A Qui Tu Es L’amour?
There’s nothing quite like experiencing something beautiful, knowing with a certain dread that you will never again experience that simple, normal moment. As the exquisite sounds of I Muvrini filled the makeshift ampitheater one starry night in August, as the singer lifted his voice and asked, “A Qui Tu Es L’Amour?” (”Who adores you?” is the closest I can translate), I felt my heart break for the last time, for I knew the answer did not lie to my right, where my cold, angry, bitter husband sat, staring at the tears running down my face, probably ashamed, once again, of his millstone of a wife.
This past summer was full of those dreadful moments. Everything unravelled when I was in the United States this summer, escaping the 140 degree heat of Dubai with the King of Everything. My husband hadn’t had a kind word or a gentle tone of voice for me in years, and we weren’t even pretending to miss each other. The only kind, loving voice I had heard him use since before our son was born was a voice he seemed to reserve for his business partner when they talked on the telephone (a she, a lovely lady). So I asked him in IM’s one day if he even wanted me to come back to the UAE.
Should have just waited until we were face to face on our family vacation in Corsica that August.
Getting to Corsica had been hellish. My flight from America into Charles de Gaulle landed early, but circled the airport for twenty minutes, looking for a place to park. Since no one had thought to actually double check my itinerary, I had exactly one hour and ten minutes to collect our luggage and take a taxi across the breadth of Paris to Orly, check the luggage, and get on the plane. Even though the check in had marked my bags PRIORITY, they were the last to get off the plane. My poor kid was tired, hungry, cranky after the first leg of our journey. I dragged him and the bags to the taxi queue.
I had no mobile with which to call my husband, who was coming in from Dubai. The kind taxi driver loaned me his, and gave me intricate instructions on how to catch one of the rapid trains down to Cannes to catch the boat to Corsica if we missed our flight, which, he assured me, we would.
My husband had boarded the plane. We did not. Our poor son was absolutely beside himself that his father had left without him. On the third announcement that a flight to Corsica didn’t have space for us — four hours later — I simply put my head down on the luggage cart next to my sleeping son and cried. Here I was, flying to France to try to save my marriage, and this is how the effort was going so far: go home, the Fates were saying… you are not wanted here. A very nice Air France employee handed us tickets onto the next flight.
When my husband picked us up at the airport in Corsica, he didn’t even look at me. He didn’t even shake my hand. He gathered Nicolas up in his arms and walked away, leaving me to manage the bags like some pittance sherpa. I knew then that any effort at reconciliation was going to be futile, a one way street, a masochistic banging of head against brick wall. I spent my time wandering the village, soaking up the perculiar clarity of the light in that part of the world, seeking to soothe my aches and pains as best I could in the sheer beauty of my surroundings. His parents invited us to see I Mouvrini, a Corsican musical ensemble of some world renown, at the town port. Yes, of course I’d go. I knew I’d never set foot in Corsica again after this summer. My husband was not interested in being married to me anymore. He could not, would not fix, forgive, bend or change. All I could do was grieve, and sob, and soak in the memories of a place I’d come to love.
We sat in folding chairs, a chill breeze confusing the date for something closer to October than August. I Mouvrini’s music is world music, soulful and upbeat, weaving the rythmns of Africa with the polyphonics of Corsican chant, interjecting a note of pure pop joy at regular intervals to keep us all on our toes. My husband loved it because it was Corsican; I loved it because it was music to lift the heart and spirit, as all good music does. The five oblong screens on stage threw back the palm of a hand, magnified into abstraction, a study in blue lines. I thought about the hand beside me, the one that would not could not hold mine, not even walking casually down the beach. I thought of all the nasty words he’d said to me during our time together on this beautiful island and ran the words, rough and bitter, against the serenity of the evening we were enjoying and felt sick. I had forgotten a handkerchief, and so I let the tears hang, trembling, on my eyelids until they spilled over. If the woman sitting next to me noticed, she was kind enough to make no noise.
A qui tu es l’amour? the singer asked. And my heart answered.
No one.
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POSTED IN: abuse, divorce, emotional pain, grief, music to divorce by, separation
14 opinions for A Qui Tu Es L’amour?
