Where's the Love?

Indeed, the only people to say "happy birthday" to me at all turned out to be my sister and my son (who got prompted by my sister). Next thing I heard from Liz was a text, five days later, saying a local grocery store was closing. That happened to be the day the final order was entered, making us no longer married. I'm not sure she knew that. Not sure she didn't.

For 30 years, I've listened to her family tell everyone they "love" me. They never said it to me, but they told each other. I kind of knew, all along, that was the point: they don't want to love anyone as much as they want to be seen loving someone. It's like a gift they want people to know they were generous enough to give. The actual recipient doesn't really get anything out of it.

Since Liz moved out, not one of them has contacted me. No calls, no emails, no texts. Nothing. For her folks, I suppose that reflects what I've long suspected, which is that they wish she hadn't married me.

When her dad was in the hospital for heart surgery, I called him.

When her stepmom was in a bout of bad depression, I sent her a smiling picture of our son, to cheer her up.

When her stepdad was toughing out a long recovery from a disabling event, I told him how much he reminded me of my own dad's resilient spirit.

When her mom's father died, I gave her my sympathies.

Not one of them has contacted me. They're probably quietly celebrating this. It's what they wanted, all along.

Well, their loss. They can't really tell anyone they love me anymore, now can they? (Which means they lose more than I do, on that particular point.)