My first struggle
Then came the emotional recovery. It was hard to get out of bed in the morning and I spent a lot of time crying. My husband finally asked me if I planned to spend the rest of my life in bed. Wouldn’t I rather get up and start doing something—anything? Eventually, I did. But I was still struggling with fear of what might happen. Would life ever be normal again? After another month or so, I began grappling with the question of where I’d gotten this awful disease. My stepdaughter had said it must have come from her father—my late husband of 25 years. When I’d explored all other possibilities, I finally realized she was right. But that brought up the question of where he’d gotten it. It’s been hard for me to acknowledge that he must have been unfaithful. At that point, I felt like I needed a life preserver. But like all of us, I persisted and I survived.
The third phase of my recovery seems to be the heartbreak that I still experience whenever I think about him. I’m not sure I’ll ever get through this phase. I’ve forgiven him for being unfaithful, but it breaks my heart that he was. But there’s just no other plausible explanation. And it breaks my heart that in 2009, he died of AIDS when he didn’t need to.