Updated: August 23, 2017
Originally Published: February 12, 2016
I was chatting with an old buddy, Jamie, when she casually mentioned, “my new single mom gig.” I was seated next to my wife, Lily, on a plane, waiting for takeoff after celebrating our 11th anniversary on a Caribbean cruise.
Curiosity piqued, I quickly typed back, eager for a response before the flight attendants made us switch off our devices. “Wait… Single mom gig? What happened?”
Jamie replied, “Well, I guess. Ben and I got divorced last May.”
It was now November.
I glanced at Lily, who was gazing out the window, the dark night stretching beyond. “Seems Jamie and Ben split last May,” I said. “How did I miss that?”
Lily raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised but not overly shocked. “That’s unfortunate,” she said before returning her attention to the view outside.
Jamie was more of my friend than Lily’s. We went to college together, and I’d known her for about eight years. However, what Lily didn’t know was that during the early years of our marriage, I often turned to Jamie for advice. She had two kids when we met and was already married for about five years. We were both older students returning to school, navigating similar struggles, and her guidance was always spot on. She helped me comprehend what Lily was experiencing after our first son was born and reassured me that the sleepless nights and the occasional arguments were completely normal.
“What happened?” I texted back. “Did you two just drift apart or was it something deeper?”
There’s something unnerving about discovering that a marriage you admired has crumbled. I thought about how little I’d spoken to Jamie in recent years. Most of our connection had been through texts and social media updates. From my perspective, everything seemed fine between her and Ben. Their social media was filled with family trips, shared hobbies, and moments with their kids. Jamie never hinted at marital issues in our online chats. I assumed their relationship was thriving—all while I was completely mistaken. The fact that I couldn’t see the cracks in their foundation made me anxious about my own marriage.
I often find myself contemplating divorce—not because I desire one, but because I want to steer clear of it. My mother has been through three marriages, and my father passed away while divorcing his third wife. I’ve witnessed firsthand how devastating divorce can be for children. This isn’t to say that some parents handle it gracefully, but my experience was far from that. They fought over everything, spoke poorly of one another, and used us as leverage. It was awful.
The scariest part is that I don’t fully grasp my parents’ divorce. It occurred when I was nine, leaving me with a muddled recollection of poor choices and a series of small grievances that spiraled into something monumental—infidelity, leading to divorce. Because of their experiences and the impact on my childhood, a part of me always feels like divorce is lurking around the corner in my marriage.
This isn’t to downplay my love for Lily. I love her deeply and never want us to part. However, the weight of my past sometimes feels heavy, and hearing about a couple I respected falling apart only intensifies my fears—especially when Jamie texted again, “It’s been happening for 16 years. It wasn’t a single event; it was a gradual process. We didn’t realize how lonely and distanced we’d become…”
Just then, the flight attendant asked us to set our phones to airplane mode. I showed the texts to Lily.
“Hey, this scares me,” I said. “It feels like divorce is like weeds taking over a garden. I wonder if that’s what happened with my parents?”
Lily pondered my words as we prepared for takeoff. “We just went on a cruise,” she reminded me.
“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “I was right there with you.”
“Before the cruise, I was really stressed with school and the kids. But now, I feel a lot better,” she said.
I mulled over her statement. The plane began to accelerate, and we leaned back in our seats, raising our voices slightly above the engine noise, trying to keep our conversation private.
“We can’t just escape on vacations every time we hit a rough patch,” I pointed out. “That’s not realistic.” This trip was our biggest getaway since we’d been together for over a decade.
“I know,” Lily agreed. “But it all comes down to maintenance, I think.” She elaborated that if our marriage is like a garden, we need to regularly pull out the weeds. We have to prioritize each other and actively express our love. “You text me ‘I love you’ almost daily,” she reminded me. “I’ve never seen my parents divorced, so I can only assume they didn’t do things like that.”
“So you’re saying it’s the little things that count?” I asked.
Lily shrugged. “Yes, absolutely. You know I love you,” she replied.
“Of course, and you know I love you,” I affirmed.
“Well…” she said, “I think that’s a really good thing.”
I still felt a twinge of worry for Jamie and Ben, and I couldn’t shake the thought of what I might be overlooking in my own marriage. But amidst those thoughts, I felt a strong sense of love for Lily and a bit more confidence in the small gestures that seemed to be building up to something significant.
I leaned in and kissed her.
“See,” Lily smiled. “We just pulled some weeds.”
In Summary
Maintaining a marriage is all about the little things—like expressing love daily and spending quality time together. Just like a garden, relationships require regular attention to thrive. By actively caring for our bond, we can prevent the weeds of neglect from taking root.