Love, Lunaé

Some identifying details have been changed or omitted to protect the privacy of the people portrayed.

I was someone. That sentence in itself doesn’t explain much but it says everything to me. I have spent my entire life wanting to be known, wanting to be remembered. And for the first time, I felt like I had achieved that. It wasn’t for any specific glorified reason. It was merely because I was a southern girl in northwestern Pennsylvania and I had the strongest southern drawl that anyone had ever heard. It immediately made people stop in their tracks and pay attention. In the South, I was just another person. We all sounded the same. I didn’t have any real qualities that made me stand out above the rest, unless you got to see me in action firsthand. But even then I was a dime a dozen. No special talent. I just applied myself. I gave it my all until I was satisfied. It had to be right. It had to be perfect. It had to be commendable. And hell, even that led to exhaustion. Then I just half-assed it because I was drained beyond my capacity.

I loved where I lived. I loved the mountains with their ever-changing tree line along the horizon. How the river wound through them leaving you curious to see what lies beyond the next bend. How the fog would settle in every night as if tucking you into bed waiting for the golden sunlight to kiss the trees as it rises from its slumber. Or how the snow would fall each winter allowing you to be swept away in your own personal snow globe. It was magical to me. Even though I drove the same route to and from work every day, it was never the same. There was an eagle that would nest close to the river and I would look for it every day. His name was King Egbert because he was majestic and royal. I also made a game out of counting the groundhogs because I found them so fascinating. I counted 17 one day! And the smell! The smell of the PA outdoors is unlike anything I have ever encountered. Down south it smelled like dirt and decaying leaves. But here, it was sweet and almost heavenly. I woke up every day and thanked God for blessing me with the opportunity to live and breathe in such a beautiful place. To most people all they saw was the decay and drugs. But to me, it was God’s country and it was where I called home.

To be known even if it was just for my accent at first was spellbinding. How something that once made me feel so ordinary now made me feel extraordinary. If I had a nickel for each time I heard “You’re not from around here, are you?” I’d be a rich woman today! I even gained an honorary nickname of GP for Georgia Peach. The sheriff assigned that to me and I wore it with pride. Somehow sticking out like a sore thumb didn’t seem so bad!

There was nothing glorious about my job. I collected delinquent property taxes and then had the sad honor of taking their home when they had nothing else. That’s the part I hated. Knowing that there were some families that had nothing else to say “I was here” other than 4 walls and a roof and I was a part of taking that from them. Most knew that it was the last thing I ever wanted and if there was something I could do to help them, I would. My job wasn’t to sell houses. I listened and I tried to understand. I remember the first time I had a customer call me madder than sin he was. And I understood. I get upset with tax obligations too. But I wanted him to feel like I cared because that was important to me. So in my good ol’ Southern fashion, I allowed my words to sound sweeter than honey to charm my honey bee. And somewhere between “Oh my! I’m so sorry” and “It’s okay, Mr. ____. I understand.” my director had appeared at my desk. By the time I got off the phone with him, he was not only apologizing to me but paying me in full. My director was absolutely astonished. She spoke of it often. She saw my potential. She envisioned me as her successor and that made me glow with pride. She had plans. And I wanted what she offered.

I was thriving! I was making a name for myself in this little town. I remember hearing someone say, “Why would you do that knowing she’s well connected with the commissioners?” My first thought was, What the hell would make them think that? The commissioners don’t give a shit about me. But then I realized maybe that perception could work to my advantage. Maybe, just maybe, my name could carry weight here. Maybe I could become someone this community knew and respected. And I liked the way that made me feel. I felt important. Seen. But life decided that wasn’t my path.

I had lived in Georgia my entire life. But my dreams took me beyond what I was familiar with. I had convinced everyone that life would be easier with moving to PA. What parent wants their child to struggle through life? If I could help give them a head start so they could thrive instead of just survive, why wouldn’t I? I literally risked my life for this life. I was only a few weeks post major surgery when we made the move. That’s how sure I was that this was the right move. They trusted me and I failed them. My kids hated the area. Both of my sons moved back to Georgia. My youngest daughter struggled emotionally and chose to live with her biological father. A man that had scarcely been in her life but to her that seemed better than the life I was providing. My oldest daughter was doing ok but I wouldn’t consider it thriving. She was content. She was beginning to build a life there. My husband…well…he was hellbent on imploding and setting everything on fire. His inability to find himself sent him on a course that almost ended our marriage. And then there was me. I felt at home. I felt at peace. Even if there was no peace at home. But it came with a personal cost. Guilt. I had uprooted my family with the promise of a better future and the only person I delivered that to was me.

