Divorce Is Okay Quotes

People keep talking about this unfolding. I can't trust the unfolding, okay? If there is some higher power making origami out of the universe, it hates my guts. I was a fat kid whose parents got divorced, whose father died, and then who got cancer herself. So no. I don't trust how things are going to unfold.

Staying for your children is noble. However, staying with someone that teaches your children that "selective" evilness is okay is mental illness.

Divorce is difficult. I knew it would be, but it’s so much harder than I anticipated. And navigating divorce with a child in the mix is a million times trickier. You’re stuck interacting with that person for the remainder of your life. You have to either figure out a way to plan birthday parties together or figure out a way to be okay with having separate celebrations. You have to plan on which holidays each of you get to spend with your child, which days of the week, down to which hours of the day sometimes. You can’t snap your fingers and be done with the person you married and divorced. You’re stuck with them. Forever.

And I think that’s what growing up is all about, where you go, okay, this is it, this is about love-relationships are a disaster, everything is really screwed up, things don’t work out, people get divorces, I may not even like everything there is to like about myself—love anyway. Live anyway. Choose to be a part of this anyway.

It'll be okay," I said. "We're here for you." Kelly said. "I've decided to become a divorce lawyer," Amanda said. Well, we all have our own ways of showing we care.

Okay fine, you want a real answer? Look around.” Michelle waved her hands, encompassing their surroundings. “The men in this family get away with acting like a bunch of babies. They sit around eating and talking while the women do everything. The Latinx gender roles run deep. Is it any wonder our generation has made such sucky romantic choices? I don’t date.” She pointed at Ava. “She’s divorced. And you’re a serial monogamist.

You’re serious? You want me to go to school?” “Why not?” he challenged. “So long as you take care of shit around here, I’m fine with it. Might want to move on that whole divorce thing too while you’re at it. Club’s got a lawyer, I’ll set up an appointment for you. I can pretty much guarantee your ex won’t put up a fight.” He smiled when he said it—not a nice smile. “Okay, I’ll go check it out,” I said slowly. “This is weird, you get that? You kidnapping me, holding me hostage and then sending me to school? This isn’t how things like this usually work.” Horse grinned at me, eyes lazy and satisfied. “Just roll with it,” he whispered. “And keep doing whatever exercises you do to make your cunt squeeze like that. They got a college degree for that?

She gives your son a lobotomy, and that’s okay. Then she’s mean to your dog and you get a divorce?

The human brain comprises 70% water, which means it's a similar consistency to tofu. Picture that for a second - a blob of tofu the size and shape of a brain. Now imagine taking that piece of tofu, and forcing your thumbs into it hard. It would burst wouldn't it? Okay, now imagine those thumbs weren't thumbs but thumb-shaped pieces of bad news. And there weren't two of them, they were about half a dozen. Imagine you were forcing all six pieces of bad news - a divorce, multiple career snubs, accusations from the family of a dead celebrity, estranged kids, borderline homelessness, that kind of thing - into a piece of tofu. With me? Good. Now imagine it's not tofu, but a human brain. And they're not pieces of bad news but six human thumbs. That's what happened to me. In 2001, my brain had half a dozen thumbs pushed into it.

What I’m trying to say is that it will be okay between you and Nate. Because you both want that. Because you both want that more than anything. It sounds simple, but I’m learning that the problems start when you want different things

It's okay to love someone even though they wronged you. You can't pretend your feelings don't exist because you're afraid of what those feelings might mean. Sometimes, the hardest thing in the world is to love someone who broke your heart.

The only person that should wear your ring is the one person that would never… 1. Ask you to remain silent and look the other way while they hurt another. 2. Jeopardize your future by taking risks that could potentially ruin your finances or reputation. 3. Teach your children that hurting others is okay because God loves them more. God didn’t ask you to keep your family together at the expense of doing evil to others. 4. Uses religious guilt to control you, while they are doing unreligious things. 5. Doesn't believe their actions have long lasting repercussions that could affect other people negatively. 6. Reminds you of your faults, but justifies their own. 7. Uses the kids to manipulate you into believing you are nothing. As if to suggest, you couldn’t leave the relationship and establish a better Christian marriage with someone that doesn’t do these things. Thus, making you believe God hates all the divorced people and will abandon you by not bringing someone better to your life, after you decide to leave. As if! 8. They humiliate you online and in their inner circle. They let their friends, family and world know your transgressions. 9. They tell you no marriage is perfect and you are not trying, yet they are the one that has stirred up more drama through their insecurities. 10. They say they are sorry, but they don’t show proof through restoring what they have done. 11. They don’t make you a better person because you are miserable. They have only made you a victim or a bitter survivor because of their need for control over you. 12. Their version of success comes at the cost of stepping on others. 13. They make your marriage a public event, in order for you to prove your love online for them. 14. They lie, but their lies are often justified. 15. You constantly have to start over and over and over with them, as if a connection could be grown and love restored through a honeymoon phase, or constant parental supervision of one another’s down falls. 16. They tell you that they don’t care about anyone other than who they love. However, their actions don’t show they love you, rather their love has become bitter insecurity disguised in statements such as, “Look what I did for us. This is how much I care.” 17. They tell you who you can interact with and who you can’t. 18. They believe the outside world is to blame for their unhappiness. 19. They brought you to a point of improvement, but no longer have your respect. 20. They don't make you feel anything, but regret. You know in your heart you settled.

The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough. Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world. The refugee in Syria doesn’t benefit more if you conserve your kindness only for her and withhold it from your neighbor who’s going through a divorce. Yes, perspective is critical. But I’m a firm believer that complaining is okay as long as we piss and moan with a little perspective. Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us.

