Vocal Point: Searching for words to express sympathy, love

You know you’re getting older when you skip the birth and wedding announcements in the newspaper and head straight for the marriage dissolution petitions and obituaries.

It means folks you know are no longer having babies and getting married. They’re getting divorced and dying.

I admit I check the ages on the obits, and note who died close to my age, and I scan the divorce announcements looking for familiar names. Sometimes I’m unpleasantly surprised.

A few weeks ago I saw an old friend I’d lost touch with had filed for divorce. “Oh no!” I said aloud.

“Who died?” my 17-year-old son asked.

“No one,” I said. “But my friend Kate and her husband are in the marriage dissolution section.”

My son has no interest in the end of the marriage of a couple he barely knew. He shrugged his shoulders and left the room. But I was stricken.

Kate is a few years older than me. I’d been acquainted with her through our kids’ activities. She’s a great mom, with a fantastic job, and I assumed her marriage was happy, too. She never complained, but our conversations usually focused around our kids or work.

I thought about what divorce might mean for her and for her mostly grown children. We’d often talked about how we couldn’t wait until our kids were out of the house. We dreamed of trips abroad and welcoming grandchildren into our lives.

Will she travel alone now? I wondered. And what about the grandbabies she’d hoped for. Will they have to go to Grandpa John’s house and make a separate visit to Grandma’s? And good heavens! Will she start dating again at 46?

I wonder if 23 years of marriage just vanish when the papers are signed. Maybe she still has happy memories of the man she fell in love with, but more likely her memories are tainted by the pain of the present. No marriage ends without some kind of lasting hurt. Something that begins with beautiful dreams and promises can’t just fade into nothingness without leaving a mark, can it?

I sat in my living room and wondered what to do. It had been long enough since we’d last spoken that I didn’t feel comfortable picking up the phone and calling. So I took a pen and paper and began to write. “I’m sorry to hear …” I started. And then stopped. Foiled by writer’s block.

Twice a month I write Love Stories for this paper. I’ve interviewed couples who’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve watched the way these long-married folks look at each other. The way they laugh together. Some are demonstrative and physically affectionate, and others can convey deep intimacy while sitting across the room from each other.

Theses stories are very popular. Who doesn’t like to read about happily ever after and hope their own story will turn out that way?

I picked up my pen and wrote, “I’m thinking of you …” and sighed. My son returned to the room. “You’re not still upset about that divorce announcement, are you?” he asked. “I mean it’s not like somebody died.”

At 17, what could he possibly know about the heartache of piecing together a home and family only to watch it unravel as the years go by?

I remembered the framed wedding portrait that hung in Kate’s living room. Hope and love radiated from the couple’s shining eyes.

“Yes, Ethan,” I replied. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”