I was making friends. I was beginning to have a life outside of my family. I was finding that I could have a connection with someone that didn’t have an obligation attached to it. I didn’t have to be the referee, the planner, the problem solver. I could just be me. I was beginning to find myself but I was losing the identity that I had held for so long. It was confusing to my family. My husband told me that he felt that I had distanced myself from him and that I no longer loved him. I could see the envy in his face every time I spoke of a friend. He told me he wanted that connection with me. My youngest son shared his pain of how he felt I was there but not present. How he missed when we used to be able to lay in bed and watch TV together or how him and his siblings would pile up in my room and we would just hang out. How he felt I spent more time on my phone than I did with him. I didn’t see that version of me. I saw a woman emerging. I saw a woman that had spent her entire life devoting every ounce of energy to her children finally having time for herself.

My friends and I created a book club. It was composed of Jodie (my Australian friend), Andre (my Italian friend), and me. It’s odd how you can build relationships with people that live hundreds or thousands of miles away. People you have never physically met and yet they become so important because you crossed paths in a mobile game. We decided that once a week we would set aside the time to do a group call and Andre would read a book we all chose together. Andre was the reader because Jodie wanted to listen to his voice although I’m pretty sure she never actually heard the words. I was just happy to have someone outside of my little circle to want to spend time with me. My husband tried to be supportive but he hated it. I asked him one time why it bothered him so much. I wanted to understand because I thought I was doing something wrong. He admitted he hated it because I was giving his time to someone else. He would always find a reason to interrupt or he would have this look of sorrow when I would try to talk to him about a conversation that I’d had because he wanted that to be something that only he and I shared.

I loved my husband. God knows how much I do. But being his wife became just another role that I had to manage. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t always like that. We had a lot of really good moments. We still do. We laughed until we cried. We experienced new places. Tried new things. We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Until we cried more than we laughed and fought more than we loved. He told me if I was giving parts of me to someone else, where did that leave time for him? But I wanted time that was separate from him. He later admitted that he began to convince himself that those moments were stolen and he needed to find what I had found. Someone outside of our little circle that he could connect with because the connection with me was broken. I never intended for that to be the perception. But his living reality did not mirror my living reality. What was bringing me joy was causing his sorrow. Even a blind man could see the path that we were on. If something didn’t change, there could be severe consequences. So, I listed the house and started to strategize. That was oddly the easy part. Now I had to tell my director. That was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. Not only was I leaving a job I loved, I was turning away from a future I wanted. She understood the cost and appreciated that I had an exit plan that would not leave her stranded. It didn’t make it any easier. But I was able to find peace with that.

I thought I had time. Time for my exit strategy to play out. Time to change directions if I chose. I was so wrong. I wanted to hate him, scream at him, hit him, make him feel the level of pain I was feeling the day he told me. I was so angry and hurt that I did not recognize myself. I had given so much, been so loyal to this man, only to have this to repay me for the years of sacrifice and exhaustion. It was innocent, he said. It was just a kiss, he said. I wanted to believe that but something inside me screamed that there was more. I asked for his phone but he refused. And that set me on a path that would ultimately challenge everything I had believed in for the past 10 years. Later that night, after he fell asleep, I took his phone and recovered over 2,000 messages between them. It was worse than I thought. Not only did it prove that my gut feeling was right but the person he was portraying himself to be was so far from who he was that it was almost comical. The strangest part was that he was stealing pieces of me to falsely represent himself to her. By the time I had finished reading the messages, I had more questions than answers. Who was this man pretending to be? And more importantly, who was I to him? I threw the phone in a fit of rage and it landed squarely between his legs, waking him up from a dead sleep. I fell to my knees. Screaming and sobbing. Pounding my fists on his chest like it was going to miraculously make everything better. He didn’t flinch. He just kept reaching for me, trying to pull me in. But I wouldn’t allow him that. Every time he would reach for me, I would jerk away. Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare fucking touch me. Waves of anger, betrayal and disgust rolled through me like tidal waves. And then, silence. My fire was nothing but embers now. Allowing the grief to quietly slip in. We sat there for a moment. Both silent as tears streamed down our faces. Neither of us knowing what more to say. It was in that moment I recognized a man that was lost and desperate. And I could understand the why.

I was on my way to work the next day. If it hadn’t been for the fact my boss was going to be out of the office, I would’ve stayed home. I kept telling myself “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Just make it through the day because your boss needs you.” And then the thought of him driving her home in my car slammed into my thoughts. It was like hitting a brick wall and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. And I lost it. I felt suffocated in my own car because of something he did. Because he allowed another woman into my personal space. And now my slice of heaven was tainted. I pulled over on the side of the road and screamed. I couldn’t stop crying. And I mean ugly crying. The pain kept pouring out of me. I turned the car around and started driving back home. I felt so bad for abandoning my boss and my duty to her. Fuck! Why am I dealing with this kind of shit at my age? I should be well past this kind of messy. I didn’t even have the guts to call her. I couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing her. So, I sent the next in line a text instead, letting them know that I wouldn’t be in.

