Burying the Hatchet

Burying the Hatchet

I recently came across a website where breakup sufferers can write their relationship obituaries. They write about the cause of death, the disappointments, what will be missed, and the "survivors," then post them online for the world to see. Some are sad, some are angry, and some are just plain funny (for example, one man wrote an ode to his XBOX...or maybe that's just sad).

I'm kind of in love with this concept. The idea that you can lay your relationship to rest, so to speak, and announce to the world that it's truly over seems so liberating. It may not mean your wounds have healed, but it seems like a great step toward moving on. So of course, I decided to write my own. (Please note: In an ideal situation, this should be read as a voiceover from Jeremy Piven while John Cusack strolls pensively through Central Park, a la Serendipity. But if you find yourself Piven-less, don’t worry about it.)

Alex and Michelle, age 2, died in the fall of 2007 after a long and arduous struggle with distance and incompatibility.

Born in upstate New York at a mutual friend's party, their one-night flirtation led to a real, live, grown-up (sometimes) relationship. They shared a love of music, a common sarcastic sense of humor, and a passion for Mexican food. Like every great romance, they fell in love over Taco Bell and in the toy aisle at Dollar General.

Despite distances ranging from 150 miles to 3,800 miles, the pair stayed together and thrived. Even their frequent arguments didn't slow things down, due to an uncanny ability to work through their fights (without ever really resolving anything). If the signs were there from the beginning, they blissfully ignored them, a feat made easier by the distance.

Ultimately, it all proved too much. Their incompatibility and the distance became inescapable obstacles, and they passed away one night after a concert in Philadelphia. They spent their dying breaths trying to ignore the fact that it was ending.

They were—and are—both good people. He has his flaws, but of course so does she. He will be remembered for his decency, his integrity, and his sense of humor. She will be remembered as the girl who cut his hair in his dorm room (and probably a few other things, too).

Survivors: An ability to call each other if they need to (even if they never do), without it being "too weird"; an unfaltering belief and hope in love; and two whole hearts, because even though things didn't work out this time, neither of them left broken hearted.

This article was originally published at . Reprinted with permission from the author.