Tonight, my ex-husband showed up in my Facebook feed as one of the “People you may know.” It said, too, that we had one friend in common. Yes, we do. She has children of her own now, our grandchildren.

To have him show up this way, in a list with barely known people from professional settings and friends of friends I only communicate with on Facebook, seemed so curious. Scrolling through the list, I stopped at his picture. He looked distinguished and prosperous and very well.

I haven’t had a conversation with him in years, not since our child stopped needing the agreement of parents to arrange weekends or holidays. Through those years, he was dependable and good humored and, while I remember being a single parent as being very difficult, he never made it worse. Not a single time. Never second guessed me and never criticized me despite having ample material.

We ended our marriage years after our divorce, slowly packing all the leftover dishes and pictures in small boxes that we taped shut with masking tape. Box by box, our marriage turned to negotiation and then to cooperation and then it evaporated because every reason for our association had disappeared.

So tonight when his picture showed up as a suggested Facebook friend, I didn’t consider it for even two seconds. We would not be Facebook friends. We have, both of us, so utterly and completely moved on that even being Facebook friends seems excessive to me.

If, on the other hand, he should ever need a kidney, I hope he knows he can call me. Absolutely. No questions asked.

Don’t ask me why that is. It just is.


#31/100: 31st in a series of 100 essays in 100 days