I got in trouble yesterday for a comment I left on my sister’s blog about her soon-to-be ex-husband. My sister is extremely circumspect, and, while she is open with our family and her friends, she isn’t one to badmouth or vilify or be vindictive. In other words, she acts in a saint-like manner where I would be slashing and burning, verbally, if not with sharp knives and blowtorches.
I just finished reading Joan Wickersham’s The Suicide Index: Putting My Father’s Death in Order. It is fantastically well-written, and, like the best writing, both original and yet completely inevitable. I felt that the “index” organizing scheme wasn’t entirely successful, but I appreciated the metaphor of not being able to organize thoughts on something as traumatic as suicide in any totally coherent manner.
Wickersham, with Mozart-perfect prose, discovers her father has shot himself and then circles back and back, like the ripples from a pebble, trying to understand the why. But I had a why of my own.
Why should I care? Somewhere between 30,000 and 60,000 people commit suicide in the United States every year. It seems self-indulgent and morbid for a brilliant writer to spend seventeen years obsessing over her father’s. And why should I, a reader who likes a good dollop of romantic escapism in her free time, spend 316 pages reading the (no matter how exquisitely-rendered) stark, painful accounts of a brutal childhood, a financially-failing adulthood, and, finally, the suicide of someone so removed from my own life?
Though I resisted caring, it was compelling, and so I recommend The Suicide Index without reservation. It’s a stunning piece of writing, and, to anyone who has ever known a suicide (noun, verb, adjective) or who has ever felt like a failure, it offers, if not soothing comfort, a wealth of understanding and not-aloneness.
Still: Why? My second reaction is Why not? Should not every life be examined in such great detail? On the one hand we can shrug and dismiss this particular suicide in light of all the others and all the other tragedies, petty and catastrophic, that occur everyday in every country. Or, we can hope and demand that each life, each choice means something, matters. Wickersham succeeds in making me care about her pathetic father and selfish mother, her supportive husband and her inconsolable self. I don’t ask more from a novel.
I did get one more thing, though. I finally figured out why it is so hard for my sister (and me) to come to terms with her coming divorce. Wickersham says of suicide: “When you kill yourself, you kill every memory everyone has of you. You’re saying ‘I’m gone and you can’t even be sure who it is that’s gone, because you never knew me.’” When you leave your spouse out of the blue, you kill every memory everyone has of you. You say ‘I want a divorce’ and we will never be sure who you were, because, obviously, we never really knew you. Even if we are not as surprised as we should be.
On the very last page, Wickersham remembers what she first thought on hearing that her father had shot himself, and it is exactly what I thought myself on the 16th of March, a Sunday morning four and a half months ago:
“Oh no,” and “Of course.”
Divorce, it seems, is not so different from suicide. It is the killing of one’s marriage instead of one’s self. And if that marriage was an intrinsic component of one’s self, one’s perception of one’s self, it is almost worse than death.
And so, even though I thought the “index” organizational scheme wasn’t perfect, it’s a helpful way to catalogue my sister’s husband’s leaving:
The Divorce Index
Divorce
announcement of
necessary “strong language”
We are rushing to get ready for church. My mother calls. She knows when our church is, and I imagine she suspects how frantic we are at fifteen minutes to nine. She tells me she and my father are at my sister’s house, and that my sister’s husband has left her. I say, “That f—— b——.”
announcement of
to my sister
I would prefer a big fight at the end. My sister does not get that. One day he loves her and the next he is gone.
death and
I cannot imagine Dick leaving me, but if he did, I know it would hurt less if he died, “loving me.”
dreams and
The only thing my sister ever wanted is to be a wife and mother.
factors contributing to
?. If I understood, I would probably be able to make small talk with him again.
feelings of disgust and
The day before he leaves, Saturday, my sister and I dress our younger sister up and take pictures of her with our six children. He is working, and then he comes home for dinner. My parents are there. We eat lemon chicken lasagna my sister has made. I sit next to him, on his right. I drink one of the special Barrel Brothers vanilla rootbeers he stocks especially for his guests, for me. We talk running strategy. He runs marathons; I’ve just finished my first 15k. He is charming, friendly. I worry sometimes that my sister is unhappy, but I think he will never leave her. He loves his cars and his iPhone, but he is not a bad person.
impact on my children and
My 3-year old daughter asks if she will be getting a new daddy soon. My girls wonder why their aunt is crying all the time. My 7-year old asks, when Dick and I argue, if we are going to get a divorce now, too.
state of my sister’s heart and
Broken.
state of their family and
Destroyed.
timing of recovery and
Like any mourner, my sister has good days, accepting days, and she has days when she thinks she will never laugh, never relax, never be happy, never understand. She will probably write 316 pages in her journal before she is done.
And I think, “Oh no,” and “Of course.”
—-
*Updated*
I have changed this post as much as I can to respect my sister’s privacy. One thing about this whole situation is that I have hurt worse over this than I did over my miscarriage. The miscarriage made sense. The baby was a mistake, God didn’t intend for me to have that baby. Divorce, in this case, still doesn’t make sense to me, and it hurts, because I liked and trusted him, too.
Tags: book review, divorce, joan wickersham, sisters, suicide, the suicide index
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If Dick ever left you, I think you could write a best-selling book about it. Unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to spend your earnings from prison. You are a good sister and hit a lot of feelings right on the head with this post.
I’m glad the Suicide index is so well-written, but not sure I can bring myself to read something so depressing on purpose.
