My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (5 page)

While living in Alberta, I had been Brian’s business partner, responsible for administration and accounting, something I could usually do from home or in the evenings, which allowed me time to raise my children and just be mom. Losing our business and the higher cost of living in British Columbia forced me to work outside

the home, something I wasn’t too eager to do.

Initially, I accepted a position in retail sales, which I didn’t enjoy very much. But within a couple of years, I had landed an excellent full-time position working for a business consulting company. I started applying my skills in the role of office manager, and soon found myself assisting with seminars, sales and marketing and eventually teaching, developing curriculums and writing, roles I loved and excelled in naturally.

So this was the picture of our lives: a relatively normal middle-class Canadian family struggling to survive. Working hard, experiencing stress, doing all the things society expected us to do, and deep down ... life was boring. Too much responsibility, not enough play. We were firmly planted on the treadmill of modern society, seemingly unable to disembark. Then came the new millennium, and with it our greatest storm, a year our family barely survived.

In February, Brian and I attended a leadership conference in Seattle, Washington. I was particularly inspired by a talk on never giving up. Brian seemed down during most of the conference, and on the evening of this particular talk he was feeling sick and had decided to rest in our hotel room.

The title of the talk was “It Ain’t Over ‘til it’s Over,” and the speaker discussed how often, when things look the bleakest, we are actually on the verge of one of our greatest personal victories. I believe I heard that message that night by divine appointment, although I was still unaware of the storm that was brewing in my life.

Everyone has a story to tell. Each and every individual on this earth is given a unique set of assets to enjoy and unique trials to endure in this life. At times when I hear another’s story, I am awed that through no effort of my own, I have been spared their particular pain. But then I am given a trial that the next person is not. I ask myself, is it possible that the assets or strengths that I am given are the very ones I need in order to travel the particularjourney that is mapped out ahead of me?

Part of my journey was raising my three children, including my exceptionally strong-willed daughter, Danielle. Danielle seemed to be born into this world with unlimited drive and energy, an unstoppable will, and a readiness to take on anyone who would in any way oppose her or stand in her way. There is not a doubt in my mind she is destined for some great success, but raising a child like this is no easy task.

As parents we believed a carefully administered “spanking” to be an appropriate form of discipline, and coupled with lots of love, understanding and age-appropriate guidance, a part of a healthy childhood. However, in Danielle’s case, we quickly threw the theory away, as she would shout back at us, “Spank me harder, I’ll do it more!” No amount of pain would ever deter Danielle from doing something she had determined to do. A different approach was always needed.

As the years passed, there were countless stories to tell regarding Danielle’s dynamic personality. Some positive, some negative, some hilarious and entertaining, none boring and all dramatic. She is highly intelligent, extremely perceptive, and could persuade most people into pretty much anything. When she wants something, she will stop at nothing to get it.

As Danielle’s mother I was living life on the edge. She won contests, was praised by her teachers, had accidents, went to the hospital, helped others, and helped the police with their inquiries. The only guarantee I had was that if some commotion was going on, Danielle would be there in one capacity or another. If I pulled up at the school and noticed any emergency vehicles, ambulance, police, fire, whatever, I would always drive up and quickly make my way to the center of the crowd. I knew without doubt that Danielle would be right in the middle of whatever was going on.

During the conference we were attending, Danielle had phoned us with a cheerful voice to say everything was going well, and she looked forward to talking to me when we got back. When we arrived home, she wanted to go out for coffee just her and me. I felt like a good mother. My teenager wants to have coffee with her mom. What an open relationship we have,
I thought.

We sat down at a table in the small, cozy coffee shop, with a couple of fancy flavored lattes.

“Guess what?” Danielle said cheerfully, “I’ve decided to quit school.” I was immediately onto her subtle ploy.

“Actually, Danielle,” I said, “we are not going to have this conversation without your father here. Let’s talk about something else now, and we’ll talk about this big issue when we get home.”

Danielle lost her cool and shouted profanities at me, creating an unpleasant scene in front of the other patrons. I got up and left the restaurant in silence as she shouted at me and people looked on in silent astonishment. I felt humiliated beyond description. Danielle followed me outside and demanded that I drive her to a friend’s home. I left her in the coffee shop parking lot without saying another word.

Brian and I seemed to be on a teenage roller coaster ride whether we liked it or not. One conflict led to another, despite our efforts to deal with each situation with love and support. We had clear boundaries as to what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior in our home, but Brian and I began to disagree about how to handle these conflicts, he leaning towards a hard line and me leaning towards love and support. Not easy disagreements to resolve when you are discussing someone you both love so much.

The stress began to take its toll. A month after Danielle started to act out, I came down with a very serious case of bronchitis that almost turned to pneumonia. The doctor ordered me to take a two week leave of absence from work. I coughed unceasingly as I lay alone on my bed.

Life was beginning to feel a little like one of those action films, where some guy (me, in this case) gets beat up and more bad guys keep coming from every direction.

