Four years ago I was dealt two devastating blows. In April 2012, my divorce became final. Eric, my best friend of 11 years and I could not get over my affair. His anger and my guilt had made communicating nothing but shouting matches. We tried counseling, but whenever the counselor called my cheating partner a “predator,” I got upset. When the counselor asked what I’d gotten from said predator, I answered, “He talked to me. He flirted with me.” Eric said, “If he did it, I won’t.” We were at an impasse.
The worst part was that I never wanted to lose Eric. Some ridiculous part of me believed I could tell him about the affair, he would understand that something had been missing from our marriage, and we would talk it out and fix it together. How arrogant and naive! Eric’s deep hurt came out in anger, and because I couldn’t deal with his emotions or even empathize I turned to the Predator. Big surprise: the union did not last.
Later that year, in October, my father passed away after a sudden illness. I traveled back and forth from my home in Idaho to his in New York to settle his estate. After I returned home for good, Eric came to my house and gave me a hug. (My dad loved him too.) But, it was too late. I’d lost two best friends within six months. 2012 was a bad year.
Here we are in 2016 and guess where I am? Right in the middle of the 5 stages of grief. But it’s not for my father. Of course, I miss him. I loved his angry, sensitive and complicated self. But I’m stuck in the bargaining phase over my other best friend–the one I thought I’d be with forever. “If you take me back, I will never hurt you again.” “You’re the only man I ever loved.” “If we could just work it out, our love will be stronger.”
Big surprise: none of these tactics work. Eric says he’s moved on. I stabbed him in the back. He owes me nothing. He’d rather be alone for the rest of his life than endure that much pain again. Sigh. So, I’m in therapy–trying to stay sane and navigate my life without the love of my life, my best friend. To further complicate matters, Eric and I share an 11 year old son who’s gorgeous, witty, and sensitive. So, there’s no moving away, not seeing Eric, or hiding in my house.
What have I learned? Plenty. But probably the most important lesson is to be honest. Instead of going outside the marriage, I should have turned to Eric and said, “We have some issues. Can we talk about them?” But that would have taken courage. What if he rejected me? Ironic. Perhaps, only perhaps, if I would have taken a leap of faith six years ago and told Eric what I needed. . . Who knows?