My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (12 page)

This journal keeping became a way to sort my thoughts, in a time when sanity and rational thinking were hard to find. It provided a measure of therapy in the midst of my desolation.

My mother phoned. Again, as with my father, I attempted to hide everything by covering up with lies.

“Everything’s fine, Mom. I’m doing really well,” I said. “Yes, the

family is doing great. I’m very happy.”

But she was too perceptive

“Anne, there is something seriously wrong over there. I can tell. What is it? I demand to know. What is wrong with you today?” It was useless trying to hide this from her, so I confessed the truth. To my surprise, she was not only compassionate towards me, but she seemed compassionate towards Brian, as well. This was amazing, in light of the strained relationship between them. She told me she understood how tremendously painful it must be for me, yet encouraged me that I was not alone.

“Very few men are actually faithful to their wives for a lifetime,” she comforted. I expected her to encourage me to leave Brian. She was a firm believer in women not tolerating injustices at the hands of any men. Yet now, she spoke with wisdom in place of hate.

She said I should consider things such as: has he been a good husband, is he a good father, and is he a good provider?

“Maybe you can work through it, and maybe he is worth keeping,” she suggested.

Every time I had the chance to share my struggle with a willing and sensible listener, I gained a little extra strength.

Perceptive in more ways than one, my mother asked about what I had eaten since hearing the devastating news. When she found out about my fast, she was understanding and wise. She recounted a traumatic experience from her own life, where she also had been unable to eat, and she encouraged me that now, more than ever, I must have basic nutritional requirements met. This was necessary for survival, and also for the mental energy needed to make sound decisions.

She understood that I was incapable of eating normal food, so she encouraged me to have meal replacement drinks, and take nutritional supplements. I followed her advice, and found my new partial fast helped my body cope with the shock and pain it was enduring.

In the early afternoon Lori phoned me, eager to share some news. She told me that she had had a vision. She had been to a marriage reaffirmation ceremony earlier that day, for another couple, who had once also stood on the brink of divorce, yet had rebuilt a beautiful relationship together.

While my marriage now seemed finished forever, this couple stood celebrating a new and better marriage with each other.

“Anne, as I watched Andrea and Bill, standing before the minister, renewing their marriage vows, I cried, but I wasn’t crying for Andrea and Bill. I was crying for you and Brian, and I was crying in a happy way, because I didn’t see Andrea and Bill. I saw only Brian and Anne,” she said. “Anne, I know with certainty, even though you stand now in your darkest hour, one day that will be you and Brian, celebrating your rebuilt relationship and great love for each other. I believe what I saw this morning was a vision from God for you. I saw you and Brian in your reaffirmation ceremony clearly in my mind.”

I wrote Lori’s words in my journal and clung to them like a welfare recipient to a lottery ticket. It seemed highly unlikely that they were true, but I hoped they were.

CHAPTER 8
Friendship in Adversity 

DAY SIX-SUNDAY, MAY 2 1, 2 000

Crisis breeds camaraderie. It turns total strangers into cherished confidants. We’re relieved to discover someone whose experience bears a striking resemblance to our own. It gladdens us to know we’re not alone. We will always enjoy our childhood friends—the ones we lived next door to or met on the playground in second grade. But when we grow up, our needs change and God provides friends of a different kind—friends who are formed in the School of Hard Knocks, companions who’ve come from the classroom of life.

FROM
HUGS FOR FRIENDS
G.A. MEYERS

I woke up in my empty bed, the beautiful canopy bed my carpenter husband had built for us, with the solid oak posts and mahogany stain. But there was no more Brian in our bed.

Usually on Sunday mornings, Brian would make me a cup of coffee and join me in bed and we would talk. But on this day there was no Brian, no coffee and no talking. I thought about what to do.

For eighteen years I had attended church on Sundays with Brian, and we were well-known there. I wanted to go again this morning, because I always found the services refreshing and encouraging, but how would I deal with the people?

If only I could sneak in unseen, like a ghost. How could I avoid everybody in that limited circle of church goers, who knew me so well? What would I tell them when they asked me where Brian was?

I felt less fragile on this morning. I was growing accustomed to the ever-present feeling of sadness. I was also regaining some sense of physical strength, even though I had ingested only one liquid meal in five days. Weight: 150 pounds.

I thought about my two younger children. Of course I would have to go to church for their sake, I didn’t want them to know anything was wrong or that their father had left them. They still thought Dad was just working long hours and I still hoped he would change his mind, and they would never need to be hurt.

I timed my arrival at church strategically five minutes late, to ensure I would not have to make small talk with anyone. My children joined the other teenagers at the back of the church, while I walked forward bravely and took a seat in the center pews. I was as alone as I could be and felt as if I were attending my own funeral.

One of our church leaders, a woman and a friend, intuitively moved from her own seat and took a seat beside me, carefully flowing with the situation, and not drawing any unusual attention to it. She hugged me from the side and smiled at me compassionately. Her action warmed me from the inside, and a sense of relief swept over me. She was like my body guard. Should I be asked a question I could not answer, she was there to protect me.

As the worship service proceeded, we sang one new song after another. Although I loved singing, I was in no mood to learn something new. How I longed to sing something familiar, so I could just close my eyes and hide in the beautiful words of familiar church songs.

Our pastor’s desire to be cutting edge and exciting with his music

selections was not appreciated by me at all that morning. However, his preaching provided me with a meal for my soul, and I furtively left as the closing prayer was being uttered and waited for my children in the car.

