"Restored Marriage"... a survivor's story
To quote Erma Bombeck: "If life is a bowl of cherries...what am I doing here in the pits?"
Well, that simple question does not even begin to express what surviving infidelity puts a spouse through. And, unfortunately, far too many who read this page already know what I'm talking about!
My husband and I are among the fortunate few who have come through this ordeal; and, by God's Grace alone, are rebuilding our marriage. Herein is where I'd like to share our "survivors story".
I debated somewhat over whether or not to use a background which could prove quite challenging to read over, but decided that it fit with the struggles that I about to recount; So, please bear with me. I hope to make it interesting as well as providing what I desire to be up-building hope for others who have or may face this same type of "journey".
I won't go into the earlier years of our marriage since those are touched on somewhat in another testimony; nor do I intend to "disillusion" anyone with "happily ever after" or "zap, it was fixed in a moment" notions. Nothing I have ever gone through in my life, including the extreme physical and mental difficulties ( also in other testimonies) could begin to compare or have prepared me for what I faced in my marriage!
After some of the things we'd already survived, such as moving 13 times in five years; living with no electricity, hot water, car, or job; and had bug-infested rentals, I felt pretty secure in the strength of our marriage. Even as difficult as the sudden on-set of my seizures was in 1986, we seemed to be keeping ourselves and our son going quite well. By then there was job security and we had been four years in our first purchased home.
In 1988, we moved into our second house; much bigger and more conveniently laid out. And so life continued with the usual up-and-downs of family life...until about 1993. That was the year that I can pinpoint as the on-set of our most serious problems.
My husband had become almost intolerant of my physical and emotional difficulties, looking for the smallest excuses to be out of the house. He seemed to welcome arguments which would result in his storming out of the house. I was being accused of saying and doing things which I knew I had not, and being expected to perform duties which were impossible for me physically. The man who had never wanted a working wife when I was healthy, suddenly wanted me to seek employment when I could barely walk the length of the house without triggering a seizure. My confusion and frustration was building beyond belief.
Finally, in March of 1994, after another of our arguments over what I had supposedly done but had not, I walked out of the house first. Just down a few parking lot steps and across the highway was a small motel, where I took a room for the night. I phoned my husband to tell him that I had taken a room for the night and wanted to talk things over more calmly the next day. He just didn't care! By the next day the tables had turned on me. Not only did he not want to talk, he did not want me back in the house; not yet, at least.
His "not yet" was about to turn into a three-year nightmare. After 33 days in that motel and no willingness on my husband's part to "allow" me back home ( and going home with him in that frame of mind and attitude would have been disastrous), I found a one room efficiency apartment...an old converted motel...and applied for Supplemental Security Income. I was flat broke!
It didn't take too long to qualify once they got the doctor's report, but on $460. per month, I was not able to find much better housing for myself. To make it even harder, our son (then 13 years old) had opted to stay with his dad; but how could I expect otherwise when I didn't have decent housing or income to offer. .............
Minus the miscellaneous details, this continued on for three years. My husband would tell me that he loved me on some days, and on others he just wasn't sure. Our son began to develop a hatred for me that was unexplainable. Even he no longer wanted me home.
Then one morning in early February of 1997 I received a phone call from my husband . He was calling to tell me that a dear friend of mine had been rushed to the hospital and it was not likely that she would regain consciousness. Her life had already been long stretched beyond what doctors had expected. As I asked my husband how he was informed and his whereabouts at the time, the horror story began to unfold.
He was at the hospital. He had been one of the first notified by my friend's son, and he was at the hospital. As it came out that he was in the intensive care unit, I began to question. How was it that a non-relative was allowed in ICU when most of her family was there? It all came crashing down when my husband replied with, " I'm not going to get into that right now!"
I immediately came back with, "Your having an affair with her!" He again stated that it was not the time to get into that discussion. So, I informed him that I was coming to the hospital. He said "No you're not!" But I insisted I was. "She's my friend too!"
The next couple of hours, as I arranged and waited for a ride to the hospital were indescribably painful. An affair was hard enough to discover; but being with someone I called friend, who was always reassuring me that she hoped to see my marriage reconciled...this was nearly unbearable.
I arrived at the hospital shaking. As I rode up in the elevator, I had no idea how I was going to deal with my husband...if he was even still there. As the doors opened, there he stood. I don't know how he could have known when I'd arrive... or if he just happened to be in that area.
Without a thought, I reached out and touched his arm. I could see that his sadness was as deep as mine; though for a different reason. "It's okay!" That was all I could say just then. It came out of me so calmly and sincerely, I could not have brought that about on my own. I am typically an explosive-type person. But there it was...this gentle sympathy and ability to look at his pain instead of my own.
He took me with him into the intensive care room where my friend lay, lifeless and surrounded by machines, tubes, and wires. I walked over by her face and began to pray as I gently held my hand over hers. I expressed my forgiveness and prayed that she would go and rest gently in God's arms for awhile and then get up and walk strong. In heaven she would have the full normal use of both legs; something she had not had here for more than a dozen years.
Sitting in the waiting room with my husband and her family was like being trapped behind a see-through mirror. I watched and listened as they spoke to my husband like a son-in-law and step-father. The doctors questioned him about her recent health and activities as though he were her husband. He had all the answers and right words for all of them. I felt so empty, as though my identity had been stripped completely away from me.
My husband and I spoke privately a few times in the hallway; and her family managed a few niceties of casual conversation, as though to a stranger (and I'd known them for years).
When it was time for school to get out, my husband and I left to get our son. This was not going to be easy news for him to bear. He screamed, hollered, and closed himself in his room for a short time. We convinced him to come to the hospital. I accompanied him into the ICU room and again prayed for my friend. Soon after, the doctors came in with the news that her EEG showed no brain activity and to ask if they would like the machines disconnected? They looked to my husband for an opinion. It was probably the first decline he made to them when he stated that it was not his place to be involved.
He came home with me that night and the intense confessing began. Within days, he had gone to church to pray and to confess to the pastor. The words he spoke were sharp to me. I listened without condemning for days, as he confessed the details of the involvement with this woman. It was hard to think my husband was with someone else while we were apart; but the real horror was in finding out that this relationship had begun, in its earliest stages, nearly ten years prior to this...only weeks or months after I had met this woman. The cunning ways they had met and the sly manner in which she used our friendship to gather details of our life to twist and use against me...how could I have been so blind?
It has been no easy task to rebuild this marriage. I moved back home in April of 1997 and we had progressed far enough by our 23rd wedding anniversary in January of 1998 to renew our marriage vows.
Many have called me a fool; but in response I must say that it was God's plan. He gave me the strength and ability to forgive and move forward. I had prayed for three years that God would restore our marriage. When He made that possible, in spite of the free-will of my husband and my friend for during those years, how could I then say that I no longer wanted that prayer answered?
We went through counseling for several months with a Christian counselor. And I won't say that everything is cleared up and forgotten. Many things still haunt both of us and we do argue our way through many of the memories and confessions that continue to come as he recalls more of that relationship.
We have had to come through incredible debt which he incurred during those years; and much of the slander against me will never be overcome in this town. I've had to rebuild with my son, who had built up tremendous animosity toward me, much of which was due to lies he'd been told. Yet, I have no regrets about coming back. God is continuing to bless us in ways I could never have imagined.
I will expound further on this as I am able, but it is our hope that God will use our experience to witness to others who may face similar dilemmas; and it is for that reason that we open our personal life to you without shame or hesitation.*
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