Gloria
Nov 17, 2006 at 3:07 am
there is, your son! :-D
Hsien Lei
Nov 17, 2006 at 9:48 am
Sending you lots of love, Christina. *hugs*
Cotton-Pickin’ Days » Heart Tears
Nov 17, 2006 at 10:10 am
[…] Christina Z, who’s asking A Qui Tu Es L’amour? […]
christina
Nov 17, 2006 at 10:12 am
Gloria… unfortunately, the answer isn’t my son. He adores me, in a peanutbutter and jelly sort of way.
What I realized I hadn’t had in such a long time was a champagne and roses adoration… the kind that gives you such delight, even after the kids are grown.
christina
Nov 17, 2006 at 10:13 am
Hsien, thank you. Last Monday would have been our fifth anniversary. I guess I’m feeling the loss all over again, now that we have a home of our own and I am working… I have time to mourn again.
Gail Showalter
Nov 18, 2006 at 6:29 pm
I was a single mother of three for 16 years before I remarried 10 years ago. I still relate to the pain. Now I am a speaker and author.
You may visit by site. Please feel free to pass along the following request. If you contact me, we can communicate via phone as well.
My Story as a Single Mom
I am looking for stories from single mothers to use as examples in a book that will illustrate how personalities affect the different ways we handle difficulties.
This submission should tell of a situation that you found yourself in as a single mother. It should tell what you did and relate that to your own personality and temperament. In other words, why you did what you did when another person of a different temperament probably would have done it entirely differently given the same circumstances.
Include a 50 word preface explaining the situation.
Please double space and use Arial or other simple font.
Write 200 words explaining how you dealt with the situation. Include as much as possible about your temperament or personality and how that affected the way you handled it. I am looking for stories that illustrate a lesson learned or a spiritual turning point. No preaching, please. This needs to appeal to secular as well as Christian readers.
Email as an attached Word document to gail@seeinguthrough.com with “Single Mom” in the subject box.
If I should choose to include your story in the manuscript you will be notified and will be given the opportunity to review any edits that are made. You may choose to have your name included or remain anonymous.
Here are some possible topics that I am looking for:
o Holidays
o Transitions
o School and school teacher issues
o Finances
o Spiritual experiences
o Humorous situations
o Illness, either yours or your child’s
o Vacations
o Moving
o Difficulties with cars, plumbing, etc
o Disciplining children
o Your social life
o Coping with grief or loss
Gloria
Nov 19, 2006 at 10:52 pm
“champagne and roses adoration”
now i understand what you mean christina. i want that too. ;-)
christina
Nov 20, 2006 at 10:27 am
Gloria, don’t we all. I’ll be thrilled to find someone who greets me with a smile of delight and a lovely kiss when he walks through the door.
Course, the King of Everything would have to approve. Sigh.
christina
Nov 20, 2006 at 10:28 am
Gail, if you set up a page for this project on your site, please let me know and I will link to it. Thanks for the heads up.
Gail Showalter
Nov 20, 2006 at 4:46 pm
Christina,
I will be putting a page on my site very soon.
Thanks a million!
Gail
christina
Nov 20, 2006 at 6:28 pm
Gail, happy to help.
Solo Mother » A few of the best from 2006: read ‘em and weep (or laugh, or…)
Dec 12, 2006 at 10:11 pm
[…] A qui tu es l’amour: In the midst of a last, desperate attempt to save my marriage, a singer beloved by all of Corsica shattered my heart with a simple question for which I had no happy answer… ‘who adores you?’ […]
Maria
Dec 18, 2007 at 7:30 am
wow, i just read your story, firstly i am sorry to hear it and to be honest it reminds me of my parents relationship, its a bit better now, but my father was like that with my mother for quite a long time.You know what she did she got a job and became more independent, she no longer needed him, when he saw that he started to respect her, maybe not love her but respect her. One more question is there really such a thing as love? in the end is it not only convenience?
christina
Dec 18, 2007 at 9:01 am
Maria, now that I am out of that relationship and can do more than just struggle to survive, I know that nothing would have changed the way my husband treated me. He treats his mother badly.
I do believe in love. Not Hollywood love. I believe in a deep and abiding affection. I believe in mutual respect. I believe in the importance of kindness, in laughter, and in the strength of two together who work towards a single purpose…. who make marriage the third partner in their union, a partner that requires care and attention to thrive. I believe in sexual attraction that stands the test of time. I believe in growing old together. I believe in constant vigilance against boredom, complacency, and ignorance. I believe in communication. I believe all these things are love.
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