Steeples
I went to my friend L.'s wedding yesterday, which was held in an Episcopal church. I was struck by the fact of a church service because a) I'm (lapsed) Catholic, and as far as I know you wouldn't be able to have a religious service on your second marriage in my religion, and b) my friend is very liberal, so it's interesting that she's as religious as she is. It's a bit sad, too. I couldn't help thinking as I sat in my pew that the comforts of faith must have been very important to her—more important than I had ever fully realized. Her mother died when she was nine, she had an immensely difficult relationship with her father which has only recently improved, and her first marriage was a trial. I was thinking about an episode she recounted from her initial separation, when she went to the supermarket and unthinkingly bought more supplies than she alone could carry (being so used to shopping for two), and struggled so much the bags on her way home that she fell to her knees and cried on the sidewalk.
She is now very certain, and very happy, and I was glad of it.
She is now very certain, and very happy, and I was glad of it.
posted by fortuna at 10:03 AM
3 Comments:
Sad, why? It sounds like religion's been a great comfort in her difficult life.
The thought of a friend's needing comfort can be sad, particularly when one realizes much later than would be helpful how profound their need was. That realization doesn't disparage whatever form of comfort that friend found, I don't think.
Yeah, I think her friends concentrated on trying to get her away from the first husband, rather than seeing how torn she was, and how much pain she was in. It created some distance, actually, because most of us couldn't understand why she stayed. And it seems clear in retrospect (now that there isn't a fear of being complicit in keeping them together) that she would have done anything to make him whole and stay together, and the full sadness of that stands out.
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