Oh, Daysie, and everyone else on this thread - My first post was July 23rd - "I've been robbed . . ." I found out 8 months after my husband died !
After being together for 43 years and married for 39.Its in my profile. I've met with his mistress. She told me their emotional affair went on their whole lives but the sex only began in '97. She was 54 and he 57. How absurd it all seems but, at 71, I am feeling so cheated of a chance at a wonderful sex life, of a life companion, of the chance to mourn or have any good memories of most of my life.
My sons are in shock and telling me they want to preserve their good memories so "Mom, don't talk about it., Don't tell us what you're going through"
His mistress has told her children, who are my childrens' generation and who my children know and like. So the comfort I seek from my children isn't available to me.
Two days ago I was diagnosed with uterine cancer - I relate this very directly to the stress and the pain I was suppressing even before I found out. I have a "suspicious mass" in my breast. Body - mind.
I was suffering from diverticulosis and had a re-section done. Mind - Body. ALL, yes ALL ! of this can be directly and medically attributed to stress. So when caring people remind you to take care of yourself, of your health: eat, drink water, try to calm, or meditate - it's no joke.
I'm now so scared that my diverticulosis -stress induced - is searing my gut again that I'm taking pills - antidepressants - anti-anxiety - therapy - everything I can to calm down the searing pain of my gut, the deep ache in my heart, whenever I think of my husband meeting his mistress, lying with his mistress in my bed or anywhere, arranging rendezvous with his mistress on the phone -
I know he drove 4 hours to see her within 2 weeks before he died ! They had to be having sex for 20 years, though she says "only 15".
Her letters indicate a different story. So I really know how it feels to find out your life has been a lie and a joke for so many years. So so long to keep a secret life !He was so good at it, though I have to recognize that his mistreatment of me, hisz refusal to make love for so long,so many years, should have been my wakeup call. I didn't want to know that he didn't love me. I was denying.
I chose to trust. From the beginning he had trained me to not complain, to not question. Such a docile student. The man is dead. He's wounded me irreparably and clearly I can't confront him. Ha,ha.
I loved him so, and I can't even stop that feeling! I can't hate either. But if I lose this damned cancer dance contest, I know he was fixing the competition with his betrayal of my life with him.
The ironies are endless, aren't they? I'm 71 and he would be 73 and I still want to make love with him. . . .
I could if he were alive and willing.