I rang in the new year with my sister, Jean, in pajamas sitting on her couch in a hazy state. Not what I was originally planning. I was thinking more along the lines of getting a babysitter, dressing like an adult, and dining in one of Providence's many fine establishments, toasting the beginning of the new decade with friends over bubbly. It just so happened, though, that in the morning Jean told her husband she wanted a divorce, and a suspenseful melodrama ensued. Her husband after much family intervention finally packed his bag and left, and my son and I moved in for the night to be with her and their three kids.
The tipping point for their marital demise came immediately after Jim was killed. I understand from the many self-help books I read and hours of therapy that divorce is quite common following such a traumatic event. Jean witnessed the murder first hand, and became sick and fragile. She, like Dri and I, found wine to be a great escape, medicinally of course, and with her immense grief, caring for three young children (also witnesses) with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, supporting Dri and her two kids, helping mom and dad cope, dealing with a floundering retail business in the worst economic time since the Great Depression, Jean was undoubtedly coming unglued. And her husband is and always has been a needy individual. Jean was depleted on all levels.
2009 kicked off for us with a murder trial for which Jean was a key prosecution witness, followed by more economic failure, a bout with functional alcoholism and rehab, her husband's neediness and ultimate breakdown, and finally an unplanned and expensive trip to Spain with mom to be with me as I recovered from emergency surgery awaiting a pathology report (could it be cancer?).
On New Year's Eve Jean seemed remarkably peaceful. Mostly it was because she was relieved. The decision was finally made. At midnight we toasted to peace and health in the new year. Mostly we toasted to peace.
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