No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.

John Donne

I recall the moment my husband first brought to my attention a job opening at a base up by the U.S. – Canadian border. We were in our early 30s and not keen on the idea of raising our two girls in a Southern California bedroom community.

Island living sounded exotic. So did living is a region of our country never experienced by any of our family members. We carefully researched the area and fine-tuned my husband’s resume. Within weeks we flew up for a visit, accepted the job offer, and moved.

Island living has been all we hoped it would be. We have also learned that while our life references vary greatly from our extended family members and we are not able to interact with them on a day-to-day basis, we are indeed connected to them because we value family relationships and some measure of continuity. Love and commitment and shared life events of the past bind our hearts and our loyalties into the present.

Occasionally we have needed to sacrifice on some level to stay connected. We pack up our car and spend extended hours driving down the West Coast to attend family gatherings when we can. We spend money on long distance phone calls. It is the price we pay and a natural consequence to indulging in our love of tree-covered islands, unbelievably good coffee, fresh air, and those with whom we work, live and worship.

When my parents announced in April that they would be living separately from that time forward, dismantling a life together that spanned nearly a half a century, my heart stopped. A cold wave washed over me and I shook inside with nervous energy as I stared across the living room at them sitting there on the couch, looking as pathetic as I have ever seen them look.

Did their separation completely surprise me? Did it paralyze my own life? Could I not understand that they deserve a measure of happiness?

The answer to all three questions is a resounding, “No! Or course not!” But the fact still remains that my grown brother and I, our spouses and children, will never again hear the bath water running in our parents’ tub, to soak together as they once did on a daily basis when we were growing up. They will not wrestle on the family room carpet and call for our help. Mom will not toss her feet upon Dad’s lap and wiggle her toes, acknowledging that Dad is singular in his ability to ease her tired feet. They will not holler to the grandkids to come join them in a quick, face-smashing family kiss.

There is so much loss. Erasing their joint entry in my computer’s phone book listing, to carefully record new address and phone number information, brought me to tears. Walking into my mother’s closet to catch a whiff of her perfume, still clinging to discarded clothing, buckled my knees momentarily. Planning ahead for a Thanksgiving meal that will be two fewer family members than it was 3 years ago—due entirely to two separate divorces within my extended family—reminds me all over again that my sense of happiness is due in great part to a choice I make, regardless of the circumstances.

Their trauma and pain, anger and separation is ours as well. While my brother and I have been able to develop careers that bring us satisfaction, experience happiness in our marriages, and provide our parents with grandchildren to love, we have been unable to do resuscitate their dying love.

We know they stayed together for as long as they did in part because they did not want to disappoint themselves or us. We did not ever wish to disappoint them, either. We silently agreed as brother and sister that we would make decisions we thought they would approve of and from which they would gain personal pride. While we experienced success in some areas of our lives, my brother and I have been unable to provide an adequate balance to our parents’ sadness about their dying marital relationship. We have unable to impress upon them the value of working to make their relationship healthy. There is a great sense of failure we now wrestle with, however unrealistic it may be.

Our parents’ divorce is their story but it is ours as well, for we are not islands. We privately wonder if we might more readily consider divorce now that it has dismantled our family. We mourn and resist the new complications that come with new people and new loyalties.

More next week.

Write Joan Bay Klope at

jbklope@hotmail.com