Those who don’t know the value of loyalty, can never appreciate the cost of betrayal.
Divorce is never pretty, and usually downright ugly. Things that you once held to be true become both inverted and shredded. The one person in the world in whom you had placed your unconditional trust has now transmuted into the one person in the world you trust the least. Your once-protective firewall of loyalty has been reduced to a heap of smoldering rubble.
Lies. Deceit. Vindictiveness. They’re all part of the whole unholy cavalcade of horror. The well-being of children, emotional health, and financial security — all thrown into chaos.
The ache was so deep it is nearly indescribable. Waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of myself gasping for air. Walking through the day like the living dead, not even able to recall what it was like to feel human. Desperately searching for any true thing to cling to. Scraped so raw inside, I wondered why I hadn’t bled through to my skin.
It’s a time when one’s family and friends become invaluable reservoirs of support, validation, and hope. I knew I could lean on them until I learned to breathe again. And, fortunately for me, they all instinctively rushed to my side to offer whatever they could…with only one exception: my friend Gino.
Gino and I had been the best of friends. Over the course of more than forty years, we traveled together, confided in each other, debated politics with each other, and stood up with each other at our weddings. No one was more trustworthy and loyal. Until…
For reasons that are still baffling to me, Gino suddenly felt the need to assume a stance of neutrality, refusing “to take
sides” — as if he were Switzerland in the midst of the German Third Reich’s savage march through Europe. In divorce, the courts are obligated to be neutral. But with family and friends, there is no Switzerland. Choosing “neutrality” is, in fact, choosing a side. And in this case, it wasn’t with his friend. It’s one thing to be serially betrayed by a spouse. But a best friend? “Et tu, Gino?”
For me, this was confusing at best, and deeply disturbing at worst. I implored him to understand, but he just dug ever deeper into his Swiss bedrock. And when he disdainfully scolded me for “not showing enough empathy” during the divorce proceedings, he evidently didn’t see the hypocritical irony. Mutual friends we shared for decades were all shocked by his behavior: “Gino!? But he’s the most loyal guy in the world! What’s the matter with him?”
And so it went, month after miserable month. When I tried to explain how painful this was to me, he pushed back with defensiveness, arguments, and rationalizations. He simply refused to budge — or display any hint of understanding.
Then one day he called our mutual friend, Mare, to see how I was doing. “David isn’t upset with me or anything, is he?” he asked innocently. Mare’s response was measured but direct: “He most certainly is, Gino! David is your best friend! And you are not being a good friend to him!” Taken aback, he asked her what she meant. Mare then went through, point by point, the multiple ways he had profoundly let me down. If he had been clueless over the previous several months, he certainly couldn’t be now.
Gino’s response seemed so heartfelt: “Oh, I see what you mean! Man, that’s terrible. I don’t ever want to jeopardize my friendship with David. I’m gonna call him right away!” Mare hung up the phone, and contacted me immediately, delighted to share the good news: Gino understood. And I should expect a call from him.
Days passed…and then a week…as I anxiously waited for the call that never came. Mare checked in to see if I’d heard from him. “Not a word,” I regretfully informed her. After a long pause, Mare uttered the words of wisdom that seemed to capture it all: “Gino isn’t the man he thinks he is.”
Gino always prided himself as overflowing with compassion and empathy, unfailingly able to “see all sides” in a conflict. As a self-proclaimed socialist, he especially saw himself as a champion of the world’s downtrodden, ready to stand up and fight for unfairness, injustice, and anyone who has been wronged. Anyone, evidently, except his best friend.
Being betrayed at the same time by both your spouse and your closest friend fractures the foundation of one’s deepest beliefs. It is a profoundly disorienting experience to discover that people can change in ways you could never imagine. You think you know somebody — then you don’t. It’s enough to make you feel that you’ll never be able to trust again…
And what is to be learned from all of this unrelenting disillusionment? Unfortunately, the life lesson from this story is neither clear nor simple. “Shit happens?” Too obvious. “Never trust anyone except your dog?” Too cynical. “The best laid plan of mice and men often go awry?” Already been done.
No, for me, it’s more about emerging with a greater sense of gratitude for what you do have, not just the painful loss of what you don’t have — gratitude for friends, family, pets, and other loving relationships that have yet to be discovered. Oh, and there’s one more upside: Once you’ve survived all of that emotional anguish, life can’t help but become much brighter afterward.
When the chips are high, everybody wants to be your friend. When the chips are low, you find out who your friends are. But when the chips are gone, you find out who your real friends are. And to this day, I feel blessed that I have so many of them…albeit minus one.