divided by two

We usually spend Easter with my stepbrother’s family, all of us around the big kitchen table, eating chocolate and jellybeans, talking about report cards and real estate. Not this year, though. And maybe never again. There were a whole series of vague and contradictory excuses, but finally, we've been told that after fifteen years and three kids, my stepbrother and his wife have decided to split up.

Now, sometimes divorce is inevitable and sometimes it’s the only possible solution and once in a while it’s the best thing for everyone involved. But often -- especially to those on the outside -- by which I mean everyone except the couple themselves -- it just seems enormously sad.

To be fair, I have no idea what issues they're facing or what solutions they've tried. And, to be honest, I don't really want to know. But I keep on thinking about that late August day so many years ago, when they stood on a hill by the sea, side by side, hand in hand, both tall, both happy. Her dress was white and her bouquet was blue, bluer than the sunlight-fractured waves that ridged the bay, bluer than the sky. They were so much in love that it hurt to look at them.