Lost and Found: Finding Hope in the Detours of Life (13 page)

When she heard that we were picking up a washer and dryer from an online posting, she offered to get us a new set as a housewarming gift. Until then I had been going to the Laundromat after work to wash our clothes. I was prepared to do the same thing until we could afford to buy a set ourselves, but I was so tired of lugging the laundry around town. Growing up we had nannies or housekeepers who did our laundry. Now I was in the real world, away from the safety of home trying to find my way.

I knew it wasn’t easy for either of my parents to accept how drastically my life had changed, but they held on to me—even though many would have opted to shun their children for not meeting their expectations. Instead, my parents adjusted their expectations to fit my current mindset. Step by step, when I was ready to make another move in the right direction, they flanked me on either side.

Robert and I were going to church every Sunday, even though we were living in sin. We had so many problems to sort through, we tackled each one as we could. Things had gotten much better fidelity-wise, not to say there wasn’t any suspicion. It seemed like
home life had really settled us. I couldn’t afford to indulge in the shenanigans I was in before. I had to keep my job, and I didn’t want anyone to overhear that I was going to fight someone in the parking lot at one of our football games. My job made me more responsible and cognizant that I had something to lose.

I had gone so long without winning; I couldn’t bear to go back to the desperate job search or wondering if we would have enough money for groceries next week. While Robert attended school, I supported our needs and even some wants. Still, the memories of the apartment haunted me. I would be so glad when we would finally be able to start fresh. I was still saving for furniture when we got the keys, so we decided that we would save as much as we could until Robert’s lease was up at the apartment. Still, things were really looking up.

My mother called one Saturday and asked when she could drop off the washer and dryer at the new place. I told her I could meet her over there that day. I got there, unlocked the house, and waited. I heard the wheels of the truck pull up, my mother in her car trailing behind. I told the guys where the laundry connections were and rushed to show my mom the rest of my new home. When I finished showing her upstairs, I walked downstairs to the guys in the truck placing a black leather sofa in the living room. I glanced back up at my mom and then ran to the truck. There was a house full of furniture in there.

My mouth fell open. . . . I had no words. More than likely without my father’s knowledge, my mother took a moment to polish my crown and remind me where I came from. I said very few words, but the tears never stopped. I forgot what it felt like to be loved just because, by someone expecting nothing in return.

And little by little, the bends that distorted my self-image were undone.

And while I know there is a mentality that would suggest you give up on your child until they start to resemble the person you raised, I believe that relationship with God helps us determine the difference between a rebellious child and a hurting one. There is wisdom in knowing not to wiggle when your head is in the lion’s mouth.

My parents did not want to lose me, because no matter how much I tried to fit into the world, they could still see my value. I was their diamond. I was covered in soot, dirt, disappointment, and fear, but my mother wanted to remind me that it was still possible for me to find my sparkle. I knew that buying the furniture was more than her just helping me, it was her gently polishing her child.

———

Robert entered his junior year of playing at TCU. Like most players, he dreamed of making it to the NFL, but he was also excited about entering federal law enforcement if the opportunity to turn pro didn’t come. But he remained convinced that if he worked hard enough, the pro scouts would take notice. He knew he probably wouldn’t be an early-round pick, but just the chance to play for one of the NFL teams we all watched on Sunday afternoons would be a dream come true. Robert’s coach and other players he knew encouraged him that he might really have a shot if he continued to work hard and didn’t lose focus.

I was still working as a temp with the government contractor, but I was hoping to get on permanently soon. I decided to try to get an idea of whether they felt I was a good fit for the company by making them aware that I had been offered another position.

News spread quickly that I could be leaving soon. Many of the actual air force controllers had taken a liking to me. When they heard that I could possibly be leaving, they offered me a job as their office manager before I could get an answer from my current employer. I confided in Terrie about the new opening. I didn’t want to appear disloyal, but the opportunity to work directly for the air force and to actually have a salary was tempting.

I was getting paid $12 an hour as a receptionist. When I received the letter offering a $37,500 salary, as a nineteen-year-old with little experience and only some college, I knew I had to take it. After a trip to Boston to the headquarters for the air force division employing me, I went back to Texas with the paper work required to receive my government clearance and military contractor ID badge.

Only months before, I had been serving drinks at a strip club down the road, and now I was beginning to discover talents I didn’t even know I had. While I was still working to mend the insecurities of our past, Robert and I began discussing the idea of marriage. I didn’t want to continue living outside of God’s will, especially since He had been so merciful to me as I found my way. With so many things in my life changing for the better, surely Robert would, as well.

So when he popped the question and agreed to ask my parents for their blessing, I said yes. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

We found a ring on Craigslist, and Robert used all of his $600 school check to cover the cost of it. There was no big fancy date with a formal proposal; he simply gave me the ring once the transaction was completed, and then we went to dinner to celebrate the next step
of our journey. He reminded me that when we first met and started having problems with the other women, he had promised me one thing: “All roads lead back to you.”

