It’s not me, it’s you.

Out with the old, in with the older.

He was about 18, and she, 15. Times were tough. Money was hard to come by, and the labor it took to acquire it was even harder. This was a world built by calloused hands and a man’s word.

At 18, my grandfather had given his then-girlfriend and future wife his word that he would never leave her, no matter what hardships may lie ahead. He knew that relationships required work, but he was no stranger to working. At age 9, he dropped out of school to help his mother and worked every day thereafter until roughly 1992, when he was diagnosed with mesothelioma, forcing him to leave work, the one thing he had known his entire life.

The iron sharpens the iron.

The days were long and filled the kind of droning monotony that can break a man’s will. At the pipe factory where he works, the machines hum and whir like a one-note symphony, producing the soundtrack to a day full of sweat, asbestos, cigarette smoke and long hours. The men working the lines told stories of their lives outside of work, and jokes to remind them of the world outside. Anything to make the days seem shorter.

As the work day ends, he returns home to his wife and four children, a warm meal, and an all too brief break from what he has accepted as his fate. Soon, the hours will wane and he’ll retreat to bed, only to awaken to a new day of the same thing.

This was his life. Every pre-planned second of it.

He wasn’t searching for something new, but it came searching for him. She was outgoing, drawing the attention of many of the men at the plant. However, her gaze was fixed on him, and so the hunt began.

Her advances were disregarded at first. Being a married man, he had no intentions of breaking his promise to the mother of his children; the woman he had adored since his teenage years. But a man’s will is only so strong, and even the most stoic among us will eventually break to the flattering words of a stranger.

She had won the hunt.

The months following were tumultuous. Chaotic. The man who had been admired for his honesty, fidelity and strong will had been dethroned, and in his place sat a broken man burdened by the guilt of the mess he had caused.

As all bad moments in life do, this eventually passed. Life went on. And although he had been forgiven by his wife for his actions, he had yet to forgive himself. His new purpose in life was to assure the woman he married that she was the only woman in the world that mattered to him. This time, he intended to keep his word, and he did so until his eventual passing.

He had kept his word.

“… ’til death do us part.”

For me, this is a difficult story to tell. It shatters any notions of a “perfect relationship” and drives home even further the fears that I’ve held onto for years. Not just because marital fidelity is a difficult thing to maintain in the world we currently live in, but because it was just as difficult back then, even without the easy access to apps and websites which promote extramarital affairs.

But in-between all of this lies a core — the very foundation upon which relationships are made and broken — that oftentimes goes completely unnoticed: communication. Without it, a relationship of twenty years may as well be with a complete stranger.

We live in a time where it’s effortless to communicate with anyone, no matter the distance. Yet regardless of that convenience, we tend to communicate only the blandest portions of our daily lives but never indulge one another in meaningful conversation. “How was your day” has become another way of politely saying “hello” with no real depth or meaning.

But I suppose it’s always been this way. Even in an age of “internet openness”, we still only play parts as any good actor would.

TL;DR: use your words.

The best way of ensuring that both people understand each other and are aware of any issues or difficulties is to communicate. Silence only breeds contempt, or opens doors that others will be invited into.