So what's your doll's name?" Boo asked me. "Barbie," I said. "All their names are Barbie." "I see," she said. "Well, I'd think that would get boring, everyone having the same name." I thought about this, then said, "Okay, then her name is Sabrina." "Well, that's a very nice name," Boo said. I remember she was baking bread, kneading the dough between her thick fingers. "What does she do?" "Do?" I said. "Yes." She flipped the dough over and started in on it from the other side. "What does she do?" "She goes out with Ken," I said. "And what else?" "She goes to parties," I said slowly. "And shopping." "Oh," Boo said, nodding. "She can't work?" "She doesn't have to work," I said. "Why not?" "Because she's Barbie." "I hate to tell you, Caitlin, but somebody has to make payments on that town house and the Corvette," Boo said cheerfully. "Unless Barbie has a lot of family money." I considered this while I put on Ken's pants. Boo started pushing the dough into a pan, smoothing it with her hand over the top. "You know what I think, Caitlin?" Her voice was soft and nice, the way she always spoke to me. "What?" "I think your Barbie can go shopping, and go out with Ken, and also have a productive and satisfying career of her own." She opened the oven and slid in the bread pan, adjusting its position on the rack. "But what can she do?" My mother didn't work and spent her time cleaning the house and going to PTA. I couldn't imagine Barbie, whose most casual outfit had sequins and go-go boots, doing s.uch things. Boo came over and plopped right down beside me. I always remember her being on my level; she'd sit on the edge of the sandbox, or lie across her bed with me and Cass as we listened to the radio. "Well," she said thoughtfully, picking up Ken and examining his perfect physique. "What do you want to do when you grow up?" I remember this moment so well; I can still see Boo sitting there on the floor, cross- legged, holding my Ken and watching my face as she tried to make me see that between my mother's PTA and Boo's strange ways there was a middle ground that began here with my Barbie, Sab-rina, and led right to me. "Well," I said abruptly, "I want to be in advertising." I have no idea where this came from. "Advertising," Boo repeated, nodding. "Okay. Advertising it is. So Sabrina has to go to work every day, coming up with ideas for commercials and things like that." "She works in an office," I went on. "Sometimes she has to work late." "Sure she does," Boo said. "It's hard to get ahead. Even if you're Barbie." "Because she wants to get promoted," I added. "So she can pay off the town house. And the Corvette." "Very responsible of her," Boo said. "Can she be divorced?" I asked. "And famous for her commercials and ideas?" "She can be anything," Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckled face so solemn, as if she knew she was the first to tell me. "And so can you.

I’m okay with being pragmatic rather than romantic; honestly, there’s something romantic about pragmatism. I find reality way sexier than delusion.

Okay, let’s pretend to be friends. Just two friends having dinner.” “That doesn’t work in the South. A male friend cannot have dinner with a female friend if the male friend has a wife. It just doesn’t work down here.” “Why not?” “Because men don’t have female friends. No way. I don’t know of a single man in the entire South who is married and has a female friend. I think it goes back to the Civil War.” “I think it goes back to the Dark Ages. Why are Southern women so jealous?” “Because that’s the way we’ve trained them. They learned from us. If my wife met a male friend for lunch or dinner, I’d tear his head off and file for divorce. She learned it from me.” “That makes absolutely no sense.” “Of course it doesn’t.” “Your wife has no male friends?” “None that I know of. If you learn of any, let me know.” “And you have no female friends?” “Why would I want female friends? They can’t talk about football, or duck hunting, or politics, or lawsuits, or anything that I want to talk about. They talk about kids, clothes, recipes, coupons, furniture, stuff I know nothing about. No, I don’t have any female friends. Don’t want any.” “That’s what I love about the South. The people are so tolerant.” “Thank you.

Comparative suffering is a function of fear and scarcity. Falling down, screwing up, and facing hurt often lead to bouts of second-guessing our judgment, our self-trust, and even our worthiness. I am enough can slowly turn into Am I really enough? If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s that fear and scarcity immediately trigger comparison, and even pain and hurt are not immune to being assessed and ranked. My husband died and that grief is worse than your grief over an empty nest. I’m not allowed to feel disappointed about being passed over for promotion when my friend just found out that his wife has cancer. You’re feeling shame for forgetting your son’s school play? Please—that’s a first-world problem; there are people dying of starvation every minute. The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough. Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world. The refugee in Syria doesn’t benefit more if you conserve your kindness only for her and withhold it from your neighbor who’s going through a divorce. Yes, perspective is critical. But I’m a firm believer that complaining is okay as long as we piss and moan with a little perspective. Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us.

I’m possessive, and I get jealous. I know that. I accept it. I own up to it. I would be picturing thisimaginary person I love having s-e-x,” I whispered the word just in case, “with whoever he’s been in a relationship with, and I’d want to stab each one of those girls. But not everyone is like that. That’s part of the reason why I don’t have a boyfriend. I know I’m crazy. I already feel sorry for whatever poor bastard ends up with me some day, but he’ll know what he’s getting into. I don’t hide it.” Trip shook his head, grinning wide. “You said it. You’re fuckin’ nuts.” What was I going to do? Deny it? “Diana, I hate to tell you, I don’t know anybody like that.” I frowned. “That’s okay. I’m sure there’s some nice, divorced Catholic boy out there somewhere in the world, who waited to lose it until he got married and now he’s waiting again for the right girl.” “Doubt it.” I gave Trip a face before checking on the steaks again. “Quit killing my dreams.” “I’m just keepin’ it real for you, honey.” “Okay, maybe if he’s really nice to me and good to me, and I’m the love of his life, and he writes me sweet notes on a regular basis telling me that I’m the light of his life and he can’t live without me, I’ll give him ten women tops. Tops.” I let out a breath. “I’m getting mad just thinking about it.

Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world. The refugee in Syria doesn’t benefit more if you conserve your kindness only for her and withhold it from your neighbor who’s going through a divorce. Yes, perspective is critical. But I’m a firm believer that complaining is okay as long as we piss and moan with a little perspective. Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us. 8.

I confess I had a Child of Divorce Reunion Fantasy Number One Thousand, where I for a moment imagined my father finding out that Dino really was a killer woman and that my parents would have to get back together. I saw them running through a meadow, hand in hand. Okay, maybe not a meadow. But I saw me having only one Christmas and one phone number and only my father's shaved bristles in the bathroom sink.

I’ll tell you this, if he gives me one more order with that W word again, I’m going to divorce him before we can even finish the wedding.” “The W . . . Okay, Bella, as usual you have lost me. W word?” “Yeah. W, . . . as in Wife. Ugh! He’s always saying or thinking things in this high and mighty way and tacking the word ‘wife’ onto the end like it’s some kind of password that lets him order me around.” Bella noted her friend’s still perplexed expression, so she screwed up her face, attitude, and voice into an uncanny approximation of Jacob. “‘I do not want you hunting in your condition, wife. It is too dangerous for you and the babe to accompany me, wife. I have told Elijah that there are to be no more training lessons until after the birth, and do not argue with me about this, wife, because my mind is set.” Isabella sagged back with a frustrated sigh. “Oy! It’s just so obnoxious and so . . . high-handed! You know the honeymoon is over when you go from ‘my love,’ ‘my little flower,’ and ‘my heart’ and become simply ‘wife.’” Legna smothered the urge to chuckle. Her little friend’s famous sarcasm always tickled her, and it was meant to tickle. Bella had a way of hiding behind her wit and humor. She was stating things that clearly disturbed her, but she mocked them in such a way that anyone who did not know her would treat it as little more than a comedy routine. Legna knew better. “Now, Bella, you know Jacob adores you. He naturally wants to protect you. He literally worships the ground you walk on.” “Ha ha,” Bella said dryly. “Earth Demon. Worship the ground. Cute. Really cute.” “Well, come on now. Seriously. As a Demon of the Earth, Jacob has an affinity with nature.