I wanted a small wedding, no more than seventy-five people in my parents’ living room. However, the closer it got to our June 21, 2008, wedding day, the invitation list and extravagance of the wedding grew. After spending so many years fighting to have things my way, it was nice to see my parents excited about something that had to do with me again. It seemed like there might be light at the end of the tunnel for me after all. I was looking forward to having stability and proving that I was capable of turning my life around.

The week of the wedding, we had 350 confirmed guests with more surprise elements than they were willing to share with me. The excitement, stress, and drama hung in the air like clouds. Robert’s two daughters would be in the wedding and were coming in with his mother.

Earlier, before our engagement, he had finally opened up to me about the son I already knew about. Robert explained that when he became a standout in high school, a few people started viewing him as a ticket out of their hometown. He wasn’t sure if the child was his, although he did try to do the right thing for a while before leaving.

Even without the certainty that the child was his, I suggested that we ask him to be in the wedding or at minimum attend. I didn’t want his child to feel like we were starting a family without him. The boy’s mother declined, so I didn’t push.

Still, our wedding plans rolled along.

———

Thursday before the wedding, our entire wedding party went to a comedy show. Robert and his friends were in one car, me and mine
in another. On the way out of the packed parking lot, we followed one another so that we could stick together. One car in particular kept trying to cut me off, and when unsuccessful, its driver yelled obscenities at me. I ignored them since they would have to wait like everyone else.

Before I knew it, the car pulled up alongside us and someone threw a beer bottle at me before speeding off. I didn’t even have a chance to process the event when I saw Robert jump out of his car and take off on foot in the direction of my assailant. In the distance I saw him beating on the trunk of her car. His sister, Tiffany, in the car with me, began yelling to be released to help her brother.

My sister, Cora, opened her door, and we watched Tiffany race off in her brother’s direction. She flung the car door open and started hitting the inebriated driver repeatedly. A family friend, out with us for the evening, pulled the two of them away from the car as quickly as he could. The whole thing was over before it started, but not before real damage was done. As Robert walked back to me, I noticed that his arm was covered in blood. He had punched the girl’s window out and had a five-inch cut in the crease of his elbow.

Robert wasn’t shaken up nearly as much as I was. He showed no signs of being in pain. When we made it to the emergency room and the nurse asked him what happened, he simply told her, “I thought someone hurt my wife.” The parking lot scuffle was a strange encounter but clearly demonstrated to me how strongly he felt about me. Robert truly was loving me the best way he knew how.

Two days later, I walked down the aisle. When my eyes finally caught his, I noticed a steady stream of tears. My eyes were dry, though, because I couldn’t afford to break down. By that point I was too far gone. I knew that I wasn’t marrying a perfect man, but
I also knew he loved me. We would both have to be strong enough to grow with each other.

I smiled for the pictures and enjoyed my wedding day, but inside I had placed a wall around my heart. What had I agreed to when I said “I do”?

OUR HONEYMOON WAS
beautiful. From the moment we got in the car and headed for the airport, Robert treated me like a queen. Maybe marriage had given him the extra push he needed to step up. My mind wandered with the possibilities of our love coming into full bloom. And I was still floating on cloud nine when we returned home to Dallas, refreshed and ready to build an indestructible marriage with my more dedicated partner.

The news of our wedding circulated on the Internet at lightning speed. Somehow our photographer’s site was hacked and over three hundred of our private wedding photos were released. The comments ranged from genuine congratulations, questions about our age, speculation that I was pregnant, or either of us marrying the other for money. Some of the comments hurt, but for the most part I let it roll off my back.

Then I saw a comment on YouTube I couldn’t ignore. Some woman was claiming that Robert had a son with her that he wasn’t taking
care of. Since we briefly discussed the questionable paternity of his son, I approached him about getting closure or being more involved.

“We can talk about it later,” he said.

The woman’s comment had already garnered some attention. People were replying, asking for more information, suggesting my father pay her to be quiet, and definitely checking her motives. Frustrated with the accusations, she continued to defend herself and her son. The more upset she became, the more information she revealed. I wanted to respect my husband’s wishes and leave it alone, but I also wanted to know more. So I Googled the birth records for the county where he grew up to see exactly how many children he had. It took some work, but once I found it, the truth couldn’t be denied.

Four.

Robert had four children. The story about the younger sister he simply cared for wasn’t true; she was his as well. I already knew about his son, but no one had mentioned another child that carried his name. Listing their ages was like counting down 7, 6, 5, and 4. There were four children by three different women.

I called my mother, upset. We hadn’t been married a full month, and we were already breaking down. This was trust? This was communication? Four?

