Today I had two conversations with people who are in the process of separating assets with a partner. Both live in places with 50/50 laws around these things. That law means that you call the time of the death on the partnership, tally up the assets at that moment and either negotiate trades or liquify and split the cash. Any other way is only by mutual agreement. If you can’t agree, the court makes you liquify and split.
And yet, in both of today’s conversations, the partner has decided that half isn’t enough, which means amazing amounts of money and pain are going to go into fighting and paying lawyers and in the end, everyone loses. Except the lawyers. And everyone gets beat up and broken in the process. We all know this story. It should be criminal, but it isn’t.
Now flashback to 2012 or so, the kitchen of my old house, dividing up kitchen things with my husband who was soon to be someone else’s husband (someone much better suited for the job). I was very lucky in that while I didn’t have a good marriage, I happened to have a not good marriage with a very good person. He had (hopefully still does) a huge and strong heart, a beautiful brain, and a happy love of life that was easy to be around.
I pulled out the lemon zester. There were two. I put one in his box of stuff and one in my box of stuff. We hadn’t had any disagreement so far and we were doing our best with the tiring and heartbreaking task of disassembling our home, finally working through the happy yellow kitchen we had made perfect with our
own hands and $1500 (I learned to drywall with a puppy in my lap!) and which was our favorite room in the house.
But the lemon zester was the melting point. He wanted that lemon zester. I clarified that there were two.
Did he like this one better? Cuz that’s no problem. No, they were both his lemon zesters. Pause. What? Could I have one? No. No no no. It’s my lemon zester.
Full meltdown. Yelling. Everything went non-linear. It was not possible to understand.
What’s happening right now? I can get another lemon zester. It’s ok.
Finally, with rare and beautiful clarity he said “I’m very angry at you. I know it isn’t fair, but I am very angry at you because you are taking away my favorite thing in the whole world – you. And hate you for taking you away from me. I don’t give a shit about the lemon zester.”
I think he gave me lemon zester. I don’t remember, but that seems like what he would do. And I was so grateful to him for that moment and that courage that I will never forget. Sometimes we just feel like everything we care about is being taken away from us. And because the person in front of us is the one taking it, we feel like they must have everything we don’t have and our instinct is to try to grab back everything that we can. In those times, we can’t see or don’t care to see that the person taking from us is in the exact same position – losing everything they care about too. Also with a big, empty hole in their heart.
He gave me a great bargain – such a beautiful expression of raw love and understanding – and a lemon zester. Most people aren’t so lucky. But sometimes if we can be the first one to admit that we need the thing because the big hole left in our hearts is desperate for what it really wants – the love of the person we have to say goodbye to – then maybe there can be a way out without giving everything to a couple of lawyers before it is over.
And if that doesn’t work, at least you can buy yourself a lemon zester:
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