З життя
«41 рік разом, але все ж вони розлучилися… Я запитав: чому?»
«Вони прожили разом 41 рік, але все одно розлучилися… Я запитав: чому?»
Інколи здається, що якщо двоє людей пройшли через життя пліч-о-пліч, вони вже нероздільні. Що між ними стільки спільного, стільки спогадів, що ніщо не зможе їх розлучити. Але, як виявилося, це не завжди так. І моя родина — сумний доказ цього.
Моя бабуся Марія й дідусь Петро були одружені 41 рік. Цілих чотири десятиліття разом — через радощі й смуток. За цей час вони виростили трьох дітей, побачили, як ті створили свої родини, і самі стали дідусем та бабусею для п’ятерых онуків. Ми завжди були їх гордістю. І ми впевнено думали, що наша родина — взірець міцності, єдності й справжнього кохання.
Але одного разу, за святковим столом, коли всі ми — діти, онуки, родичі — зібралися в бабусиній квартирі у Львові, щоб відзначити їх річницю, вона раптом підвелася й спокійно, без емоцій, сказала:
— Ми з дідусем вирішили розлучитися.
Спочатку всі подумали, що це невдалий жарт. Хтось ніяково усміхнувся, хтось навіть кивнув, ніби зрозумів сарказм. Але дідусь підтвердив: так, вони вже подали документи до суду. У кімнаті повисла тиша — дивна, важка, ніби повітря стало густішим.
Я, як старший онук, завжди був ближчий до них. Саме від них я дізнався, що таке повага, взаємна підтримка, вміння ділити і радість, і біль. Вони були для мене взірцем — живим і щирим. І їх слова впали, як грім серед ясного неба.
Я не розумів: що має статися між двома людьми, щоб після 41 року разом вони раптом вирішили розійтися? Невже таке можливо?
Декілька днів я не знаходив собі місця. В голові крутилися сотні запитань. Усе здавалося якимось жахливим непорозумінням. І нарешті я наважився — прийшов до них на кухню й просто запитав: «Чому?» Їхня відповідь мене вразила.
— Ми занадто різні, — сказала бабуся. — І ми зрозуміли це надто пізно. Ми жили, бо треба було виховувати дітей, господарювати, допомагати одне одному. Але тепер усе це позаду. І залишилися лише ми самі. І ми відчули… що нам важко.
— Вона мене дратує — усе в ній, — несподівано зізнався дідусь. — Навіть те, як вона дихає, як дивиться… Я втомився почувати себе винним за те, що просто існую.
— А він мене бісить своєю лінінню, неуважністю, тим, що ніколи не доводить справ до кінця, — додала бабуся. — Я більше не можу дивитися, як він човгає капцями по коридору, як хрумтить за столом, як забуває вимкнути світло.
Їхні зізнання були гіркими, але в них не було злості. Лише втома. І, як це не дивно, щирість.
Вони розповіли, що пробували все виправити. Ходили до сімейного психолога. Жили окремо — кожен гостював у дітей по кілька місяців, щоб перевірити — чи сумуватимуть. Намагалися повернути романтику — влаштовували вечори, згадували молодість. Але ніщо не допомогло. Вони просто втомилися. Один від одного.
— Ми більше н— Ми більше не хочемо жити в обмані, — тихо сказав дідусь.
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