I had pretty much given up on someone, a friend who simply
faded from our lives. But giving up on
someone doesn’t always mean they are gone.
A few weeks ago, Rob got a message through facebook from this friend
asking him for his address.
He gave her his email address and she said, “No. Not your email address. Your street address.”
“Why,” Rob understandably asked. After all, we hadn’t heard from her in
years. Not since I woke up with vertigo
(November 2006) and not during the “fun” of going to the hospital emergency
room (thrice) in 2009 and even when Rob announced our marriage, changed his status
on facebook to “married” she was one of the few who said nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
So when she answered that the reason she wanted our address
was so she could send us a wedding invitation, he said, “I don’t think we can
make it.”
He further explained that because she had said nothing about
anything happening in our lives it didn’t seem important enough to her for us
to be there for her wedding. He also
added something nice, something that, if I were to explain what it is would too
clearly identify the person so I can’t share it. However, suffice it to say it was a sincere
expression of appreciation for her friendship.
Definitely more than I would have said, more kindness than I
would have expressed.
She was thrilled for us, congratulated him and said how she
hoped we could all get together soon for a barbecue or something. I don’t know.
I don’t care. Truth is, I didn’t
expect to receive the invitation at all.
I assumed that either she would blow us off because Rob had already
intimated that we would not attend or she would change her mind as easily as
she had changed her heart.
I was mistaken. Today
the invitation arrived and I barely looked at the envelope except to see that
it was addressed to both myself and to Rob.
I had hoped the odd looking envelope would be a zine I’d ordered but no
such luck.
I opened the envelope and read the Bible quote
(Colossians 3:14) and immediately knew what it was I held in my
hands. I opened it but then put it in
the “Rob’s mail pile” to let him deal with it.
After all, she had communicated with him more than she had communicated
with me and I didn’t really know what he would want to do.
I sent him a text: We
received a wedding invitation.
Now, Rob understood my ambivalence. Rob is also deeply loyal. And there is a part of him that wanted
nothing more than for this friend and I to revive our relationship. His ability to maintain his connections with
friends from his own past still amazes me and although his desire to keep me
close to those whom I have loved is endearing it often results in a painful
experience.
I was anxious about this happening again which is probably
why I was so ambivalent. It was
emotionally safer. And through it all,
my appreciation of Rob’s loyalty grew by loving leaps and bounds.
No regrets.
When Rob received the text, he later explained to me, he actually
thought about how nice it would be for us to go. He thought it would be a loving gesture
towards her, one that might rebuild the friendship we had once shared. He probably even started thinking about what
he would wear, what I could wear.
But . . .
Once home, Rob went through his pile and saw the invitation
sitting there and even though he had told our friend we were now married, even
though she had congratulated u and was happy for us, she actually addressed the
envelope to Rob (his last name) and Satia (my former last name).
He shoved the invitation into my hands and said, “We aren’t
going.”
And I’m fine with that.
I mean, seriously, you’ve got to be kidding me. She knows we’re married and although it is
not always assumed that the woman will take on the married name, it is
typically safer and more polite to err on the side of tradition. And when you add into the mix the fact that
my former last name is actually my ex-husband’s last name, a name I continued
to use after my divorce for convenience, using that last name was a real slap
in Rob’s face. One that he felt deeply
enough to have had enough. More than
enough.
I’d let go of the friend already. And in the past, when I have tried to hold
onto a friendship I’d already released or one that faded into the past for
whatever reason, these things have inevitably resulted in my being hurt. I am thinking of Erika. I am thinking of Jorin. I am thinking of Ann. I am thinking of . . .
Well, it doesn’t matter.
This time, Rob is the one who was hurt. And I am angry because he was hurt.
I shared this story with my mother. “She addressed the
envelope Satia (my former last name).”
“What a c***,” my mother said, with her typical bluntness
and very surprising language.
Not that my mother isn’t “colorful” at times but this was
beyond even her usual style.
Later, I showed Marc the envelope. Then I shared with him the conversation with
my mother. “When I told her about the
envelope Grandma said ‘What a c***’.”
You know what Marc said?
“I love Grandma.”
Me too.
And I love Rob.
And I love my children.
I hate that Rob was hurt through this but it’s okay. Love love love is the end result.
I have nothing, not a damn thing, about which to
complain. I threw away the envelope and
the invitation.
On the RSVP card, I wrote in:
Mr. & Mrs Robert
Cecil will not attend with regret
I confess—I wanted to cross out the “with regret” but I didn’t. Why?
Because Rob said we are better than that, we are good people, and we don’t
need to do that.
My mother said I should send the card to her and she could
cross it out for us.
I put the card in the mailbox. They will have it on Friday, ignorant of
their insensitivity or how they have hurt Rob.
I don’t think she will notice. I
don’t think she will care.
And that’s okay. Like
I said, through this experience I’m reminded about how truly blessed I am,
surrounded by these amazing people who love me and know my love for them.
Which is the moral of this story.