I used to pride myself on the fact that I had a relatively “normal” adolescent experience, with an intact family that had never really experienced anything traumatic. Nearly all of my immediate extended family is still alive and on good terms with each other. Growing up I had few bad experiences besides normal teenage angst stuff and pretty much had everything I could ever hope for. My good luck continued throughout most of my life until last summer when I went on a camping trip with my parents and sisters up near Manistee.  My parents, who at this point had been married for 21 years were to me the pinnacle of a successful relationship. They had been through a lot together, but were on the surface best friends who would do anything for each other and us. I rarely saw them fight, if it did it always seemed really mundane and more out of irritation than actual contempt. No affairs, no lying, no drugs, no alcohol, just a regular married couple destined to be together forever. In retrospect I was living in a state of complete obliviousness to what a “good marriage” actually was.

            Anyhow we went camping together and it was during this time I realized something was sincerely wrong with my mom and dad. At first I couldn’t pinpoint it, it just seemed like everyone wanted to do different things and logically they would split up to take us different places, but soon enough I could clearly see doing different things was mostly because they didn’t want to be around each other. This came as a total fucking shock to me, it was absolutely out of the ordinary and strange and fucked up and when they WERE around each other they acted like total strangers or they fought. At this point I hadn’t lived at home for almost 5 years so to me this was coming out of nowhere. On the way home (driving separately of course) my dad told me he and my mom were having “problems” but they were trying to work on them. By the end of the summer my mom had moved out into her own apartment and divorce was imminent. Now, a year later, they barely speak except to “talk shop” in terms of selling the house, my sisters’ living situation, etc etc.

            When this was all happening last summer I felt an incredibly selfish desire to keep them together. My own happiness was my first priority, which in retrospect I suppose is a natural response, but completely unhealthy and unrealistic. When I think back over the last 23 years of my life I notice one glaring pattern: my parents were always together. They did every single activity together; had the same friends, hobbies, interests, goals, and fears. When unhappiness (or perhaps boredom) ensued, they didn’t have deep enough communication to figure out what was really causing their dissolution. Being together 20 years doesn’t automatically grant you a perfect relationship, and bad habits started early die hard.

            In my own primary relationship I’ve tried to avoid some of the mistakes I perceived in my parent’s relationship but in the end I know no amount of preparation can guarantee a flawless, ever-lasting union.  And what works or doesn’t work in one situation could be the complete opposite for another. The biggest thing I’ve tried to avoid is complete dependence on my partner, although complete independence has its problems as well.

            All of this has really gotten me thinking lately. My dad finally sold my childhood house and the sadness that went along with cleaning out 15 years of my family’s stuff was overwhelming. Especially given the circumstances. I’m left with all these feelings with nothing or no one to relate them to. Their divorce left me feeling hopeless, despite the fact that my relationship is the complete opposite of theirs. I’ve had to get to know my parents on a level I never knew existed, which perhaps is the one positive thing that has come of the whole experience. But with knowledge comes realization and with realization comes disbelief and frustration at one’s own blindness. I don’t know where this all leaves me. I don’t even know how to end this column except to say I need closure and have no idea how to get it. I started out wanting to write about what it feels like to have your parents divorce when you’re an adult but I can’t even make sense of what it feels like so I guess maybe I need to accept closure as a long-term goal and work on getting through all of this confusing sick-to-my-stomach feeling stuff and move on. I feel like this column doesn’t even have closure, which relative to how I’m feeling right now seems totally appropriate.