I always tell my son, "Make sure that you live the life that you're meant to live. You might get married and divorced six times; that's okay, that's your story. You might get married once and stay with that person for the rest of your life; that's okay too. You might never get married and that's just fine! Make sure that you live the life that's meant for you, to the fullest capacity of how you're meant to live it, not how others think you're supposed to live it.

In the middle of a grocery store, two children were horsing around (one holding the other in a headlock) when the mother turned abruptly to give them a stern reprimand. 'You two are old enough to know better than to behave this way in public! Could you—at least for the time we’re in this store—mind your manners enough to act like an adult?' The children took less than a moment to consider their mother’s question before facing each other and engaging in the following conversation: 'I hate you.' 'I hate you too.' 'Let's get a divorce.' 'Okay.' Perhaps ‘act like an adult’ isn't such good advice anymore.

When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world. The refugee in Syria doesn’t benefit more if you conserve your kindness only for her and withhold it from your neighbor who’s going through a divorce. Yes, perspective is critical. But I'm a firm believer that complaining is okay as long as we piss and moan with a little perspective. Hurt is hurt, and every time we honor our own struggle and the struggles of others by responding with empathy and compassion, the healing that results affects all of us.

First, divorce isn’t the end of your life. It feels like it. It’s a horrible thing to go through, but it’s not the end. It’s only another beginning. Second, some men let you down. Some don’t. Look at the man in front of you and discern the difference. Third, forgive yourself. You were simply learning some important lessons, and that’s okay. Growing is messy. Fourth, when you don’t know what to do, plow ahead. You’ll run into something. I did. Fifth, opening yourself up to another person after your heart was torched, the ashes scattered to the four winds, is one of the bravest acts you can do. Yet, without love, our lives aren’t as radiant as they could be. Mine wasn’t. It’s cliché, but true. Lastly, with a little help from fate—scratch that, sometimes a big help—we make our own happy endings. But it’s a day-by-day process. Never forget that. I don’t plan to this time ‘round.

It's okay to feel like shit. It's okay to feel worthless. It's okay to feel insignificant. It's okay to miss someone you can't have. It's okay to have a tightness in your chest or a burning sensation on your arms or legs and it's okay to not want to eat or sleep or just overall hurt yourself or worse. It's okay to feel like your world is crashing down and it's okay to feel like you can't do this. But the point is that you try. And no matter who you are, or what age you are. Whether you're my ex from third grade (if I had one) or a random three year old who's just had a bad day. If you're 56 and your wife just divorced you and you just wanna think or get advice or anything. I'll be here. It's okay to think you're a whore, but you aren't. It's okay to feel really dumb. But I'll do my best to convince you otherwise. Cuz I can't do much, I can't. I can't completely understand what you're feeling. And I'm sorry about that. But I can sure as hell try. And I'll try my very best.

 I walk away, feeling Brody’s gaze on me. There’s no doubt that as soon as we get back in the car, I’m going to get it—good. Instead, Brody stays quiet while I assemble the paperwork. He may not be speaking, but he’s saying a whole lot in the silence. “Just say it,” I mumble and finally look over. “I’m not saying a word.” He raises his hands. “Clearly, you two know each other, and it ain’t from growing up here. You tell me everything, so there is no way you wouldn’t have told me you know him,” Brody pauses and leans back. “I’m not saying a word about who you may or may not have slept with recently. Even though, it’s pretty obvious.” “You know, you not saying a word took you a long time.” “It’s not like you’ve had a five-year drought since your divorce. Or that you slept with a singer/actor. Nope. I have nothing to say about that. Not a thing.” I groan. “Could you not say anything for real this time?” “Sure thing, boss. I’ll just be over here, watching Hell start to thaw.” This is not going to get any better. I’d almost rather hear the questions. This is Brody Webber. My partner, my friend, and the one person who I have enough dirt on to make his life hell if he repeats this. “Okay, fine. Yes, I slept with Eli Walsh. I was crazy and dumb. I also had about six beers, which is two over my threshold, and I was trying to be in the moment for once. Fucking Nicole and her pep talks.” Brody coughs a laugh and then recovers. “Sorry, go on.” “I swear, you better keep this to yourself. If you tell anyone . . .” I give him my best threatening face. “I mean anyone, I’ll make your life a living nightmare.” He shakes his head and laughs again. “I won’t say a word, but you had a one-night stand with one of the most famous men in the boy band atmosphere. You’re too cool for me, Heather. I don’t think we can be friends. I’m sure you and the band will be happy without me.” I huff and grab the papers. “I’m getting a new partner.” I walk back over to the car, praying this will be painless

We have blinded ourselves to the connection between the abuse of sex and the dissolution of the American family, which can be seen in these results: as of 2010 those with children now represent only 20 percent of American households, according to the US Census Bureau;19 35 percent of children are in single-parent families; sexual crime is up more than 200 percent in public schools since 1994; there has been a precipitous rise in illegitimate births (now 40 percent of all births); 60 percent of African-American children are born out of wedlock; some 50 percent of marriages end in divorce;20 there are some one million abortions per year on average, or 55 million since 1973; and our culture has coarsened in brutal ways. Yet the misuse of sex has so corrupted our society that no one dares mention it as a principal cause of our debasement. As Justice Kennedy teaches, unassailable “private conduct between consenting adults” made under the inviolable “autonomy of self” is at the heart of liberty. But this cannot be right, particularly if it leads to self-destruction.

