As both of my marriages have ended in divorce, and she's had several breakups as well, it seemed fitting that after a wedding, things would end. Happily, as neither one of us got married, we could be observers and therefore reflect rather than participate.
Because we both have this one golden memory of a mutual friend: one near perfect night shared on The Porch with conversation and song and poetry (I know, right!) and each other. It is a memory that I've sort of kept on a shelf with other memories of that person, hidden behind a screen of discomfort based on the end of our immediate acquaintance. It showed up in our conversation and she said "Yes! Oh, my god, that was an amazing night and I can't even think about it because it's like coated in this slime..." Bile of alcoholism and an overstayed welcome.
It is the blessing of good friendship that challenges me to keep memories for what they are: the imprint of a moment. Marriage and dating and commitment are all friendships of one kind or another, publicly acknowledged and privately confirmed. The act of being a friend is the real work of friendship.
Every friendship must come to an end, the end defined as the point at which both parties are no longer engaged in the act of the relationship. Everybody dies. Every relationship goes with it. I am no fatalist, nor am I all that pessimistic about love and relationships. They are more than vital and something I relish about living. I am completely in awe of the people who surround me and delight in verbal adoration whenever possible (this part is true and gets very annoying for many people. if you are one of those people, i suggest you keep me away from the tequila).
I have almost nothing good to remember about my marriages. There are no longer memories that spark joyful emotion or even a bittersweet smile. Everything is, to borrow from My Name, "coated in slime." Not because the marriages ended, but because of how freakin' long we took to get shit done.
There is so much damage you can do to a friendship between saying "It's over," and meaning it. That's where the slime and bile and fracturing happen. The worst part of healing is getting to the point where the crap on the outside of the memory isn't what you think about AND the sweetness and light of the memory itself aren't enough to inspire that one horrible, terrible, inappropriate thought: I still care, and wonder how he/she/they is/are doing. *sigh*
If you care, let it die.
Nothing in me would pollute the mental images and very real patterns of behavior I've built with friends over the years. They are not replaceable nor are they negotiable. They are also not stagnant. I trust these people to be who they are, and that means that we all get to be flexible and grow and stop and live. And when these relationships end, as they will have to, I like to think that they will be glorious to the last. Every story lacks a shape until the end.
I will, of course, be happy to forgo the hangover, if that is, indeed, an option...
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