Okay, it's really bad when the person you identify with most in a martyr's biography is the person who had him killed. Pope John was sent by Theodoric the Goth, who was the ruler of Italy, to negotiate peace with Emperor Justin I. Justin was the first Catholic ruler in Constantinople in over half a century. While John and his delegation were meeting with Justin, Theodoric got a little suspicious. He got news of how well John and Justin were getting along, so when John returned from his mission, Theodoric threw John in prison, where the he died after being tortured, in the year 526 a.d.
Now, I know you're thinking, "How in the hell can you identify with a man who murdered a pope?"
It's not the killing part that strikes a chord with me (unless you're talking about doing away with someone like Hitler or Stalin or Rush Limbaugh). It's the suspicious part that I understand. Had Theodoric just chilled and let John work his saintly magic, things would have gone a lot better for everyone involved. But that's not the way suspicion works. I can attest to this.
Because of my wife's sexual and Internet addictions, things have been a little rough for me in the trust department in the past. Some nights, when my wife was completely out of control, she would be up at the computer until two or three o'clock in the morning. When I got rid of my laptop at home, my wife would go over to the local library and use the computers there. During the days when our daughter was at school, I never knew where my wife was or whom she was with. Even now, as I'm writing this description, I can feel myself reacting physically to these memories. It sits in my stomach like a fist, tense, painful. Imagine doing a couple hundred sit ups in a row when you are completely out-of-shape. That's what it feels like.
Let me say right now that my wife has been sexually sober for over three years. I have no reason to believe that she hasn't been faithful since we've reconciled. She's been working hard with counselors and therapists for a long time, and she really seems to be more in touch with her impulses and urges than she ever has been. I shouldn't be suspicious at all. She loves me, and I love her.
Suspicion, however, has a insidious way of lying dormant for a long time and then attacking when all of your defenses are down. For instance, a few weeks ago, I became convinced that Beth was using the minutes of her track phone a lot faster than she should have been. (I know, I know. I sound crazy, obsessed, and irrational. That's all part of it.) So, when my wife was charging her phone one day, I decided to check her messages, numbers she'd called, voice mail, whatever. I pushed buttons, not really knowing what I was doing, until I came to a menu that had ten text messages in it. The messages said things like "Call you later" and "Urgent! Please call" and "I'll wait for you at..." and "Love you forever."
That's all it took. My mind went absolutely wild. For the rest of the afternoon, I played out scenarios in my mind--confrontations, tearful confessions, angry indignation. When I finally said to my wife that night, "I found text messages from someone on your phone," she looked at me like I was speaking Hebrew.
"Yeah," I said, "messages like 'Call you later' and 'I'll meet you.'"
"Let me see your phone," she said.
"Why?" I wasn't ready to play games. I was ready to be pissed.
She went into the pocket of my jacket and took out my track phone. She turned it on and pressed a few buttons. She handed me my phone.
On the screen were ten messages under the Quicknotes menu: "Call you later" and "Urgent! Please call" and "I'll wait for you at..." and others, identical to the ones I'd found on my wife's phone that afternoon. It was a menu of abbreviated texts used to make texting quicker and easier. Every cell phone has a similar function, my wife explained to me.
That's what suspicion does. It can take something normal and innocent and turn it into infidelity and deceit.
Needless to say, I felt like an idiot, the worst husband in the world. Now, considering the things that have happened in the past, I have a foundation for such emotions. However, I really had no rational reason to question my wife's faithfulness. It was completely a moment of weakness, a moment when I allowed all of the worst parts of myself to take control.
My wife has since forgiven me for what I did, and I've been able to corral my jealousy, push it back into that dark cave in my chest where it lies and waits. I love my wife. I love my kids. Ferociously. But I'm not perfect. My wife know this. All my readers know this.
Sometimes, I'm Jimmy Stewart hugging Donna Reed under a Christmas tree. And sometimes I'm Theodoric, throwing a saint into prison to die.
No comments:
Post a Comment