Sometimes Angels Make People Cry

Divorce is ugly. Thankfully I don’t know this firsthand. Over the past thirty years of adulthood I’ve watched friends, relatives and more than a few clients pass through this tortuous process. From the outside looking in, it seems true north shifts as the person you set your compass by is no longer available to you. The longer the marriage, the longer the recalibration takes until you feel your life is back on course. In the meantime feelings of rejection, grief, anger, confusion, self-doubt, failure, fear and frustration surface in every permutation.

                This was the situation my friend Audrey found herself in late last year when she and her younger son moved from their waterfront house to a safe, clean, yet less than spacious apartment. On her own for the first time in over two decades, she imagined wolves at her door and wondered how she would afford Christmas presents for her teen sons after paying first, last and security.

                I met her at the apartment on the day she signed the lease. She wanted help measuring to see which pieces of furniture would fit into the new place. She mentioned another friend would be stopping by briefly. Audrey was puzzled because she didn’t know Joyce very well and she hadn’t said why she was coming, only that she wanted to drop something off. “A housewarming gift?” I ventured. We quickly worked our way through the few rooms and had a tentative plan for where the beds, sofa and television would go. We were still trying to find the right spot for the treadmill when there was a knock on the door.

                Audrey introduced me to Joyce, a neatly-dressed petite woman, carrying only her purse. Audrey offered a quick tour of her new home. I busied myself in the kitchen, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. They made their way to the far bedroom and despite staying out of the way and trying not to listen, I heard Audrey crying, then, sobbing. I wondered if I should go check on my friend. What could Joyce have said or done to make her so upset?

                I stayed in the kitchen, now with my good ear toward the hallway, and restlessly shuffled some more pans around. When they returned to the living room I was relieved to see they were smiling. Audrey was holding a plain white envelope. We made small talk about restaurants and fabric stores. They hugged. Joyce left for work.

I asked Audrey if she had been crying and if she was okay. She fanned the envelope in the air and whispered, wide-eyed “She gave me a check! Joyce and her friends make quilts and sell them and then at the end of the year they give the money away. This year they gave it to me. THERE’S FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS IN HERE!”

Four thousand dollars is not life-changing but Audrey’s gloom had lifted. She was hopeful about her future for the first time in a long time. She pulled a list from her pocket of things she had been putting off buying: a video game for her boys, a garbage bin for under the kitchen sink, a shower curtain. Fresh tears fell and blurred the ink.