
Wow. Brillant writing.
Thank you so much. I appreciate your reading!
The comments nailed what's so good about this piece: the soft touch, the subtlety, yet including just the right elements that make it moving and powerful.
Thanks so much, Alex. What unbelievably kind words. I really appreciate it!
"What in the world is more ridiculous than mortal enemies at a JV volleyball dinner?" You could have stopped right there and I would have thanked you. But your description of your parents facing each other but not speaking (the line about one having a baseball and the other a football!) put me over the top. I love this essay. Love your whispered fight, your imagined fight, and your parents' and their silhouettes. What a joy - thank you.
Thank you, Debra—what a joy to read this comment!
Ah, Rob. Another cracker of a piece.
Your writing always gets me thinking about my own relationships and the stories in our family, which is a testament to how good it is, I think.
As for the imaginary arguments - VERY familiar with this. Ha.
That's so great to hear, Andy—thank you. I'm especially pleased to know I'm not alone with the imaginary arguments. I asked Emma if she ever does that and... long pause. "Maybe? I'm not sure..." (So that's a no, then.)
Really love your latest piece on a rough night out. Such stellar writing.
Rob, you write so powerfully about elements of the human condition ... but with a measured, deft touch. That's a remarkable skill, and I appreciate your take on life.
Thanks so much, Larry—very kind of you to say! It's great to know you're reading along.
Lovely. Every marriage is a country of tales, for good or ill. No one else will ever understand how it works.
Such a beautiful way of putting it, Rona. Thank you, as always, for reading and leaving such a wonderful comment.
Ha! I meant to write “a country of two “ and autocorrect got creative.
Ha! I do actually like country of tales!
Ahhhh Rob, this is beautiful. You have such a talent to describe casual situations and call out the poignance without it being 'a thing.' Effortless.
Thank you, Claire. That's really lovely to hear.
Brings to mind the Tolstoy words about each unhappy family unhappy in its own way. Can't predict, or often fathom, what goes on between any two people. Lovely, evocative writing, as always.
Yes, I love that line, Carol. Thank you so much for the kind words—I appreciate your reading!
Just fantastic. My parents divorced in the late 70s too when I was a child and still don't speak. This made me smile a lot and a very good reminder not to argue about the bins.
I could still dream up a pretty good bin argument if left alone too long. Thank you so much for reading, and for sharing. I'm impressed by your parents' unwavering commitment. Are they ever in the same place at once?
Very rarely these days, but neither has a positive word to share. Always a pleasure Rob a great piece.
Aww this made me laugh and feel sad. I also grew up like this, and it was so awkward that all three of us kids got married in Las Vegas or in secret to avoid putting them in the same room…. but my mum had reason not to want to be in the same room as my dad as he ran off with her best mate! Who lived in the flat underneath us! I want to write the story but she reads my posts out to my dad now that he has dementia! I don’t want to upset anyone! And they were /are both in my life a lot! But now I’m divorced after 20 years my kids are going through the same! I would be civil, in the same room etc but my ex just hides from me no communication, it must be his guilt, I want my kids to have good memories 🥲 !!
Thank you so much for this beautiful reply. That's such an unbelievably complicated scenario with your parents—especially living in the flat underneath! That's a really honorable and lovely thing not wanting to upset him. I sure hope you do write that story, and I'd love to read it when you do. So sorry to hear about your dad, by the way. Both my parents had dementia, and it's so unbelievably hard for everyone. I'm glad he has you looking out for him, and in his life. It's interesting, isn't it, what keeps people engaged in conflict sometimes, even when the person they're in conflict with is open to moving forward. A friend of mine who teaches conflict resolution is always saying, we can only clean up our side of the street, creating the conditions for repair, but we can't force anyone else into that process. Here's wishing you all the best, and I look forward to reading your writing.
Thank you so much Rob, what a lovely reply to my comment 😊
This is so beautiful, Rob. And moving and funny and tender. I loved every word. I can almost see your parents sitting there, having two different conversations, together.
Thank you, Ally. That's so lovely to hear. I so appreciate your reading, and sharing this.