I know I said this before, but it bears repeating. You know Tate won’t like you staying with me.” “I don’t care,” she said bitterly. “I don’t tell him where to sleep. It’s none of his business what I do anymore.” He made a rough sound. “Would you like to guess what he’s going to assume if you stay the night in my apartment?” She drew in a long breath. “Okay. I don’t want to cause problems between you, not after all the years you’ve been friends. Take me to a hotel instead.” He hesitated uncharacteristically. “I can take the heat, if you can.” “I don’t know that I can. I’ve got enough turmoil in my life right now. Besides, he’ll look for me at your place. I don’t want to be found for a couple of days, until I can get used to my new situation and make some decisions about my future. I want to see Senator Holden and find another apartment. I can do all that from a hotel.” “Suit yourself.” “Make it a moderately priced one,” she added with graveyard humor. “I’m no longer a woman of means. From now on, I’m going to have to be responsible for my own bills.” “You should have poured the soup in the right lap,” he murmured. “Which was?” “Audrey Gannon’s,” he said curtly. “She had no right to tell you that Tate was your benefactor. She did it for pure spite, to drive a wedge between you and Tate. She’s nothing but trouble. One day Tate is going to be sorry that he ever met her.” “She’s lasted longer than the others.” “You haven’t spent enough time talking to her to know what she’ s like. I have,” he added darkly. “She has enemies, among them an ex-husband who’s living in a duplex because she got his house, his Mercedes, and his Swiss bank account in the divorce settlement.” “So that’s where all those pretty diamonds came from,” she said wickedly. “Her parents had money, too, but they spent most of it before they died in a plane crash. She likes unusual men, they say, and Tate’s unusual.” “She won’t go to the reservation to see Leta,” she commented. “Of course not.” He leaned toward her as he stopped at a traffic light. “It’s a Native American reservation!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Leta’s worth two of Audrey.” “Three,” he returned. “Okay. I’ll find you a hotel. Then I’m leaving town before Tate comes looking for me!” “You might hang a crab on your front door,” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “It just might ward him off.” “Ha!” She turned her eyes toward the bright lights of the city. She felt cold and alone and a little frightened. But everything would work out. She knew it would. She was a grown woman and she could take care of herself. This was her chance to prove it.

Your belly’s getting big,” he said one night. “I know,” I answered, looking down. It was kind of hard to deny. “I love it,” he said, stroking it with the palm of his hand. I recoiled a little, remembering the black bikini I’d worn on our honeymoon and how comparatively concave my belly looked then, and hoping Marlboro Man had long since put the image out of his mind. “Hey, what are we naming this thing?” he asked, even as the “thing” fluttered and kicked in my womb. “Oh, man…” I sighed. “I have no idea. Zachary?” I pulled it out of my wazoo. “Eh,” he said, uninspired. “Shane?” Oh no. Here go the old movies. “I went to my senior prom with a Shane,” I answered, remembering dark and mysterious Shane Ballard. “Okay, scratch that,” he said. “How about…how about Ashley?” How far was he going to take this? I remembered a movie we’d watched on our fifteenth date or so. “How about Rooster Cogburn?” He chuckled. I loved it when he chuckled. It meant everything was okay and he wasn’t worried or stressed or preoccupied. It meant we were dating and sitting on his old porch and my parents weren’t divorcing. It meant my belly button wasn’t bulbous and deformed. His chuckles were like a drug to me. I tried to elicit them daily. “What if it’s a girl?” I said. “Oh, it’s a boy,” he said with confidence. “I’m positive.” I didn’t respond. How could I argue with that?

Come over early tomorrow morning,” Marlboro Man asked over the phone one night. “We’re gathering cattle, and I want you to meet my mom and dad.” “Oh, okay,” I agreed, wondering to myself why we couldn’t just remain in our own isolated, romantic world. And the truth was, I wasn’t ready to meet his parents yet. I still hadn’t successfully divorced myself from California J’s dear, dear folks. They’d been so wonderful to me during my years of dating their son and had become the California version of my parents, my home away from home. I hated that our relationship couldn’t continue despite, oh, the minor detail of my breaking up with their son. And already? Another set of parents? I wasn’t ready. “What time do you want me there?” I asked. I’d do anything for Marlboro Man. “Can you be here around five?” he asked. “In the evening…right?” I responded, hopeful. He chuckled. Oh, no. This was going to turn out badly for me. “Um…no,” he said. “That would be five A.M.” I sighed. To arrive at his ranch at 5:00 A.M. would mean my rising by 4:00 A.M.--before 4:00 A.M. if I wanted to shower and make myself presentable. This meant it would still be dark outside, which was completely offensive and unacceptable. There’s no way. I’d have to tell him no. “Okay--no problem!” I responded. I clutched my stomach in pain. Chuckling again, he teased, “I can come pick you up if you need me to. Then you can sleep all the way back to the ranch.” “Are you kidding?” I replied. “I’m usually up by four anyway. That’s when I usually do my running, as you well know.” “Uh…huh,” he said. “Gotcha.” Another chuckle. Lifeblood to my soul.

Many people find it hard to understand what it is about a mountain that draws men and women to risk their lives on her freezing, icy faces--all for a chance at that single, solitary moment on the top. It can be hard to explain. But I also relate to the quote that says: “If you have to ask, you will never understand.” I just felt that maybe this was it: my first real, and possibly only, chance to follow that dream of one day standing on the summit of Mount Everest. Deep down, I knew that I should take it. Neil agreed to my joining his Everest team on the basis of how I’d perform on an expedition that October to the Himalayas. As I got off the phone from speaking to Neil, I had a sinking feeling that I had just made a commitment that was going to change my life forever--either for the better or for the worse. But I had wanted a fresh start--this was it, and I felt alive. A few days later I announced the news to my family. My parents--and especially my sister, Lara--called me selfish, unkind, and then stupid. Their eventual acceptance of the idea came with the condition that if I died then my mother would divorce my father, as he had been the man who had planted the “stupid idea” in my head in the first place, all those years earlier. Dad just smiled. Time eventually won through, even with my sister, and all their initial resistance then turned into a determination to help me--predominantly motivated by the goal of trying to keep me alive. As for me, all I had to ensure was that I kept my promise to be okay. As it happened, four people tragically died on Everest while we were there: four talented, strong climbers. It wasn’t within my capability to make these promises to my family. My father knew that.

We often talk about being kind, but how do we define "kind" at its very root? Where is the root and what is the root of "kind" and "kindness"? I truly believe that kindness is rooted in the acceptance of the flaws of life, the acceptance of the turns life has taken which we couldn't have planned for and that we didn't hope for. Kindness is rooted in the acceptance of the fact that life is a wild thing that cannot ever be caged. Some people are going to get married and divorced seven times before they find the one they are meant to be with; that's okay. Some people are going to be born with disabilities; that's okay. Some people are born in heaven while others are born in hell; both are okay. Some people are born in hell later ending up in heaven while others are born in heaven later ending up in hell; it's all okay. Life, whether belonging to you or to others, is never going to be a painting fitting into your prepared picture frame. How dare we come into this monstrous, joyous, incredible, terrible world, thinking that we can dictate what's wrong and right, what's better and what's lesser? Come into this world with your wings and your claws and your paws and your laughters! With your feathers and your fur! Because you're going to need all of it! And when you look at other people, sometimes they are going to be donning feathers and other times they are going to be clawing things, jumping in and out, screaming or laughing or crying or being quiet; it's all okay. Because we are ALL living with this monstrous and beautiful creature called Life! So, kindness is the realisation of this, the readiness to see this in others, the willingness to embrace everything that happens-- whether it is happening to yourself or to other people. Kindness is waking up to the true and full nature of life, looking her in the eyes, and being ready to embrace her.