I knew I couldn’t hide in my house forever and I knew my boss deserved more than what I gave her the day before. I was riddled with guilt. I was terrified. My husband worked with the person he cheated on me with and we all worked for the county just in different departments. And the only thing that moves faster than money in a small town is gossip. What if they already knew? Everyone his department did, and it had only been a few days. How could I face anyone in this town again? I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face my peers with the level of shame I wore. But I had to. I had to explain to my boss what happened. She deserved to know that I would never abandon her if it weren’t absolutely necessary. I walked in and she was standing in front of her office with her cup of coffee the way she did every morning. I had already made up my mind that I was not coming back after today. She could tell something was wrong. I asked her if we could speak in private and she led me into her office and I shut the door. She sat down behind her desk as I sat across from her. Tears welling up in my eyes. The words started to flow from my lips. “He cheated on me, Julie. He fucking cheated on me with someone he works with.” She was shocked. She told me about being angry at first. And then thinking that this wasn’t like me that something had to be wrong. She apologized for her rushed judgment. I felt a sense of relief when she told me that I didn’t do anything wrong and I didn’t deserve any of this. She believed I was a good person and I believed her. She hugged me and gave me some Kleenex. Told me that she understood and if there was anything she could do to let her know. She even offered to let me keep my job and just take some time off but I knew that was no longer an option for me. All I could do was apologize. Not only for my absence but for the rush of my resignation.

I was drowning and I had to figure out how to save myself. I wanted to shrink. To be invisible. Usually when I’m having emotional turmoil I can still put on what I think of as my public face. The face I want people to see. But this, I couldn’t hide this. I asked her to keep it between the two of us. I didn’t want anyone else to know for as long as possible. I took so much pride in having a good marriage. Every time he brought me lunch “I wish my husband would do that.” If he surprised me with my favorite drink or flowers “You’re so lucky.” Now I had to face them with the shame of feeling like I did something wrong to cause him to look outside our marriage. I didn’t want people to hate him. I didn’t. And I didn’t want people to look at me with pity. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be seen or known anymore. At that moment being another face in the crowd was more alluring. I didn’t have a reputation to uphold when no one knew me. My life and my secrets were my own. I was just an ordinary person next to peers that sounded just like me.

Most people will never understand why I chose to forgive, including those you wish would. I remember the first time Audrey walked into my life. She had just moved to our little area from the city to be close to her dad. She was young and didn’t know anyone and I was determined to change that. She came into my life needing someone. And somewhere along the way, she became someone I needed too. She came over to vent a few weeks after the event and I turned her vent session into my confession. What kind of friend was I? I was supposed to be the person she ran to for comfort and support. And in her moment of need, I stole the spotlight. She had made a comment about me having a husband that loved me so much and, in that moment, I could’ve chosen to be silent and allow that comment to sit. But it was eating me up inside and once again, I couldn’t stop the words from flowing from my mouth. Before I could even count the consequences of my actions and what they would cost me, the betrayal was now known to someone else in my personal world. She was MY friend and now she knew. She told me she couldn’t understand why I chose to stay. How even though it didn’t happen to her, she felt betrayed too. She couldn’t understand or respect my decision to forgive and I couldn’t make her. I tried to soften the edges by telling myself “I was just helping her get settled in and make friends of her own,” but that was a lie. I loved her deeply. I tried reaching out to her several times after that but was met with silence. Another cost.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to find a way to make my paradise work while repairing my marriage. But how would that be possible? We had considered getting an apartment close to his job. But she still worked with him. She was still trying to find ways to make contact with him even after he had explicitly told her he didn’t want to speak with her and he wanted to make his marriage work. He had spoken to his superiors, requested a shift change that reduced exposure to only 15 minutes once a week only to find out they were promoting her to a position that would require daily contact! He resigned two days later, which just happened to be the day before she started her new shift. And with his resignation, the last bit of hope to stay was gone. I felt defeated.

I wasn’t prepared for the grief I would feel once my mind was made up. You think of grief when you lose someone. In essence, I guess I did lose someone. I lost the version of me I was becoming. I didn’t think this would be my life again at 42. This wasn’t the first time I rebuilt my life after infidelity but God, I hoped it was the last. My house was paid for. I had checked all of the boxes to implement a financial plan that would help us do better. Yet here I was labeling boxes to put my belongings in once again. I think the only part of packing that I enjoyed was seeing the basement floor. How does one accumulate so much shit after a short four years? I sat in every room the night before we left. I wanted to remember what those rooms once held. I was already struggling with the fact that my children were growing up and I was still learning how to let them go. That was devastating enough. But now to be leaving the last home where our family was together…it was mournful. I remembered our first night there. It was such a far cry from my last night. It used to be full of laughter, shouting, arguing. Now it was just the memories. I will never get those moments back. And it was such a beautiful home. It was going to be my biggest masterpiece. I had so many renovation plans that never came to life. Another cost. I remember walking down the hallways closing each bedroom door because it held ghosts. The house that gave my family breathing room was now my prison. It had served its purpose. So now what is my purpose? Where do I go? Who do I become? And more importantly, how do I become her without losing everything else?