After I recovered from my sickness, I decided to take an extended leave of absence from work to deal with the problems at home. During this time, I drew closer to my friends, and found more time for quiet and meditation.

I spent some of my down time at monthly gatherings with other women, where we shared personal stories to encourage each other. Often these brief presentations were about a major challenge and a corresponding victory.

In early May I sat contentedly in one of these meetings sipping coffee and listening to a young Japanese mother quietly share her story. When Mameha was a girl, she had been walking home with her sister one evening when a car came from behind and knocked the girl down. One moment they walked together hand-in-hand, the next moment her sister was lying dead in the street. A dozen of us sat stunned, eyes filled with tears as we listened to the effect this trauma had on Mameha, her family, and her future.

Mameha then told us in a low voice that her husband had had an affair and said he was leaving her for the other woman. Later he had decided to stay with her after all. Mahema said that despite having seen her sister run down, her husband’s betrayal had been the most difficult experience of her life. “I don’t even know why I shared that,” she added, head bowed. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

I felt so sorry for Mahema, believing that I would never have to go through such a terrible experience. I thanked God for Brian more than ever that night.

CHAPTER 3
surviving
the First Day 

DAY ONE—TUESDAY, MAY 1 6, 2 0 00
Footprints

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord. When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it.

“Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you’d walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why when I needed you the most you would leave me.” The Lord replied, “My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

When the morning light began to fill the room, I was still in my chair and my coffee was still sitting on the table. Now cold and missing only one sip.

I looked around the room. It was full of flowers. I always loved flowers, but this morning the fragrant bouquets were more beautiful to me than they had ever been before. For some strange reason, I had received floral arrangements from all sorts of sources this Mother’s Day.

It looked like a funeral had just taken place in my living room, and indeed it had. A part of me died the previous night.

I had always wondered why people sent flowers when someone died. It seemed a contradiction to me, as if a few bouquets would help to take the pain of grief away. Well they don’t, but when your world is ugly and dark it helps to be reminded that there is still some beauty in the world. I looked at the flowers, they gave me a small comfort, and I was grateful for them.

Mustering all the strength within me, driven by an intense love for my children, I somehow pulled myself togetherjust long enough to get the kids off to school. (Danielle was now sixteen, Dustin was fourteen and Tamara was twelve.)

Then, I took the next important step to get on with my life. I called a friend.

Lori, the wife of the pastor of my church was my first choice. I dialed her up after driving my kids to school. “Hello,” she answered.

“Hi Lori. It’s Anne. I’m coming over,” I said. I didn’t possess the capacity for the normal small talk.

“But Anne,” she protested, “I’m not even dressed.”

“That’s why I’m calling you now,” I said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, so you have ten minutes to get dressed.”

I just had to make it to Lori’s. I could make it that far, and at this moment that’s all I required of myself. Only one small step.

I arrived at her home safely and felt that was an achievement. I walked up to the door, knocked and waited. When Lori opened the door, I just stood there trembling and began to sob. At last my body was able to give way to grief.

“What’s wrong?” Lori cried. I was unable to speak, and continued shaking and sobbing in her doorway.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, shouting this time.

“Brian is leaving me for another woman.” I finally got the words out. “Lori, he doesn’t even know if he wants to be with me anymore.”

Lori and I were relatively close friends. We had known each other for six years, and in her mind, Brian and I were a strong couple. We were known as a couple with strong moral convictions who had served others, given back to the community, and acted as role models for others. All now seemed shattered.

Lori and I sat at her kitchen table, and we both stared out blankly in disbelief. Neither of us spoke for a long time.

Finally Lori declared, “No, no, no. This is not going to happen. This mess is going to become a message.” She spoke as one with authority, one without doubt. She then told me the story of another couple, whose marriage began as a total mess. But they had given their mess over to God. God helped transform their relationship into something beautiful. Then their mess became a message for others. The couple now has a television ministry.

For the moment, her words offered a small comfort. Could it be that there was any hope at all for my future?

“What are you going to do today?” Lori asked. “You have to have a plan.”

This was the second right thing I did: I planned a survival strategy to live through the first day.

“Well,” I said, “I was thinking about going to the mall.”

I had always been a very modest person. I was careful with money and I didn’t spend much on myself. I had never before used spending money as a way to comfort myself in a difficult time, but on this day, I thought I might buy a new outfit. On this day I didn’t care about money. If Brian left me for another woman, they could begin their lovely relationship paying off credit card debt, I reasoned. If he returned home to me, we’d deal with it later. It was the least of my concerns.

“Great idea,” Lori enthusiastically confirmed.

Next, I would go for a run. Since the New Year, I had taken up long distance running again. It’s a sport I had enjoyed off and on since high school. Already I was running as far as seventeen miles in one stretch, but my usual routine was five miles, three times a week.

Then I would clean the house. A clean house always made me feel happier. Even though I didn’t enjoy cleaning it, the good feeling of a clean environment was well worth the effort.