I need to check your vitals, hon,” she explained. It had been several hours since I’d given birth. I guess this was the routine. She felt my pulse, palpated my legs, asked if I had pain anywhere, and lightly pressed on my abdomen, the whole while making sure I wasn’t showing signs of a blockage or a blood clot, a fever or a hemorrhage. I stared dreamily at Marlboro Man, who gave me a wink or two. I hoped he would, in time, be able to see past the vomit. The nurse then began a battery of questions. “So, no pain?” “Nope. I feel fine now.” “No chills?” “Not at all.” “Have you been able to pass gas in the past few hours?” *Insert awkward ten-second pause* I couldn’t have heard her right. “What?” I asked, staring at her. “Have you been able to pass gas lightly?” *Another awkward pause* What kind of question is this? “Wait…,” I asked. “What?” “Sweetie, have you been able to pass gas today?” I stared at her blankly. “I don’t…” “…Pass gas? You? Today?” She was unrelenting. I continued my blank, desperate stare, completely incapable of registering her question. Throughout the entire course of my pregnancy, I’d gone to great lengths to maintain a certain level of glamour and vanity. Even during labor, I’d attempted to remain the ever-fresh and vibrant new wife, going so far as to reapply tinted lip balm before the epidural so I wouldn’t look pale. I’d also restrained myself during the pushing stage, afraid I’d lose control of my bowels, which would have been the kiss of death upon my pride and my marriage; I would have had to just divorce my husband and start fresh with someone else. I had never once so much as passed gas in front of Marlboro Man. As far as he was concerned, my body lacked this function altogether. So why was I being forced to answer these questions now? I hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m sorry…,” I stammered. “I don’t understand the question…” The nurse began again, seemingly unconcerned with my lack of comprehension skills. “Have you…” Marlboro Man, lovingly holding our baby and patiently listening all this time from across the room, couldn’t take it anymore. “Honey! She wants to know if you’ve been able to fart today!” The nurse giggled. “Okay, well maybe that’s a little more clear.” I pulled the covers over my head. I was not having this discussion.

Korie’s parents came to the house to see me, and I sat on the couch with Johnny and Chrys. It was not pretty. The argument was so loud that Alan came out of his room. He looked at us and asked, “What in the world is going on?” Johnny was making all of his arguments, and I was acting like a little punk, twisting his words to put them in my favor, which only made him madder and madder. Johnny told me that according to studies he’d read, 50 percent of all marriages between young people ended in divorce. He had the articles with him to support his arguments. “So you’re calling that right now?” I asked him. “In all your wisdom, you know we’re going to get divorced?” “I’m not saying that,” Johnny told me. “You just said it,” I responded. “You just said half end in divorce. Well, what if we’re the good half?” Then Johnny went on to say that if we got married, he didn’t want me coming to him for advice. But then later on in the conversation, he told me I could ask him about anything. He was completely irrational, and I, of course, had to point that out to him. “You just said I couldn’t ask you for advice,” I told him. He was so mad, I thought he was going to leap off the couch and hit me. Before they left, Johnny looked at me and asked me one last question. “What’s your plan?” he asked. “What’s my plan?” I said to him. “What exactly is your plan?” he said. “Where are you going to work? Where are you going to live?” “Well, I reckon I’ll just buy a trailer and put it on the back property at Phil’s house,” I told him. That threw Johnny over the top. He and Chrys stormed out of Alan and Lisa’s house, and I was convinced there was no way they were going to give us their blessing to get married. I called Korie to tell her how the meeting went. “It went terrible,” I told her. “We were yelling at each other. It was pretty ugly.” Then Korie had to hang up because her parents were calling her phone. She called me back a few minutes later. Much to my surprise, her parents told her, “Okay, if you’re determined to do this, we’re going to support you.” Johnny didn’t say much to me for the next few months, during the planning of the wedding, and I knew Korie’s parents still didn’t like the idea of her getting married so young. I told Phil that Korie’s parents didn’t want us getting married and asked him what I should do. “Here’s what I’d do,” Phil said, while sitting back in his recliner. “I’d call them up and say, “Y’all missed that. The wedding was last week when we went to the justice of the peace and got married. Y’all missed the whole thing.

Hi guys,” I said quietly. “It’s been a while.” My eyes shot back and forth between the headstones of my parents. They had bought these plots next to each other before they divorced, and with the sudden nature of their deaths that never got changed. I thought it was fitting. Even though they couldn’t be next to each other in life, at least they lay beside each other in death. I wished yet again they had never gotten divorced. Shuddering, I took a deep breath. “I’m okay,” I told them. “I want you guys to know that. Life has been really hard without you, but I’m okay.

yourself.” “Maybe we should analyze it. Maybe a little discovery is in order.” “Maybe a little getting under the covers is in order. Baby?” “Yes?” “Are you going to take off your overcoat? Feels like making it with a flasher.” “Good point. Jesus, Pep,” he sighed soulfully. “Keep taking off the coat. That’s it. Now how about the jacket? There you go. . . .” “Six months ago I was happily married.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “Married, okay. Happily? Let’s look at it. But could we maybe be in the now instead of the then?” “Sorry, I’m so damned awkward sometimes. Do you like the top or the bottom?” Pepper stared. “This ain’t summer camp, and I ain’t a bunk bed. Now look here, Chiefy, we are two grown adults, we are colleagues, we have discovered a mutual attraction. We are neither of us cheating on anyone, inasmuch as our spouses filed for divorce. We are both heterosexual—” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It’s a statement of fact intended to differentiate myself from your prior partner for the purpose of putting you at ease so as to . . . oh, c’mere . . . initiate foreplay . . .

