That’s Rich

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• July 9, 2022

Even though I tend to be quite raw in my writing, there is still much about me I keep close to the vest, especially when it comes to my love life. This is often to protect to other person, more than it is to protect myself. But perhaps this is worth sharing.

This is not a love story. Also, this is a love story.

In the wake of my most recent romance, I reflect in woe and some heart ache. Though, we mutually decided the relationship wasn’t really working out, that we both behaved more like friends than boyfriend/girlfriend, the split was almost made harder by the fact that there was no betrayal, no fights, no lies, no bad blood whatsoever. Just simply, and simultaneously not so simply, a lack of connection that was hoped for.

Even though it ended, I am glad it happened. And it reminds me, somewhat, of a lesson I learned from a love story that is not my own.

Out of my many (19) first cousins, one of my cousins was married to a man, Rich, whom was beloved by the family. I always looked forward to holidays and family parties for the sake of spending time with my cousins. My cousins are some of my most prized relationships. Rich, despite marrying into the family, was quickly accepted as one of us. He was fast family. I looked forward to seeing him as much as my actual cousins.

They were married for some years. When we were told they were getting divorced, it wasn’t a complete shock as I knew they were having problems, though I didn’t really know any of the details. It wasn’t then, as it isn’t now, any of my business. I was quite sad, along with everyone else in the family, that it didn’t work out.

However, their divorce was not contentious. Both of the animatedly expressed that they still loved each other— and always would. But the marriage/relationship for them was over. They tried.

I don’t ever pretend to know for sure what transpires between lovers. You’re ignorant if you do. With saddened hearts, we accepted the news. And yet. There was a grander lesson here, at least for me. That just because a marriage ends or a relationship, doesn’t mean it failed. It just ran it’s course. That people often grow apart. Even good people, who, on paper, seem so right for each other. That if you are honest and understanding, you can move on without regret or without leaving wounds that can never heal. Not that there won’t be scars. Scars are healed wounds. Just reminders of our past, and not necessarily a bad one.

And who knows. The universe has weird ways of bringing people together someday, in some way. Perhaps, there is no such thing as one soul mate for any one person. That soul mates aren’t merely lovers, either. That soul mates can be mothers and daughters, aunts and nephews, friends, cousins, co-workers, or any sort of fortified bond with another being.

So, you see, the title of this blog is a double entendre. Caring for people grows empathy and our ability to tap into the humanitarian within us. That if we can keep love that grew cold from turning us into cynics, there is something rich in that.

My mother, Rich and I are all big Abba fans (haha). I think of the song, ‘Chiquitita.’

“Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go
And the scars they’re leaving
(How all the heartaches come and go)
You’ll be dancing once again
And the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving
Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky
And shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more
Like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita”