After the 2nd or perhaps 3rd face-to-face, my roommate -- he of the quiet demeanor and dry wit -- said to me, "So, are you guys done breaking up yet?"
As it turned out, that particular breakup didn't take, and we stayed together about 6 months more before the final exit ramp arrived...
That whole scenario came to mind once more about 10 days ago as our breakup (this time not a case of "it's not you, it's me" but rather Circumstances Beyond Our Control) with our previous home & church seemed to reach its own final exit ramp.
See, this has really been going on since March, when we got the call and first realized we would be moving on... then she had her interview with the new church and it began to be real; then we announced it at The Old Place. Then the process of saying goodbye begins in earnest, and everyone wants to know what the new place is like but on some level what they really want to know is, you're not leaving us for someone younger and prettier, are you?
Before you know it, everything you do is The Last Time I'll Ever Do This, and the process of packing hammers it home every day almost like the sound of a door being slammed. Then comes the goodbye party and a struggle to put into words what we mean to each other; the last service, with the last sermon; and suddenly, very much before you can come to grips with what's happening, you find yourself standing in an empty house as two big trucks pull out with all your belongings and you close that front door for The Last Time Ever. And you cry.
At that point you'd forgive us for feeling, "OK, that was horribly painful but at least that part is over now and we can at last get on with the rest of our lives"... right? Not so fast. Because The Master Scheduler had us first to move, she actually had to go back one more time for the annual service/picnic in the park -- which of course prompts a fresh round of goodbyes. And in actuality, even after the service is over, there are still 10 days left in the month, and she's still officially pastor there, even though they've promised not to call except for emergencies.
So the breakup -- or maybe legal separation -- drags on. We're not living together any more, but the divorce (annulment?) hasn't come through yet. The following Sunday we're back in town for a graduation picnic, which is more goodbyes but also, in a more healthy way, a chance for us to describe and make real for them and us Our New Life. Is it possible that the break is finally complete...
... except we have to go back to the church One Last Time, at least as "our church", to drop off all the keys -- anything we still have that marks us as connected to this place. That unspoken meaning hangs around us like heavy fog as we bring stuff in & write explanatory notes to people & put this here & pile that there: this is the end of the end. After this, the breakup is complete.
And as we get to the front door -- now locked, and after it swings shut we will no longer have any way in... in several senses -- my son has stood it as long as he can, and he bursts into tears. Now my wife is holding him and sobbing out her own sorrow and grief. And I........ I seem to have forgotten how to cry, I so rarely do so anymore, ever -- but I wish I could. It would be such a welcome release to expel this huge pulsating mass of wistfulness and loss and pain and yes, even fear. Instead it sits in my throat and chest and expands till I can't swallow or breathe or even think.
Neil Sedaka actually had two hits with "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do". The first was in the early 60s, and if you listen to that version, it's a really bouncy uptempo pop song. The mood of the song has about as much to do with the subject of the song as tiger lilies do with tigers.
He cut it again in the mid-70s, this time as a slower, more reflective and altogether melancholy ballad. That's the one that has always grabbed me; it's a very affecting song. I think it captures in a visceral way how a prolonged breakup can also prolong and intensify the pain.
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