My mother remained calm and did the best she could to strengthen her newlywed daughter. “Darling,” she said, “you knew that choosing him would mean there would be work. All of the children have mothers. Your job is to support their parenting efforts, not to take over.”

I sighed, knowing she had to pull from a deep place to give me that answer. As devastated as I was, I could only imagine what it was like to release your daughter to someone who didn’t take full ownership of the four pieces of him that were a mere two hours away.

This lie, added to another secret that we held back from our family, thickened the wall that existed around my heart. How could he ever fully give me pure love if he was struggling to love and accept his own children?

We were married now, and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Tens of thousands of people were waiting to hear we failed. I repeated my mother’s advice in my head over and over until it sunk in enough for me to go home. There would be no point in fighting or arguing. It didn’t change the fact that the children were his and I couldn’t leave.

No matter how much you accept an insecure person, you can never make them love or accept themselves. I kept telling myself that if I showed Robert he was still lovable, he would no longer need the validation of other women. It was larger than just the women, though.

At the root of our problem was that I wanted so badly for us to heal, and it felt like all he wanted was a distraction from his pain. Any reminder of his brokenness was an attack. I learned before marriage that yelling at him to do better wasn’t making our situation better. I learned to quietly suffer and pray constantly while I hoped the man I loved would learn to love himself.

———

We were only two months into our marriage when I asked the counselor at our church if she would be willing to talk to us. Dr. Nicole created a treatment plan to aid both of us in healing. She had only one rule, and that was full disclosure. So I told her the secret that had caused my heart to be surrounded by brick and mortar.

A month and a half before our wedding, Robert started a relationship with someone else. She was a fellow student at TCU, and I found out about their relationship when a $60 restaurant charge was debited from our account. The night in question he had come
home with one box of food. He told me he’d stopped on the way home from practice to get his favorite pasta, so I grabbed the fork and we ate together.

Since the hard days of living in the apartment, I had become obsessive about our money. Afraid of being near destitute again, I check our accounts daily. So the next day when I saw the charge, I knew that more than one person had eaten. Afraid to bring it up to Robert because I knew he would find an excuse, I called an acquaintance to see if she knew or could find out who Robert was seeing.

Within minutes she told me that he was seeing a girl down the hall from her dorm. She’d seen them leave together the day before; the girl came back with food from the same restaurant. When I confronted Robert about her, he left the house instantly. I called him a thousand times and left text messages laced with obscenity after obscenity.

We were six weeks from being married. We were already receiving wedding gifts, and the printed invitations had just gone out. My dad had started working more the year before just to make sure I had a fairy-tale wedding to this man I had shunned my entire family to be with. And now he was having dinner dates with coeds from campus?

When Robert finally came home the next day, he told me that he was nervous about the wedding. She was just a friend, someone he could talk to and nothing more.

The girl had a different story. When I contacted her on Facebook, I asked her for her version of the events. She told me that Robert was no longer happy with me and that I could put the wedding dress away. She went on to tell me about the many times they spent together and the things they laughed at concerning me.

Robert called her claims ludicrous. They were friends and nothing more; she was just bitter because she wanted to be with him and he rejected her. I had heard this song before. I was stuck between the lies he told me and the lies he told her.

I called my old acquaintance to see if she had any insight she could offer me. She told me that she would see if the girl was willing to say any more. Within hours, I knew their entire history. She told me everything she knew, and I thanked her because I knew I should’ve never asked her to be in our mess.

I took my time before reacting. Robert had already told me his version of the truth, and bringing it up again would only make the situation worse. He’d called her every name in the book. He fortified his story by reminding me groupies were a part of being with a football player. I would have to learn to trust him or them.

———

Any time your right to feel, think, and communicate has been stifled, you’re in trouble. In my heart, I knew Robert loved me. Even during these moments, I told myself that he was lying to protect me. Why go to such extremes if he didn’t care about my feelings? I continued to accept love on his level, even though it brought me down. I wasn’t allowed to be insecure. I was supposed to be strong enough to not be bruised by these instances of people trying to tear us apart.

Somehow, I was supposed to ignore that he was the one who gave them the bullets to use against me. Had he never opened the door, she wouldn’t be in our lives, I argued. He countered with telling me that my constant quest for the truth kept the issue, when he had clearly made the right decision and come home.

I was supposed to reward him for choosing me.
Be grateful that I have options, but I
chose you.
The problem came when I no longer felt like he was a prize. The more he embarrassed me with his
constant search for friendship with other women, the less exciting football games became. I stopped wearing his jersey or making shirts that showed my support. I became afraid. I worried the day would come when I would look into the crowd and see a girl who looked like me proudly sporting his number.