No. Okay. Here goes,” Liddell said. “A guy leaves his divorce attorney’s office and storms down the street to a bar. He sits down, orders a triple Scotch, slings it back, orders another and slings that back and orders another. “The bartender asks, ‘Hey buddy, why so angry?’ “The man says, ‘Goddamn lawyers! They’re all a bunch of assholes! ’ “A customer at the other end of the bar stands up and says, ‘Hey! I resent that remark!’ “The man asks, ‘Why? You a lawyer?’ “The other customer says, ‘No! I’m an asshole.’” Jack

He tells me that when my mother met my father, she was already married, in the process of getting a divorce. And she had a two-year-old daughter. She didn’t tell my father about her child until right before their wedding. He loved her, so he offered to adopt the child as his own. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “We’ll leave her with her father’s family.

chapter 37 exercise sucks i blame PE class as the first offender. I really do. At such an early age kids who love to play active games are made to run laps instead. Okay, maybe that isn’t every school, but it was certainly the first time I remember someone divorcing physical activity from fun and creating the demon that is exercise. Then diet culture came along and told us the reason we should be engaging this exercise is primarily to keep our bodies thin and attractive. These things have really wrecked our relationship to joyful body movement. If you are motivated to an activity by body shame, experience the activity as a chorus of unpleasant sensory experiences (pain, boredom, and sweat are my three least favorite things in the world), and then end with no immediate results, why on earth would you like that activity or want to do it ever again?

Incompatibility is a misnomer in divorce. No one replicates another. They were compatible from dating to wedding only to discover incompatibility in wedlock? Weird! Two adult bodies clinging to the emotions and reasonings of babes - and that's what they call each other.

Incompatibility is a misnomer in divorce. No human replicates another. How come they were compatible from dating to wedding only to become incompatibility in wedlock? Weird! Two adult bodies clinging to the emotions and reasonings of babes; ironically, that's what they call each other.

Incompatibility is a misnomer in divorce. No human replicates another. They were compatible all the way from dating to wedding only to become incompatibility in wedlock? Weird! This is the case of two adult bodies clinging to the emotions and reasonings of babes. Ironically, that's what they call each other - babe.

Incompatibility is a misnomer in divorce. No human is a replica of another hence we're all different. They were complimentary all the way from dating to wedding only to become incompatible in wedlock? Weird! This is the case of two adult bodies clinging to the emotions and reasonings of babes. Ironically, that's what they call each other - babe.

No, it’s not that. Or not just that,” Kat protested. “I don’t get along with them at all—one of them, anyway.” “Now let me guess—that would be your dark twin. Am I right?” Piper raised an eyebrow at her and Kat nodded. “Lock is really sweet. But Deep…we just can’t get along.” She looked down at her hands. “My parents divorced when I was twelve and my grandmother raised me but before then, they were constantly yelling and screaming at each other. I just…I don’t want to be stuck for life in a relationship like that and…” She looked up. “And I don’t even know why I’m telling you this when I just met you.” “That’s ‘cause I’m easy to talk to.” Piper smiled at her. “Everybody says so. I was a bartender back on Earth back before my men called me as a bride. Worked at a club in downtown Houston called Foolish Pride. I bet I listened to fifty sob stories a night and you know what? I kinda miss it.” “You’re good at it.” Kat smiled at her. “Did…do you have the same problem with your, uh, guys? Not that Deep and Lock are mine or anything,” she continued hurriedly. “I mean, we kind of all got stuck together by accident and now I’m having a really hard time getting away.” “Isn’t that just the way?” Piper nodded sympathetically. “As for dark twins—they’re always a problem. Ask any female on God’s green Earth who’s mated to one. They’re contrary and irritating and just plain ornery and yours seems to be worse than most.” “He certainly is,” Kat agreed, thinking of Deep’s tendency to get under her skin. “He’s sarcastic and moody and dark…” She sighed. “But he’s very protective, too. And loyal and gentle when he wants to be. And…” “And you’re really confused,” Piper finished for her. Kat nodded gratefully. “I really am. But I do know I don’t want to be bonded to anyone until I’m ready. And I am so far from being ready right now it isn’t funny.” “Then stay away from them tonight when the bonding fruit kicks in,” Piper said seriously. “Ask for a private room or lock yourself in the bathroom but whatever you do, don’t wind up between them or it’s gonna be game, set, and match. I promise you that.” “Okay,

I started to climb off the bed, but Brandon wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back down. Bree snickered and walked out the door. After it was shut, Brandon pulled me closer to him. “You’re leaving?” He asked softly, his fingers trailing down my arm. “Yeah, I have to go back to my dorm.” “You don’t have to. I want you here with me.” My first thought was of Chase and what he would think about that. I scolded myself and shook my head, “I can’t, we’re not rushing, remember?” He grumbled halfheartedly and squeezed me tighter, “If I knew you were going to leave at the end of today I would have clarified what we weren’t going to rush.” I giggled against his jaw and continued on with a trail of kisses. “I know what you meant. But I can’t stay here.” Lord knows I would love to wake up to his handsome face every day. But like he said, we just met and I’ve only been out of Sir’s house for a little over two weeks. If that’s not the definition of rushing, I don’t know what is. “Weekends?” “What about them?” I asked against his neck. “Will you stay with me on the weekends? You’ll probably be here anyway.” I sat up and looked down at his breathtaking face, “You really want me here? You’re not going to get tired of me being around?” “Seriously Harper? I told you I wanted to keep you here. You’re right though, you do need to stay at the dorm with Bree. So if I have to ‘share’ you with her, then I plan on using this sharing to my advantage so I get you too.” I rolled my eyes and pushed against his chest playfully, “Okay fine. How about this? Unless something comes up, I will stay here with you on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.” A huge smile showing off his perfect teeth and dimple spread across his face as he brought his mouth to mine, “That sounds perfect.” He spoke around our kisses. “I feel like I’m the kid of a divorced couple.” I grumbled and he laughed. We kissed a few moments longer until we heard Bree complaining from the hallway. Brandon hugged me tight to his chest at his door and planted a quick kiss on my forehead, “I’ll see you at school, have a good night sweetheart.” The

