A Little About Love and Marriage

Heather observed her father with a sort of strange respect.  She knew her parents’ story best.  Her mother is in love with their family friend, Henrik, a Dutchman.  Though she refers to him casually as a “good friend”, it was obvious to her father and her that their relationship went beyond that.  The travelling alone together, the constant mention of him, and the way they looked at each other when they met, as if they were the only two people in the room.

Tonight, Henrik had just arrived for another vacation in New York. The family, by tradition was his host.   Heather’s mother, Anne was sitting next to him as they were all gathering around the fireplace at her parent’s apartment for a social discourse over wine, cheese and opera music.

Heather listened with a disinterested gaze; all she seemed to be able to pick out was her mom saying,  “Henrik this and Henrik that.”

She turned to look at her dad; a meek, elegant man who carried on him a quiet dignity.  He was looking at his wife, smiling. But Heather could see his weeping heart beneath the cheerful exterior.  She admired her dad even more at that moment; she saw in him a man brave enough to let someone he truly loves be with somebody else, never once besetting a sense of blame or betrayal on Anne.

She glanced back at her mother, a woman with a beautiful face, hair up in a classic bun, who moved about with a grace of a ballerina.  She was somehow oblivious to her husband’s pain.

Five hours later and many glasses of wine, Heather got up, bid farewell and left.  It was late. 

She walked a little, and then stood on the sidewalk, hands in her coat pockets, staring at the empty streets and empty roads.  She thought about the emptiness of her parent’s marriage; she too felt empty inside…

Family

He slumped himself on the sofa and lean back. He let out a long sigh.  Memories of his youth started streaming into his head…

“After Mom and Dad got divorced, I started to travel extensively with Dad on his business trips. We went deep into Africa, the Middle East and Asia.  We were two lonely souls manoeuvring in and out of foreign and chaotic lands, with only each other for support and security. 

Whenever we were in a new place, I found myself restless and often unable to sleep for an indefinite period of time.  Tonight, in a new bedroom in Berlin, surrounded by strange cold walls, was just such a night.  As I lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, thoughts of Mom’s last words with Dad before she left us started playing in my head again.

“You, Frederic, and your stubborn ideals are going to be terribly lonely.  You know that, don’t you?”  The more I travelled with Dad, the more I began to understand what she meant.

But I also understand how Dad came to be. His father, my grandfather was a prosperous and rather well-known industrialist, perhaps a tad too ambitious. Hungry for greater riches, he was an aggressive player in the stock market. All went well until the Great Depression happened. Grandpa lost his business empire and went bankrupt.  Heartbroken, he took his own life.

Almost overnight, Dad, merely eleven and the only son in the family, became the man of the house, supporting his heartbroken mother, bringing food to the table and tending to his two younger sisters. 

He became a full-blooded capitalist. Money, money, money were the only three things on his mind.          

I found myself having the same arguments my mother had with dad

“Dad, there are things money cannot buy. Things like values, integrity, ethics, truth, justice, humanity. You have to allow the non-material aspects of life to be part of life.”

“What do you know about life? What do you know about survival? I am not wasting my time on this same dense argument.  If you have nothing else to say to me, please don’t speak to me."

“Mom is so right. No wonder she left you!  You are a stubborn pig!

I ran to my room and slammed the door.  I buried my head under the pillow and wept uncontrollably, making sure Dad could not hear my cries…

Over the next few days, I made sure to leave my room and the apartment at an opportune time so as to avoid facing Dad.  Dad became a stranger in the day, and but a shadow in the night, as he made his way past my room towards his each night.

About two weeks went by.  I had begun to feel completely alienated from my dad.  Then that fateful Tuesday, October 21, in the middle of mathematics class, my German tutor Peter pulled me out.  The hospital had called the office and informed them that the father of Charles Weir, Federic Weir had been admitted into the emergency unit

As if time warped to my needs, the next thing I could remember was racing to the reception desk of the ICU, just calling Dad’s name, and spelling it, my legs were shaking; they directed me to his room.              

I saw Dad, he looked so fragile. His face was white and devoid of blood, of life.  I stood in front of him and said:

“Dad, how are you feeling?”  

Dad opened his eyes, and smiled gently, a smile I haven’t seen in years.

“Hi Charlie. I love you son. I want you to know that.”

I held Dad’s hand in mine.

“Dad, I love you too. I want you to get well soon, for you and me. Okay?”

Dad nodded his head and closed his eyes.          

The doctor said Dad had suffered a heart attack in the bathroom and collapsed. 

I was too emotional. I went into the bathroom, locked myself in the cubicle and started to cry. I banged my fists against the wall. Anger, frustration, and fear overcame me.  At that moment, I didn’t care for principles, I cared for dad and his life. Not my values, not his. I didn’t care to disagree or fight with Dad over values. I just wanted Dad to be alright. It was painful for a child to see his parent at life’s mercy, life hanging on a thread.  Fuck it all.

After three quarters of an hour, I got out.  I looked myself in the mirror, and said,” Dad is going to be alright.  He will get the best hospital, the best doctor with the best facilities.  If I had to beg, borrow or steal to get him there, I will.”

I called Mom.  She was on her way to Berlin. 

I don’t know. There are no quick answers or everlasting ideals.  When life assigns its duty to you, you assume responsibility. We’ll never know when life throws you a curveball, or what we will do or how we will react when that happens.  Life and family is a personal and precious thing. The only thing to do is to remain positive through it all. Because light is life, and I believe that light will overcome darkness. It always did and always will.

I still disagreed with Dad. But our arguments took on a different tone, they became gentler and infused with underlying love and deep respect for each other. None of that dogma and aggression. How things change when you see life’s fragility.”