A week after the $60 restaurant charge, I logged on to Facebook, and my trusty informant had been tagged in pictures with the girl Robert was seeing. Their group of friends posted a picture of their freshly painted toenails. The caption, comments, and interaction all implied that they were a sisterhood. Now I really didn’t know whom to trust. The more they exchanged inside jokes on their Facebook walls and statuses, the more I believed Robert. I had confided in this woman, and now I felt like she had betrayed me, fed me the words her true friend wanted me to hear. I imagined they spent the evening laughing at how they had gotten one over on me.

So I buried the secret in my heart and placed the wall around my heart. I knew we were a long way from being okay.

And then a few weeks later, I stood before God, my parents, siblings, family, and friends and asked for their blessing over my mess. I didn’t shed one tear walking down the aisle because I knew I wasn’t marrying the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I was marrying the boy I prayed would become that man.

———

Isn’t it incredible the messes we get ourselves into and then ask God to clean up? I prayed every day from the moment we got married to finally feel safe. I wanted to know what it felt like to have a home again. I wanted to be afraid that something had happened to my husband when he wasn’t home on time. Instead, the panic was not about his safety, but for the next heartbreak I’d have to brace for.

It wasn’t just the fact that Robert had four children he forgot to mention to me that made me call Dr. Nicole. It was that I was
beginning to feel like the problem was too big for me to handle on my own anymore. I wanted to protect him from my parents’ scrutiny, so I never said a word.

I would protect him even if he wasn’t protecting me.

I gave selfless love to a selfish person and he emptied me out. I had nothing left. I couldn’t feel anything anymore, nor did I want to. I didn’t want to face the feeling my heart had each time I heard a new name. Like physical pain palpating my soul. He hurt me over and over again. The aching became normal and there were no more tears left to cry. I bled for him. Poured my soul out. Tried to fill him up. He was the only addiction I’ve ever had. He lifted me up and then dropped me into a thousand different pieces. Each time he gave me hope, I was on cloud nine, addicted to the lie that we would be all right.

And as silly as it must seem that I stayed, even knowing what I was getting myself into, I knew I was not alone. We silence our voice because after you’ve stayed through so much, you can’t walk away without facing the questions. “What was the final straw?” they would want to know. “You finally got tired,” they would say. I was afraid that leaving would make me more insecure than staying. Because no matter how many women there had been, he always came home. All roads led back to me. Leaving meant admitting that I wasn’t enough for him. I wasn’t ready to leave him to the women his actions already displayed that truth to.

He put a hole in my heart, and no matter how I tried to patch it with the fake confidence of knowing at the end of the day he’s mine, I still felt the leaking. Not one day passed when I didn’t think about how I was losing. I had been wounded time after time, and trying to walk without a limp each day became my task. My best friend since fifteen, Stacia, knew more than anyone, and even she didn’t know it all. She never tried to force me to leave or talk badly about him. Instead, she got on the other side of me and helped me patch the wounds.

Stacia called me strong. I felt so weak.

Until we decide that our time, love, and heart have been invested and will not yield a return, we stay. No one wants to gamble his or her last and lose. I wanted to win. I wanted to be right about him. Ultimately I should have been teaching myself the lesson I so badly wanted him to learn. I wanted him to value me, but how could I teach him my value if I accepted everything, even the pain, he gave me?

I tried to become more confident, because he told me that my insecurity was what attracted women to him. I stopped talking about how hurt I was because he told me I was rubbing his past in his face. Or that I was self-inflicting the pain because I refused to let things go. You should never have to be with someone who wants you to be his or her robot. You were created to feel, and anyone who tries to control how you feel is trying to become your master—and when you let him or her do that, you become his or her slave.

I wanted Dr. Nicole to help me be free in my own home. Maybe she could help us find a way to level the playing field so we could see and embrace each other fully. The first couple of sessions weren’t easy. We both had to take responsibility for the things that had hurt each other.

Even though I felt justified in saying the things that hurt him, the truth is that I still let him control my character. I tried to use my words to make him feel the weight his betrayal had placed on my heart. Maybe if I cut him deep enough he would see what it felt like to bleed, too. I apologized, though, because I wanted to have a whole husband, not a wounded little boy.

How could I expect God to correct my marriage if I was constantly trying to do the job for Him? Robert wanted to control me and I wanted to control him. Our war was tearing each other apart. In the presence of our peacemaker, Dr. Nicole, we waved the white flag. Because of that moment, our marriage took a turn for the better.

When two people become one before God, we no longer just represent ourselves; we represent one another. Therefore, you can no longer offer your wounded mate to Him without recognizing that you’re wounded, too. I knew that I had been hurt, but I thought if he changed I would be okay. I prayed that God would show me how I could get his heart, but I placed a wall around my own.

Until we strengthened our own walks with Christ, we couldn’t be much help to each other. We committed to going to service every Sunday. There would be days we fought the entire way to church, but there was something about being in the presence of God that moved our flesh out of the way and allowed our souls an opportunity to connect.