"I was afraid of dying without being loved"

Two weeks ago, D nearly died from a blister.

OK, I know that sounds crazy, but let me explain. Some parts of her lymph system don't work very well, especially in one leg. And she has been walking to work lately as part of a project sponsored by No Impact Man (Colin Beavan). So she got a blister from all the unaccustomed walking; it got infected; and there was no lymph system in her leg to fight the infection. All of a sudden, her leg was "twice its normal size, covered with red welts, cracking around the scarred areas and hard to walk on." She went to the doctor, who gave her some tests and a stack of antibiotics, and who thoughtfully told her that -- had she not come to a hospital -- she would have had "hours to live."

When she wrote me about this, she did everything in her power to downplay it; at one point she wrote as if her biggest worry were that the leg looked unattractive. Meanwhile she spent the week "at home" in the house she owns with her husband, taking time off work until the doctor said she was well enough to resume her duties. Even then, she was a little cagey about what had happened to her.

But as she sat at home, she got more and more and more depressed. Her husband is in poor health and spends all his waking hours on the computer because he works from home. Then he falls asleep in his chair for hours on end. The children are away at university, and D didn't call them to fill them in. She notified her employer of what had happened -- that she had nearly died -- and got not a single word back: not a "Get well soon," not even a "Thank you for letting us know and we've made arrangements to cover your work while you are gone." Her boss told her colleagues that she was on vacation -- a totally unannounced vacation -- and left it to her colleagues to sort out among themselves who would handle her work. I wrote her e-mail after e-mail telling her I was worried about her, but she kept insistently turning the conversation towards what was going on in my life, instead. And all the time she got ever more depressed.

The next weekend I called her. Her doctor had pronounced her officially on the mend, and discharged her from further treatment. She had left her home (I mean the house where her husband lives) to go back to the little duplex from which she commutes to work every day, ... which meant she was out of her husband's earshot. I found an excuse to leave my house on some errand, and rang her up. The conversation was awkward and difficult, with silences in odd places. I asked if there was anything I could do, but it was obvious that her answer to this was -- for the moment at least -- a non-starter: what she wanted desperately from me was that I be there, by her side, supporting her through all this. And the fact remains that we live far, far away from each other and each of us is married to someone else. It's a bit of a complication.

It wasn't until the middle of the next week that she finally sent me an e-mail that spelled it all out:

Yesterday I wept and wept, and could not stop crying.

I tried to tell you on Sunday, but I wasn't clear and honestly, I did not understand why I couldn't write you anymore. Even when I've been depressed in the past, I always wanted to write you. Not this week. What was wrong? It certainly wasn't anything you said. It was me. What happened last week was a turning point. But what exactly did it teach me?

Hosea, I wasn't afraid of dying. But I was afraid of dying without being loved. I was deeply afraid that I would die without anyone being there or caring on a significant level. If I died, you would not even know for several days and then life would go on for you almost unchanged. Neither of my children even knew I had an infection; my husband was busy working, and my colleagues were either kept in the dark or were callous and silent. My family did not know for a week that anything happened; my brother still hasn't called. It's the lack of love, the sense that no one truly cares, that has sent me into some sort of existential crisis.

I realize I cannot work in a place that so disrespects me. I work with wonderful, dedicated and talented professionals, but the administration subtly divides us; we are always looking around and wondering if someone isn't pulling their weight and thus making our jobs that much more difficult. Nothing is ever done; excuses are made every day for behavior that is unacceptable and appalling. I can't stay.

I realize anew how difficult it is to live alone and have no family nearby. Unlike my friends here, I don't have children nearby and a church community to lean on while I do this job. My husband cares, but he is either depressed himself or preoccupied with work; our relationship has ended on every significant level. You love me, but the ties that bind you to Wife seem unbreakable and as of yet, unaltered. Most of the time, I can deal with the distance and separation, but last week, it just seemed to add to my sense of meaninglessness. The usual things that have sustained me in the past have been buried under an avalanche of work and more work, and always, I doubt my professional competence. I can't live like this anymore.

I am not sure how to move forward. I don't want to leave those friends I have made here, but I know I almost surely have to move far away. I am scared to start over and break new ground, but I have to find a supportive community. I love you dearly and completely, but I know I have to see you more often, and I have to be able to contact you when I need support. I can no longer say it doesn't matter or that I can live without security...not financial, but of the heart.

This was a tough letter for me to answer, for at least two more or less conflicting reasons. On the one hand, it shows D's customary eloquence, an eloquence that I can hardly resist or even imagine resisting. But on the other hand, ... well, look at what she says. Her children didn't know she was sick, but then she never called them to tell them. Her colleagues didn't know, because the administration at her work is psychopathic and lied about what was going on with her; but she knows they are psychopathic, and so she knows that the only way to get word to her colleagues is to go around the administration. She doesn't have a church community, it is true, but that's because she recently left the church community to which she had belonged for a long time. All of these points are ones where she has some measure of control or influence; and in all these cases she made choices that distanced her from others.

And then there is me. I am, after all, why she left her church community ... because she couldn't honestly participate in the life of her church while committed to an affair with me. And I get that she wanted me there, more than anything. I get that I have a major importance in her life -- as she has, truly, in mine. Only, ... my life is here. What is more, I have told D more than once that -- even if Wife were to vanish into the mist -- she should not expect me to marry her, or not any time soon.

So I didn't really know what to say.

While I was dithering, we talked on the phone again; and by this time she was in a much better frame of mind. I tried to suggest to her, oh so cautiously, some of what I said above -- that really, she had to own a certain amount of the isolation that oppressed her so. She admitted this, and said that she just didn't feel comfortable asking people for help or support. OK, I understand, it can be embarrassing. But this is what your friends and family are for, dear heart. And it is hardly fair to bemoan other people ignoring you if they have no way to know what is wrong. She agreed a little ruefully, and admitted that her children had been really unhappy with her when they learned what had happened, and that she hadn't let them know. There, you see? We all really do love you, so get over this insecurity already! You're in your fifties, for heaven's sake.

D seems back to her old self now. She is back at work, e-mailing me about the ups and downs of each day. But when she gets upset or something goes wrong, she retreats and can be reluctant to speak up. I'm going to have to pay close attention to this ....