\u201cI think it\u2019s been enough time,\u201d says a friend.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough time?\u201d I question back.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you lost your mom three months ago and I think it\u2019s time for you to move on,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I am merely twenty-eight years old. These are the words of someone who has yet to lose either of her parents. In time, she will grasp and understand her naivete.<\/p>\n
I like to joke that I am well on my way to becoming the, \u201cDear Abby of Divorce.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
My inbox pings with correspondence that clearly illustrates that the heart does not heal with the rapidness of the outside world. The words a testimony to a raw pain documenting that emotional distance is the greatest distance there is.<\/p>\n
Just today, I receive a note from a friend. I will call her, \u201cStella.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was told I should be over this by now,\u201d says Stella.<\/p>\n
Just weeks before, another note makes it\u2019s way to my inbox. In another attempt to change the name to protect the innocent, I will call this friend, \u201cRuby.\u201d She speaks of feeling judged by friends who can\u2019t grasp her marital mess.<\/p>\n
These notes give me pause.<\/p>\n
While my friend, \u201cCharo\u201d was going through her divorce. In between, our phone calls reserved for friendly respite…………I have a moment of judgement.<\/p>\n
It is a younger me. The one not worldly or wise enough to understand divorce. It is similar to the naivete of the friend who had not yet lost a parent.<\/p>\n
Across the phone lines I can almost visualize, \u201cCharo\u2019s\u201d face. Her utter fatigue in having to explain herself through possibly the worst time of her life.<\/p>\n
I certainly don\u2019t mean to judge, \u201cCharo.\u201d It is the misplaced musings of a friendship that borders on sisterhood. Where perhaps, too much is said………not with the judgement of divorce or for the person she is, but out of fear for her happiness.<\/p>\n
I am judging her because I recognize a sorrow in her life and instead of letting her travel through it her own way, I want her back in just the same way as I have always known her.<\/p>\n
I would find out years later that it was not for me to say. It was her journey.<\/p>\n
With time, I feel deep regret, apologizing again and again.<\/p>\n
One day, I call her cell.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you to know one more time how sorry I am,\u201d I say. \u201cI have grown up and I know better now.\u201d<\/p>\n
She just laughs hesitantly and says, \u201cYou\u2019re telling me you\u2019ve grown up in the last five years? How do you grow up at our age?\u201d<\/p>\n
I settle back into my seat and marinate on her shock.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I blurt out. \u201cI have grown up. I hope I keep growing up. It\u2019s the only way I will be certain that I become a better human being in life.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cI think it\u2019s been enough time,\u201d says a friend. \u201cEnough time?\u201d I question back. \u201cYes, you lost your mom three months ago and I think it\u2019s time for you to move on,\u201d she says. I am merely twenty-eight years old. These are the words of someone who has yet to lose either of her parents.…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":575,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-41","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-divorce-2"],"yoast_head":"\n