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Well, I won’t lie and say it was cheerful, exactly, but I don’t think you’d regret reading it. She really does have a way with language. And it’s cathartic, you know?
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Oh Jane, that Part 2 of your post should be printed and handed out to every engaged couple as they get ready for marriage so they can read the truth for themselves:
Divorce destroys lives.
And while the instigator walks away and starts fresh (I deserve to be ectastically happy every.day.of.my.life), everyone else involved in that family has to patch up their hearts and try to make it to the end of each day.
I do think there are times when divorce is necessary, but it’s just far too easy in our culture to walk off when things get tough.
My heart goes out to your family. Hug those kids tight!
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I have to note here that I’m not quite sure I agree about divorce always destroying lives. Dick’s parents divorced when he was eleven, and though I’m not privvy to all of the details, I do know that I admire all of them (mom, dad, sister, Dick), especially the people they are today. The point there is that whatever mistakes we make, or whatever circumstance we come from, what we end up as is not set in stone until we are (get it?).
If someone is the victim of abuse, addiction, adultery or abandonment, they have difficult decisions to make, and I think that in many cases they MUST divorce, or they are enabling worse things.
But I agree — “no fault” divorce is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard of. Of course it’s someone’s (or two someones’) fault.
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I just read the part that said, “Be nice.” So I’ll refrain from writing the awful thoughts I had on the subject of the POD. But I seriously feel nauseas.
Nikkis last blog post..Kiddie Kwip- mermaid
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What a well written post, thank you. It is difficult with a blog to decide where others’ life events overlapping into your life becomes fodder for the blog. I worry about someone being hurt/offended/mad that I spoke of them. In the end if you interact with me you’re running the risk of at least a mention. I hope your sister is happy with how you’ve expressed her situation.
To your sister and her little ones, wishes for healing, better things to come, and feeling unconditionally loved.
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One thing I thought about with this book was how very open Wickersham was about portraying her mother as selfish and self-absorbed. It was almost disconcerting how open she was about the writing process itself. It was very similar to a blog in that fashion. Very immediate, conversational, and revealing.
I’m afraid in writing this post that I’ll anger my sister or make her think her confidences, her experiences are not safe with me.
The tension between respecting privacy and creating (I won’t say art, but, you know, writing anyway) is a tricky one. Blogging makes it more accessible, though people have been writing about private things since Adam and Eve.
I hope she’s happy too.
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I’m so sorry she’s having such a hard period… I can’t imagine my husband or my sisters’ husbands doing that. I would be PISSED to say the least.
BTW, I love the new design! Very purty.
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The best and worst part about blogging is being vulnerable. It is all about being honest – truly, deeply, apologetically honest. I hurt inside for your sister. I can’t imagine the pain and anguish she must face, especially with her children. Just wishing I could send her cookies, puppy dogs and rainbows.
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Last night I was watching Maria Shriver talk about how losing her job threw her into a tailspin of confusion about her identity. (Apparently when her husband, Arnold Schwarzenegger become governor of California, she had to quit her journalism job because she could no longer maintain an image of objective unbiasedness.)
When people lose their jobs, they do often struggle with questions of identity, because so much of their self-meaning is tied to what they do.
For some women, being a wife, mother, and homemaker is their full-time job. When divorce happens, it’s the same as losing your job. In the case above, your sister didn’t just lose her husband; she lost her job. Because of this, divorce probably affected her a lot more than it affected him. The (former) husband, who goes to work every day, still continues to go to work every day even after the divorce, and continues to have that identity tie and connection. In contrast, the woman is somewhat unemployed.
I liked this post.
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Natasha Reply:
August 1st, 2009 at 3:10 pm
Great insight, Tom.
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Divorce is the death of a marriage. It is ok to grieve.
JackieW. transplanted Okie (Buried in Legos)s last blog post..Slice & Mix Frigerated Pickles …
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thanks for “updating” it. the first time i read it i felt a little uncomfortable for her. knowing her quite well, it made me feel vulnerable for her and well, i don’t know. i think this is better for the world to read- though you were right on the first time around.
also- tom- you got it right on. that makes sooo much sense, and yet i had never thought about it that way before.
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With alldue respect,I don’t agree with your statement
“Divorce, it seems, is not so different from suicide.”
I lost my dad to suicide and saw what the pains that my mom had to suffer of why he did it. At least if it was a divorce he coud answer that question. I’m sorry to hear about your sister.
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Kim — Good point. Although, when you say he could answer that question, my point is that my sister’s husband never did (at least not anything that she could really understand — there was no other woman, etc, etc. With suicide, you can say (as Wickersham did in her book) things like 1) bad childhood, 2) depression, 3) financial reversals, etc, but with my sister, there is not even that much “reason” for her divorce. Does that make sense?
I’m sorry to hear about your father. You’re right, of course, that suicide is much more final than divorce.
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You know what? I did read this. I think it was one of the first I read. It was very moving then and even more so now. Kind of puts things in perspective. Thanks again Shannon.
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Ooh, I liked this post. I was glad that you said the book succeeded in making you feel something for the pathetic dad, etc. and I was glad when you suggested that all lives should be examined in great detail. I was glad because I think maybe, then, you (an extremely tough critic in many ways) would like my book. IF I can bring myself to finish it. It will only take all my soul and brains and heart, so.
I agree that all lives deserve examination and more examination leads to more compassion in the world and more healing as we can learn from the mistakes and experiences of others.
I liked what you did at the end of the post and I think your sister’s divorce disrupted your ability to trust.
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