Don and I have been running partners for over a decade. It's amazing how much you can share in ten years of long runs together. There's been a lot of time to talk during our time pounding the NYC pavement and chug, chug, chugging up hills. The things we've shared in those talks have made us close friends.
I met Don and his family at church. I've been on weekend retreats with his wife and children, I've been to their home for dinner. Since Don is also a Methodist pastor, when Mike and I finally decided to get married, my friend officiated our Wedding Cookout. After 20+ years of marriage, Don and his wife are getting divorced, and anyone who's been through a divorce knows that it's awful even under the "best" of circumstances. The last time Don and I ran together, it was obvious that although he was the initiator and feels that ending their relationship is the right choice, he's devastated. He misses his children, he misses his church community (he lost custody of us~), and he misses a name he made for himself, because his name is being muddied a bit. There are hard feelings. Blame has been placed squarely on the shoulders of the one who left.
I've been an outside observer of their marriage for years. And while I've offered my two cents at times, I've mostly tried to listen and offer support... and stay out of it.
I was still just a confidante and running partner until I received an email from Don's wife about a week after our last run together. She wanted to know if I could call her when I got a chance.
My first thought was that something bad had happened to my friend. He'd been so unhappy when I saw him. Was he hurt? And worse, had he hurt himself? I immediately emailed her back with my phone number.
The phone rang and there we were together, unsure of how to go about this. Had we ever talked on the phone before? I couldn't remember, but it was odd in that moment, under the circumstances. After a minute of niceties, she took a breath and I held mine. I thought I was prepared for the worst.
"Stories have come up that my husband was romantic with his running partner, and the only running partner I knew was you. So, I'm sorry to ask you this... but were you and my husband ever romantically involved?"
What?
My face registered the shock but she couldn't see. I shook my head like I was dizzy from a solid blow to the head. Caught off-guard was an understatement. I told her, no, that her husband and I had never been anything more than friends, that our relationship had always been platonic. I sat on the other end of that line with my mouth agape as she continued on, justifying her call by saying "a number of women" had come forward. What that meant, I don't know. She said that she could have just asked Don but probably wouldn't have believed his answer if he'd denied it. She had thought that if she asked me, she would be more certain. She thanked me and, again, said that she was sorry to ask.
If you're sorry to ask, you probably shouldn't.
During our phone conversation, I had somehow managed to keep the focus off the personal affront and on the person in pain on the other end of the line. But after I hung up, a righteous fire started in my belly. How dare she?! Who does she think I am? How could she belittle our friendship? Accuse me of an affair?
When I told Mike about the phone call and the accusation, he shouted, "He married us!" I nodded as my husband told me that if he were me, he would have told that woman that she had no right to call and that she needed help. His indignation made me feel good and justified in my righteousness.
It's been months since all this went down, and I'm still having trouble processing it. It still sits in my stomach like a stone... a stone I'd like to throw... hard.
What I've come up with is this. There are two lessons that resonate... at least two that I can pinpoint. I'm sure there will be more.
- There are times when it's just not about us. It's not personal. People are in pain and they think, do, and say all kinds of crazy. Those dark times can swallow people whole and sometimes, like a drowning man, they pull others into the swells with them. They're not trying to hurt others; they're trying to save themselves.
- Righteousness is dangerous... and impossible to sustain. As righteous as I have felt, and as angry as I've been, I have to remember that I've had my own dark times. I've thought, done and said all kinds of crazy. Others offered me grace when I didn't necessarily deserve it, and were able to see past the injury I'd inflicted to my own personal pain. It's valuable to remember that someone paid it forward for me now that it's my turn to do it for someone else.
I still see Don's wife at church. We don't acknowledge each other - she may be embarrassed, angry or a host of other things, and I'm still unsure how to be more gracious than just being hands-off.
I'd really like to throw that stone. I'd like to cock my arm back and send that baby flying. I'd like to angrily hurl a rock high into the air. I'm just not sure where I want it to land. Too much pain out there already.
The longer I hold the stone, the cooler and smoother it feels between my fingers. I rub it like a worry stone. It will stay here, as a reminder.
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