Yesterday was also the tenth anniversary of my friend’s death. Her story is a study in ambiguity. She met her husband when she was 16 and spent the next 20 years being beaten and raped by him.
Finally, she left him. They both paired up with other people. At age 46 she got diagnosed with terminal cancer. My friend was not religious. There was no consolation. She spent the five years that it took the disease to kill her in a state of the darkest, most terrible depression.
And do you know who was the only person who was there for her every day of the illness? Her ex-husband. He called, came over, drove her to appointments, talked to her for hours. I felt suicidal on every occasion I spent time with her, she was in such a state. But he somehow managed to stick around. I’m not saying he’s a good person but these two people had something that was both extremely dysfunctional and bound them together like you can’t imagine.
Life is complicated. Nothing has an easy, clear answer.
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