Upside down

These words are therapeutic though I am not as strong as they pretend to be. There are still so many stuck behind my teeth and I no longer know where to begin. I have questions that demand attention when the sky is as gray as it has been these last few days—When did this happen? Could I have done something to prevent it? Why did it end? Though I’m sure they will go unanswered, I have found momentary comfort in their release. I hope, if you can relate, this piece grants you the same.

Love is messy. It spills in large, uncomfortable amounts from fragile hearts pieced together over and over again. When relationships, friendships and marriages end, we must accept the mess our bodies have made and mop ourselves up. There is currently a cleanup back home, and I am 800 miles away from the damage. I am a phone call away from my mom, and a text message away from my dad—struggling to bear the weight of their problems, trying my best to comfort them both. Though I have always held multiple hearts in my own, their pain has never overwhelmed me as much as today. 22 years of marriage has run its course and the family I grew up with is breaking apart. I know it is ultimately out of my control; a child cannot save a marriage. This is not about me, but about my parents, their happiness and their right to happiness. I know. I get it. But, I still have the right to react. To feel confusion and loss. To question the only love I thought would last forever. It’s scary. Because I have always looked at my parents’ marriage with stars in my eyes—as the ideal union of a shared and trusting life exploration. It is because of them that I love love. The thought of their marriage slipping through my fingers and the sheer, inevitable helplessness I now face, is sincerely unsettling. I question how love could last in my own relationship if it couldn’t last in the example set before me. I wonder if my house can ever be a home if I can’t find them drinking wine and sharing stories in the kitchen.

I do not blame them for growing apart though I wish they’d tried harder to grow back together. I understand that life is a series of hellos and goodbyes that we must learn to adapt to. I just don’t recognize who they have become. Divorce, for everyone involved, is never easy at any age. Adults, however, are expected to get over it because they, at least, enjoyed a wonderful upbringing. A friend of mine told me that “I’m lucky my parents were together for the most important part of my life.” I am in no way ungrateful for the childhood my parents granted me. We were a team of three against the world—traveling, exploring, fighting, loving. The two of them, together, are my constant, my rock. And it is the loss of this unit, this togetherness, which makes this blow especially hard to handle.

I understand now that words are easily lost between two—that grudges are powerful enough to eat away at even the strongest of relationships. I would rather acknowledge their separate lives than force an unhappy one; would rather support their decision than return home to empty eyes and crooked smiles. If a more abundant future is to be built apart, then it must be the right thing for them both.

They showed me 19 years of companionship, and I will show them 19 more of support, but it is an emotional and traumatic event to accept. If you too are in the midst of something similar, I can’t tell you to feel better. I can only tell you to have patience. There are bad and better days, but it will get easier to accept and understand. Now more than ever, they need your unbiased support. Remember that, even apart, your parents will love you no less. You owe it to them to continue growing—to live and love with the utmost intensity.

Francis Curiel is a Trinity sophomore. Her column runs every other Monday.