Later that afternoon, Danielle and I had opportunity to sit and sort through some of our initial feelings about Brian’s departure.

“I’m going to get that woman’s phone number,” Danielle said. “I want to hurt her back for what she’s doing to our family.”

“Danielle,” I responded, “Don’t let this woman get you in trouble. It’s not going to help you if you get involved and get charged with a crime.”

“Oh, I won’t get caught,” she said. “I’m going to find that woman’s phone number.”

“I already have it,” I said, remembering the strange call from her husband.

“You do?” Danielle said, impressed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I have it?”

After Danielle promised me she wouldn’t do anything extreme, I gave her Helen’s phone number. I wasn’t sure what she might do with it, but I felt she was entitled to something to comfort her, and if this phone number helped then I thought she could have it. Besides, Danielle would get what she wanted somehow anyway. It’s not that hard to find a phone number.

“What are you going to do Mom?”

She wanted to know and it was a fair question. I probably shouldn’t have been talking to my daughter about my feelings, but being evasive would only have contributed to her sense of insecurity.

I told her how I felt. That I hoped Dad would come to his senses and come home where he belonged. I told her that I didn’t understand why this was happening. And I told her that whatever happened in the future, that I was no dummy and was perfectly capable of taking care of this family by myself. I told her I wanted to go and live in Denmark, that I thought it would be good for our family to experience something new, that I thought it would be helpful to have the support of my family.

She didn’t like my Denmark idea at all. She didn’t want to leave her friends and comfort zone behind. It saddened me, but I reasoned to myself that I could overcome these objections with time.

Danielle wanted to know if I wanted to get back at the other woman. I confessed that I did, but that I had thought the situation through and decided the most effective way to get to her might actually be through kindness. I quoted the bible verse:

If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you.

“I’m not going to let her control me,” I told Danielle, “and I’m not going to let her win by turning me into an evil person.”

We sat and discussed if there might be a way to cause Helen some pain without getting too out of hand. Something subtle. Nothing illegal.

Did we not desire to inflict pain on Brian also for his part in hurting us? No, not yet. We loved Brian, and we were not ready to let go of our image of him as a good person. It was much easier to direct all of the blame and anger towards a person we didn’t know and certainly didn’t love.

We discussed all kinds of things like breaking into Helen’s home, telling her off, humiliating her at work and beating her up. Although we knew these things weren’t really options, it felt good to talk about them. We were on the same side, and talking together was easing the pain for both of us.

It’s amazing how a traumatic experience can lead you to consider things you normally never would. Six days ago, I would not have

been able to comprehend another betrayed person’s intense desire for revenge, nor their need to grieve. I would probably have given them lame advice about forgiveness and doing the “right” things, instead of comforting them in the same way I would if their loved one had died.

As Danielle and I continued to discuss our options, we came up with a plan that offered complete satisfaction to our strong and very human desire to retaliate. Our eyes lit up and regained a sparkle, as this master plan unfolded before us.

It was simple, yet marvelous. We were going to pay Helen a “visit,” equipped with well-chewed chewing gum in our mouths. We would ensure that we got really close before we would swiftly and “accidentally” drop our gum into her hair, right on top at the roots. One of us would hold her while the other proficiently mashed it well into her bangs.

The plan was flawless! Helen would not actually be injured, but the incident would necessitate baldness on the top of her head. For the first time in six days we were laughing hysterically with delight. If Brian was going to leave us for another woman, let him have a bald woman!

Were Danielle and I serious? Yes and no. What if she got us back? The last thing we wanted to deal with was forced baldness. Or what if she got us back in some worse way? It was a struggle. I had made a decision to forgive, yet I still found myself waffling between doing the right thing and wanting to punish her for causing my family so much grief.

In the evening I found myself alone at home, and it was almost unbearable. I could not be alone with my thoughts. I had to find someone to talk to. Part of me didn’t want to see anyone, but another part of me couldn’t stand to be alone. An uncontrollable feeling of restlessness was overtaking me.

I elected to spread out my support a bit and phoned another couple, also leaders in our church, who knew about the affair. When I dialed up Vincent and Alexandra, I actually asked if I could come over. This was out of character for me, since it’s not proper to ask to be invited to someone’s home. Yet I was desperate, and hoped they would understand. They were happy to help and welcomed me over. I parked in the driveway of their immaculate, upper class home. Everything about it was inviting: the beautiful flowers, the attractive ornaments, the flawless paint, and the calming color combinations. As their door opened, both Vincent and Alexandra greeted me with a warm flow of kindness.

Alexandra was holding a tiny, baby dachshund, which barked excitedly. It was the latest addition to their family, and another precious treasure to Alexandra. Alexandra loved animals.

“This is Rusty,” she said, as she ushered me to come in. I petted the small, loving creature in Alexandra’s arms as I entered the doorway, commenting on how cute it was.

Somehow touching the animal was comforting me, as it seemed to love me instantly and was doing its tiny best to lavish me with affection, licking me enthusiastically on my neck, face, hands and wherever else it could reach.

“Can I hold it?” I asked, reaching out to take the small creature from Alexandra. I held tight as it squirmed about.

“Careful, careful,” Alexandra said.

Before I could even comprehend what was happening I dropped the dog and it landed squarely on its head. We all scrambled to pick it up. I felt like crying. Not only had I hurt the dog, but I knew it was upsetting for Alexandra.