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Dear Bel,
A few weeks ago you published a letter about infidelity, under the title: “Can I repair a marriage destroyed by the confession of an affair?”
It reminded me of a difficult time I had in 1990, when my husband had a six-month affair with a married woman at work.
He knew something was wrong: coming home late saying he had gone out for a drink with co-workers; talking on the phone and quickly hanging it up when I came in, etc.
Confronted, he admitted to the affair and said he loved her very much. I also called the number he had been using to call her and told her husband that she should not call our number again. The matter ended then. She had a four-year-old son and I guess neither she nor her husband wanted to separate from her.
I felt distraught and old. I was 12 years older than the woman and four years older than my husband. But I forgave him because I didn’t want our marriage to end and our children to be angry. My husband said he was sorry and tried to make it up to me, but we no longer had a sex life.
I guess he didn’t love me anymore. I never raised that topic with him because I was afraid it would make things worse, and despite everything, I still loved him very much.
Later, after his many health problems, I took care of him as best I could until he died a couple of months ago. I managed to put the past behind us and we had a reasonably happy existence, but my anger scares me.
I want to find this woman just to see why she would risk our marriage. I want to tell her how I feel and ask her if she thought her behavior was acceptable, given that she was married and she had a child.
I know where he works. The temptation to confront her even after all this time is very strong. I need advice.
KATHLEEN
Bel Mooney responds: Interestingly, I received a letter with a similar problem in the same mailbag.
Mrs JY tells me that her husband had an affair 32 years ago, when he left her for a woman who threatened to kill herself if he didn’t leave his wife, but then rebuilt their marriage two years later.
She has been “very happy” since then, but recently discovered that her husband was talking to this woman again, although she now lives abroad. She justifies the new contact (initiated by the other woman) by saying that it makes her “feel young again.”
Mrs JY writes: ‘He is vain and foolish; She is cunning and shameless. I can’t see past my anger.’
Your husband is dead, Kathleen, while Mrs. JY’s is still alive, but you share that blazing rage that is all the more powerful because it has no meaningful outlet. “Hell hath no fury” is correct.
And you will probably find that it is very difficult, if not impossible, to offer advice in such circumstances.
How is it really possible to move forward and leave anger behind, when such deep pain has been inflicted and such valiant efforts have been made, over many years, to tolerate and continue to love the wayward husband?
I can only advise Mrs. JY to give this man a serious ultimatum. It is totally insulting that her husband can happily chat on the phone with the woman who inflicted so much pain on his wife that he nearly ended the marriage.
He would understand if she snatched his phone and threw it into the nearest river. But instead, it’s time to talk tough and perhaps suggest that she has serious doubts about continuing to put up with a man who is “vain and foolish,” as well as selfish and careless.
Your situation is, of course, different, Kathleen. It is clear that she never accepted what her husband inflicted on her.
It seems as if your marriage is still a struggle, and now that he’s dead you probably reflect incessantly on all the wasted years. He is no longer with you to receive any reprimands or ultimatums, so all you are left with is continued anger toward the woman who did so much harm.
You write: ‘I want…’ . . Ask her if she thought her behavior was acceptable, given that she was married and had a child. But this is a useless question, given the fact that when people are in the throes of sexual passion, any question of “acceptable” behavior goes out the window.
Sexual passion destroys morality, turns its back on guilt and focuses only on the next opportunity to see forbidden love. So does it make any sense for you to look for her after all this time?
She will be older now, like you, so there is little danger of you facing a femme fatale.
And it is not possible to know whether she remembered the matter with a feeling of guilt or whether her husband made her feel miserable because of it. So what is the point? She could write him a letter, as full of rage and abuse as you want, and then burn it.
As I have said many times, that can be cathartic. So please try it before you do anything else, in the hopes that it may relieve this self-destructive anger that must be wearing you down.
I lost my love, now my daughter is sick.
Dear Bel,
I have been reading your page for what must be years and always find that you are very helpful to those who have problems. But I do not know where to start.
I lost my husband just three years ago and I’m surprised at how well I’ve coped since losing my soulmate.
Last May, our eldest daughter, Jane, was diagnosed with cervical cancer at age 54 and, as you can imagine, it has shaken us all to our roots.
He has been receiving chemotherapy and radiotherapy without success. She now has secondary lung cancer (grade 4 and terminal) and has been told she has 12 to 15 months to live. She has four sons; Two are married and the youngest, who is 17 years old, lives with me.
I know it’s not just me and I hate complaining about the pain and sorrow I feel for your father. So I try to keep it to myself, but I feel so lost, so alone even though I have a big family.
I have lost interest in reading, knitting and gardening; I just ask myself: ‘What is the point of all this? What is the reason we are here?
Sometimes I just don’t see the meaning of life, with all its worries and wars.
I have complete faith in the afterlife because I have had so much evidence of it, from before my husband passed away and since then. He came to me, hugged me, and showed me in many small ways that he is still around me.
I also don’t know what to say to comfort my daughter because she refuses to talk about the future and I just want to reassure her. Do you have any advice?
HELENA
Bel Mooney responds: I’m not surprised that you ask me what the meaning of life is. This eternal question has come up so many times in the 19 years I’ve been writing an advice column, and inevitably my feelings about the answer vary from mood to mood.
Today, the sun struggles to shine, but the wisterias look exquisite and the earth smells rich and full of promise after so much rain. That, and the love of my family, makes its way to the foreground, yes, even when I’ve been feeling very depressed due to events beyond my control.
Last week, I ended my response to ‘Linda’ with the encouraging words: ‘. . . the realization that life, no matter how painful, is definitely worth living’ and I make no apologies for returning to the topic.
Of course, you are still grieving the love of your life, but you find comfort in the sense of his presence, still in your life. I wonder if you’ve wondered why he’s determined to confirm your belief in an afterlife.
Does he want you to also give up the family he loved?
Or does He want you to be strong now, strengthened by the love you shared? Take a few deep breaths, look out the window at the sky, and ask yourself that important question. Two years after her husband’s death, the family was devastated by another blow and now you have a vital role to play. Living with you is a 17-year-old boy who (every day, although he never mentions it) has to face the brutal truth about his mother’s life expectancy.
I absolutely understand how alone one can feel when family seems preoccupied with their own lives and problems.
That said, she is not alone because she has the constant presence of her late husband, as well as a grandson to support and a daughter who needs her mother.
Every meal you cook, every pair of socks you put in the machine, every quiet question you ask, it all helps that grandchild. And the fact that he’s doing it will help her daughter come to terms with the future that she, understandably, doesn’t want to talk about.
Don’t you see that what you are already doing offers “peace of mind”?
Let her see that you can be strong, even if you still live with pain for the father she must also miss.
The great French writer Voltaire wrote these wise words: “We must cultivate our garden.” Think about what it could mean. We can’t do anything about ‘worries and wars’, but we can read, knit, garden, and support those who need us: the living and the dead.
Is there any other purpose?