You know, I’ve been hanging around your place, riding with you, throwing the stick for your dogs, and I never asked you about the husbands. Like, how many? And why you think it didn’t work out?” “What makes you think I feel like telling you?” she asked. “Aw, you’ll tell me,” he said. “You’re just that kinda gal. And I told you about my wife.” “Okay,” she said, still slapping sandwiches together. “The synopsis. The first one was fifteen years older than me, my agent. He’s still my agent—he married the talent, not the person I was. He was very ambitious for me, for us both. He still thinks I divorced him because of his age, but I divorced him because all he cared about was my career. I don’t think he could tell you my favorite color…” “Yellow,” Walt said. Her head snapped around and she stared at him. “Yellow,” she said. “That was easy,” he said. “It’s all around and you wear it a lot. Red’s important, too.” “Right,” she said, shocked. She shook herself. “Okay, number two hit, number three cheated, number four had a child he failed to mention, number five—” “All right, wait,” Walt said. “Is this going to go on for a real long time?” She grinned at him. “Didn’t you look it up on the Internet?” “I did not,” he said, almost insulted. “We’re stopping at five. He had a substance-abuse problem. I didn’t know about it beforehand, obviously. I tried to help, but I was in the way—he needed to be on his own. That’s when I decided that, really, I should quit doing that. Marrying. But please understand, it’s not all my fault—Hollywood doesn’t exactly have a reputation for long, sturdy relationships. I did the best I could.” “I have no doubt,” he said. “Do you say that because you have no doubt? Or are you being a sarcastic ass to a poor woman who had to go through five miserable husbands?” He chuckled. Then he slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays. It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

Okay. To wrap up.” Orson claps his hands together. “Our captain of cummage is on a dry spell and has only slept with one man, who also happens to be the man he’s been obsessing over for at least a year, then didn’t bother to tell his besties about it.” Griff hums. “I smell fuckery in the air.

Be content with your choices. The human heart has no room for regret. But also, don’t be afraid to not give up on love. Society tells us that it is okay to throw love away too easily. I think this makes for too many unhealthy old people.

MOVING ON It’s okay to grieve. The Holmes-Rahe stress scale rates divorce as one of life’s most stressful life events, second only to death of a spouse or close loved one. That’s because divorce itself is a tremendous loss. Many people experience a deep sadness that their marriage has ended. Even if you’re partying in the streets that it’s over, don’t be surprised if you get hit by some feelings later on.

Love never leaves us because it flows through us, our lives, as direct descendants of God, the divine source of all love in humanity, forever and ever available to us to draw from and to steer and direct our actions, manifesting love through the things we do. People, on the other hand, leave our lives all the time. Even when I think about getting married one day, I remind myself that in a perfect marriage-loving and healthy and full of wonderful and memorable experiences-sooner or later, your spouse will leave you as well. Until death do us part, so it goes. But even in divorce or breakups, just because two people part ways and decide it's best to move on separately, it doesn't mean that one or both people are bad, or not good enough. The reasons why a relationship ends are independent of your value as a person, which existed long before the relationship began, and still exists even when the other person exits. Love never leaves us, but people do-and that's okay. Love is inseparable from people-it's literally a part of human nature to love, to be loved, and to desire such a thing.

Love never leaves us because it flows through us, our lives, as direct descendants of Go, the divine source of all love in humanity, forever and ever available to us to draw from and to steer and direct our actions, manifesting love through the things we do. People, on the other hand, leave our lives all the time. Even when I think about getting married one day, I remind myself that in a perfect marriage-loving and healthy and full of wonderful and memorable experiences-sooner or later, your spouse will leave you as well. Until death do us part, so it goes. But even in divorce or breakups, just because two people part ways and decide it's best top move on separately, it doesn't mean that one or both people are bad, or not good enough. The reasons why a relationship ends are independent of your value as a person, which existed long before the relationship began, and still exists even when the other person exits. Love never leaves us, but people do-and that's okay. Love is inseparable from people-it's literally a part of human nature to love, to be loved, and to desire such a thing.

Love never leaves us because it flows through us, our lives, as direct descendants of God, the divine source of all love in humanity, forever and ever available to us to draw from and to steer and direct our actions, manifesting love through the things we do. People, on the other hand, leave our lives all the time. Even when I think about getting married one day, I remind myself that in a perfect marriage-loving and healthy and full of wonderful and memorable experiences-sooner or later, your spouse will leave you as well. Until death do us part, so it goes. But even in divorce or breakups, just because two people part ways and decide it's best top move on separately, it doesn't mean that one or both people are bad, or not good enough. The reasons why a relationship ends are independent of your value as a person, which existed long before the relationship began, and still exists even when the other person exits. Love never leaves us, but people do-and that's okay. Love is inseparable from people-it's literally a part of human nature to love, to be loved, and to desire such a thing.

Okay, I hated him before, and then I hated him again for doing this to you, and now I hate him a bit more for making you doubt that you’re a strong, badass motherfucker. Where’s this porn?

What Children Need to Know Although children at different ages are able to grasp varying levels of what divorce means, it’s best to keep all conversations brief, direct, and factual. Children don’t need to hear what caused the breakup or a recitation of all your partner’s character flaws. There may be a later time to be more transparent about the reasons for the divorce, but this conversation is not the place. The purpose of this first conversation is to inform them that the divorce is happening, let them know how much you care for them, make them feel safe, and discuss any details you have sorted out about living and visitation arrangements. These are shatteringly difficult conversations, and your first reaction is to want to take your child’s pain away, but pat answers or reassurances like “it will be okay” or “things will be fine” aren’t helpful. Everyone knows that things are going to be different, and these types of responses can make children feel like their anxieties are being dismissed. The goal here should be to give age-appropriate information and reassurances. Younger children typically require more discussion around security, that mom and dad both love them and that they are not to blame in any way. Older children may be more concerned about living arrangements and how their social life will be impacted. They may also have been expecting it, and in cases where marital conflict was high, they may even find it a relief. Primary

the divorce she made a noise that sounded like an empathy orgasm, then pulled me to her chest and cradled my head like a child’s. ‘You must be devastated,’ she said, petting my hair in a way that was not unenjoyable but was not the romp I had hoped for, from the glint. ‘This must be such a dark time for you. I’m a Highly Sensitive Person, so you don’t need to tell me, I get it.’ I did not think it required a person to be highly sensitive to know that divorce was painful, but more than that, I did not want to talk about it with Tamara. I kissed her for a minute or two, and it was going well until she made the noise again, then pulled away and said, ‘Poor little bird.’ I told her I was okay, mostly, that I knew nothing worthwhile came easy and was taking it one day at a time. In reality, life since my mom’s house had felt very dark indeed, more or less blurring into one long nap punctuated by cereal and episodes of Housewives; but I did not share this, because I did not want to be this woman’s bird. She poured us each a glass of water and told me a lengthy anecdote about her friend’s bike accident, labouring particularly hard over the doctor’s instruction that – should this friend ever find herself hurtling over her handlebars on Roncesvalles Avenue again – she not brace for impact. ‘You have to go limp and let it happen,’ she said softly. ‘You can’t fight it, or you’ll break every bone in your body.’ She was rocking me back and forth at this point, but getting a cab at that hour, on New Year’s, would have been impossible, so when she slid her hand under my shirt, I pretended to be asleep. The next morning we lay around in her bed, where, to avoid further cycling metaphors, I asked her to tell me the twist endings

