It was April. Two weeks after my mastectomy. My husband’s mom was in hospice. She was dying. Should he fly to Iowa to see her?
He was torn. He wanted to see his mother but didn’t want to leave me. I couldn’t lift my arm or carry anything with it. I needed help dressing, combing my hair…
I told him, “Go. It’s your mother.” Thanks to my own mother, neighbors and friends, I would be fine.
He spent 2 days with his mother, then came home. The day after he was back, she died.
If that was all there was to the story, we wouldn’t have gotten a divorce.
Unfortunately, while he was visiting his mother, they decided to go through old photo albums. Innocuous enough, right?
In those albums he saw pictures of his first wife. His first love. A woman who still had both her breasts.
I don’t think he consciously planned what happened next. But he called her. They shared memories of happier times. Soon he was talking to her for hours each day.
I wasn’t paying much attention since I was dealing with pain and recovery. I’d been prescribed an incredible 160 mg per day of Oxycontin. I needed it for several weeks after my surgery.
As I recovered, I had to wean myself off the drug. That was a challenge. Oxycontin is addictive and I had withdrawal symptoms. I’d get the shakes and chills. So yeah, I wasn’t too focused on what my husband was doing.
Which made it easier for him to have am emotional affair.
It hit me like a bullet when he announced he wanted a divorce. I was devastated. I had thought our marriage was happy. Ironically, he agreed with that assessment.
When he told me he wanted a divorce, I asked, “Aren’t you happy in our marriage? Don’t you love me?”
The words of a confused and sad person.
He replied, “Yes, I do still love you and yes, I have been happy in our marriage. But this is my first love. I need to see if I can make it work with her.”
When I realized he was serious, I told him, “Alright, if that’s what you want, I’m not going to fight it. But please realize, once you walk out that door, I am not taking you back. Once our marriage is over, it’s over.”
He left. Ironically enough, 2 years later he did ask for me to take him back. But it was too late…
However, in the immediate aftermath… I was angry. I was upset. I was sad.
I called friends for support. They comforted me over wine, bruschetta, ice cream. I went through a box of tissues. I yelled at God and cried on my mother and my dog. I did force myself to be sane long enough to call an attorney and a locksmith. I did both those things the day after my ex-husband left.
After about a month, I was ready to move on with my life.
I had worked through a lot of the anger and grief and had pretty much forgiven him. Of course, as another year’s worth of therapy showed me, there was still residual bitterness to work through. But it wasn’t a huge reservoir.
When I started dating again (which I did a month to the day after he left) men remarked how much they appreciated the fact that I didn’t have a chip on my shoulder. Apparently many divorced women are angry and bitter. Who woulda thunk? Well, I hate to break it to the guys — divorced men can be just as bad, if not worse.
But that’s neither here nor there.
The important thing was that I had forgiven my ex. Because I was able to move forward without hatred in my heart towards him, I reaped many benefits.
We paid less than $200 for our divorce. We remained friendly. I was able to start dating again and enjoy it. I’ve moved forward with my life and in many ways it’s better now than it ever was.
So… how did I do it? How did I forgive my ex?
It’s actually both the simplest and also the most difficult thing in the world.
It’s called empathy.
I put myself in his shoes.
I don’t mean just a little bit. I really forced myself to imagine I was him. What had his life been like?
Two years before he left me, we lost our cat. For those who are not animal lovers that might not seem like a big deal, but it was devastating for us. She was a very special part of our lives, having been with us since the early days of our marriage.
8 months later, my ex lost his father.
Then I was re-diagnosed with cancer. I had a tumor the size of a grapefruit and the doctor’s prognosis was grim.
Then his mother got abdominal cancer. It was inoperable. She was admitted to hospice while I scheduled my mastectomy.
During all of this time — he was my rock. I tried to emotionally support him, but, particularly after my cancer came back, he wanted to be there for me and insisted on taking the role of caretaker.
In vain I suggested therapy. He wouldn’t do it.
I tried to imagine what he was going through. I put myself in his shoes.
I cannot justify what he did. I can’t say it’s OK to cheat on your spouse. But… I can understand why he did it. I understand his pain and his struggle.
And that’s enough.
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Previously published on medium
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Photo credit: by Yingchih on Unsplash