Good. Good,” He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and rocks back on his heels. “I’m doing alright. Got a divorce last summer.” My mouth opens, then closes. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? “Oh, um, sorry to hear that,” I glance around, hoping for a rescue. “No need, it was for the best,” the smile hasn’t left his face and it’s making me feel all sorts of weird. “Okay, well…” I plaster on my best smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow!” My exit is awkward as fuck, but I’m not in the right head space right now to talk to some guy about his divorce.

navigating divorce with a child in the mix is a million times trickier. You’re stuck interacting with that person for the remainder of your life. You have to either figure out a way to plan birthday parties together or figure out a way to be okay with having separate celebrations. You have to plan on which holidays each of you get to spend with your child, which days of the week, down to which hours of the day sometimes. You can’t snap your fingers and be done with the person you married

«E quanto alla Brexit… Alcuni sono convinti che i cambiamenti radicali offrano anche grandi opportunità.» «Quindi, secondo te, noi due staremmo meglio se ci separassimo?» «Oddio, no. Stavo parlando del Paese.» Attraversano la strada. «Allora quali sarebbero le opportunità offerte dai cambiamenti radicali di cui parli?» chiede Louise. «Be’, non saremo più impantanati in tutta quella burocrazia. Potremo fare affari per conto nostro.» «Okay, adesso mi sono completamente persa. Non mi va di continuare a parlare del Paese. Sto cercando di capire perché, secondo te, una Brexit coniugale dovrebbe costituire una grande opportunità.» Tom alza le spalle. Ha lo sguardo sfuggente. «Con chi dovresti fare affari, tu? Per quanto ne so, non stai frequentando donne italiane o tedesche. E non credo che potresti avere più fortuna con delle cinesi o delle americane. Mi pare tutta una stupidaggine.» Sono arrivati alla porta di Canyon. «Voglio dire che non deve per forza essere la catastrofe di cui parla il Guardian.» Louise si ferma e lo guarda. Lui evita il suo sguardo, poi alza la mano per suonare il campanello. «Tu hai votato a favore della stramaledetta Brexit! Non toccare quel campanello! Ecco perché ti sei registrato per il referendum. Nonostante tutte le discussioni che abbiamo avuto sull’argomento.» «E ci sono volute due palle così, credimi. Perché tutti quelli che conosco continuavano a insistere che sarebbe stato un disastro.» «Ed è per questo che l’hai fatto? Perché tutti quelli che conosci la pensavano in maniera diversa?» «Era parte dell’attrattiva, sì. Però anche per alcuni complicati, ma molto difendibili, punti di vista socio-economici.» «Prova a difenderli.» «Non ho intenzione di difenderli fuori della porta di ‘Canyon’ un attimo prima della seduta.» Louise alza gli occhi al cielo, sentendogli sottolineare «Canyon». «Difendine almeno uno. Uno piccolo.» «Be’, nessuno è piccolo. Credimi, vorrei che lo fossero. Ma sono grandi. Grandi punti di vista. Grandi idee. Ma soprattutto volevo fare incazzare i tuoi amici.» «Ah, ci sei riuscito. Non ti rivolgeranno mai più la parola» dice Louise. «Non è un argomento di conversazione con gli amici. Come ti ho detto, si tratta di una faccenda privata.» «Come fai a fare incazzare i miei amici, se io non glielo dico?» «Li ho fatti incazzare in quel momento. Mentre votavo. Non voglio sbatterglielo in faccia. La nazione deve andare avanti. Guarire.» «Okay, ci vai tu a lavorare in un ospizio, con il minimo salariale, per rimpiazzare tutti quelli dell’Europa dell’Est che abbiamo perso.» «Sono pronto a fare la mia parte. Anche se non sono di grande utilità, quando c’è di mezzo la morte. O le malattie. O qualunque altra cosa abbia a che fare con un gabinetto.»

but turned over new soil, and, with new seeds, it brought love and renewal. If you had told me during those fiery, dark days that eventually everything would be okay as long as everyone kept talking about their feelings and setting boundaries, and that one day, all four of my divorced and remarried parents and in-laws would be in the hospital room cheering as I gave birth to my children, I would have called you a liar. What’s been rebuilt is far from perfect, and there are still heartaches and family struggles—fights, bruised relationships, hurt feelings, and the occasional throw-down—but the pretending and the silence are gone. They just don’t work anymore

Rachel Mina was single. She didn’t indicate whether she was divorced, widowed, or never married. A hospital administrator on leave from Chicago. She was thirty-seven and weighed 115 pounds. In Cody’s experience, that meant he should add a few years and at least ten pounds, so he scratched in “40” and “125” on the page. Mina indicated she was a vegetarian (fish was okay) and intermediate rider. She wrote: “Discovery tour.” He wondered what “on leave” meant. His first thought was she seemed to be the only one of the clients thus far who might have had the free time—and means—to visit homes in four states and leave bodies and ashes behind. But a woman, and a single one at that? Discovery tour, Cody mouthed, squinting through smoke at the page. It sounded phony and new-agey, he thought. Or facetious. And an interaction between a hospital administrator and Hank Winters seemed possible. He placed her application aside from the others into what he thought of as the hot stack.

Mum and dad said they’re getting divorced.” “Is that right?” His grandmother replied. “I don’t know which one I should live with.” “Well, it doesn’t really matter, because you can live with me.” Yoshimine felt a huge lump in his throat. “You have a good friend here too, Daigo. So it’s all okay.

Shortly after my arrival, I discovered that Nancy-Anastasia and poor Walter were also living in the house, in a ground floor room, in order to save money for their divorce. “They’re living together?” I asked. “Is Okay. Is Rrawshian saying: ‘Not everybody who snore is sleeping.

Something else?” she asked. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “You know, Renée, I’m really sorry about how everything worked out back then.” Ballard looked at him for a moment before answering. “It took you two years to say that?” she finally said. He shrugged. “I guess so. Yeah.” “You’re totally forgetting something you told me back then.” “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about when you told me to back off the complaint. About how you said Olivas was going through a bad divorce and losing half his pension and not acting right and all of that bullshit—as if it made what he did to me okay.” “I don’t understand what that has to do with—” “You didn’t even keep my number in your phone, Kenny. You washed your hands of the whole thing. You’re not sorry about anything. You saw an opportunity back then and you took it. You had to throw me under the bus but you didn’t hesitate.