Surprise

It has almost been one year ago that God reminded me of his power and how his plan does not always align with my own. How out of control I truly was and I still tried to control the outcome.

I had been finding every activity I could to stay busy as the quarantine started, the kids were antsy and, as usual, I was prepared to be completely in control of my mental peace. No gettin me down even if there was a world pandemic. I made lists of everything I wanted to accomplish but had been putting off, I yogaed, got up early, cleaned and wanted to keep it as “normal” as possible for the kids, for him and for the outside world I am sure.

I spent the afternoon in the garage going through boxes of memories which is one of my favorite things to do. I keep lots of things from my years of shows, babies, awards, first paychecks from awesome jobs, special notes from my mom and yes I even have a box of my Nana’s tea cups which I have marked for my daughter, because every girl when they move out in to their own place wants a set of old lady cups, right?

I opened a box which had all of our cards and letters to one another, it still smells like the 90’s. We met in 1999 while I was home for two weeks visiting my mom. I had been on a tour and then working in New York before coming home. I was on my own (sort of) in life, about to take the next step to move permanently to New York but before that I had one more show for the holidays coming up and a quick visit to Mom so meeting him was never a part of my plan but I am so grateful I did. We met in a bar and spent the next two weeks going to lunch, long drives and sharing life goals. As the two weeks came to an end we promised to stay in touch and off I went back to work and yes I did sample the goods before I left. I had to know if he was a good kisser before I left, if he was not then the deal was over.

We stayed in touch writing letters, talking on the phone and many failed attempts at this thing called AOL messaging. It was soooo much easier to just “page” him and then talk. I would receive multiple letters a week and then write back on my sheet music from the show I was doing. The sweetest and best way to start any relationship and this had never been my way of doing it. I always jumped from “hi nice to meet you” directly to “oh yah, you don’t mind that I brought my toothbrush over right!” Not a question.

As I opened the box of letters I was so excited to pull them out, share with the kids and relive what I felt as one of my greatest accomplishments in life. We had succeeded in fighting our way to build a “normal” life. We had been through jobs, unemployment, first home, second home, third home and so on. Moved to NY, worked our young hearts out, fostered our kids, adopted our kids, fights, love, make-ups, coverups, deaths, births and have come out the other end. We were celebrating, I was celebrating 21 years of what seemed impossible, we had made it, conquered the odds. I mean, in the gay world 21 years is like 50. In my eyes the future had rocking chairs and a sunset all ready for us.

I brought the letters in and shared with the kids, I remember I kept talking about “those days” I felt really positive about it all. Thinking back, I was really just talking out loud to no one. I am sure the kids gave me a little smile and asked questions but nothing from him. I left the stack of letters on the counter as I was sure he would want to go through them too. I am pretty sure now that he never did.

It was later that week that I discovered messages on an apple watch that were not between him and me. It was a discovery I always assumed would happen but always put my suspicions in to my compartment of crazy and broken child box. I would pull it out every once in a while to show him. He would always have an explanation, sometimes an apology. Most of the time if it was too complicated to get out of for him AND me, we always had the historic trauma box to use as a reason for my trust issues. I say me because so many times I didn’t even bring things up because I did not trust myself, my own instincts and the “little whispers” as Oprah says. The little whispers are really God connecting us to the truth. I became a master of turning a blind eye.

I also was not a saint. During the first year of our relationship I cheated. I had been working, was away and made a decision that would put everything in to jeopardy for us. I remember coming home a couple days later, it was Easter 2001, we were staying in a hotel as a little staycation from out sublet. I literally walked in the door and just spilled it out. The guilt had eaten me alive for two days and I could not hold on to it. He deserved the truth and I gave it. Luckily we were young, we had a bit of ignorance on our side and carried forward. We spent night after night talking, crying and soon the laughter returned. We rebuilt our little life in an apartment in the Bronx that year. I made the decision to not take any work out of the city to save our relationship. He worked all over the place and I landed a dream job at Lincoln Center. Once 9/11 came the incident became upstaged by the world crisis. At the time I did not know but this action of mine would be a source for years of payback.

I remember when I made the discovery on the apple watch, my heart in my throat the, body was tense and a rush of adrenaline almost to the point of exhilaration. It was like a floodgate of feeling, almost scary how much it gave me in the way of a rush. It was a feeling that would return every time over the next few months I made discoveries but for now we will focus on this time. The messages came with detail of meeting up, how it felt and the hopes of future encounters. Enough to make you sick and all the ingredients to throw you into complete shock. Of course, as the detective I had become over the years snapped a few pictures. During past discoveries I never had kept proof, I was like a parent covering up murder for my child, never wanted it in print. Who was I hiding it from, myself? Or was I always protecting him because I knew how much shame he felt? UGHHHHHH, it is a survival technique that had become normal and one I am not proud of.

When I confronted him with this, denial was all the rage as per-normal. If I remember correctly he did confess eventually as I had the proof and during this first discovery I was providing all evidence upfront, spilling all my beans on the floor for him to retrieve one by one which became his story of “telling me the truth”. I left that day, in the car and drove to the park, sat in the car in complete disbelief. What was I going to do, how could I forgive him and am I just making a big deal out of something that happens all the time? I always was open to the idea of having an open relationship and many times in our early years asked him if he wanted this. For me, I had been out of the closet for ten years when we met, I had unfortunately sowed my oats if you well. Or maybe, as a 13 years old I had just settled for mush. My coming out story is for another time. After sitting in the park for some time I came home and for the next day I could not talk to him. This was very different for me as in every issue we ever had I always initiated conversation and was the “talk it out” guy. This one hit me different. After a few days the story came out. Yes, he had slept with someone we knew. The vision of this and the playback in my head drove me bonkers. I had got a full time teaching job the year prior as we always seemed to have issues with bills. I had left my well paid job the year prior, to be back home as the stay at home dad. So, I got this job as a pre-school teacher, I loved kids and it seemed to make sense. I would contribute so that we all could be happier. I would get up every morning at 5, go to the gym and be home by 7am to say morning to the kids get dressed and out the door where he drove me to work. We had one car at the time and he had hated being dropped off at work when I was staying home, he had to schedule when I picked him up, work together and it took away all of his independence he felt. Once I started working then he would drop me off, have the care all day and regain what I imagined at the time was his manhood. I mean no grown man should have to work together for the better of the family, right? (insert eyeroll). Anyway what he was really gaining was the chance to sneak around. I played the scenario too many times but it went something like this. I would put on my frumpy Mr. Rogers pre-school teacher outfit and get dropped off at work to shape the lives of the future. He would then go home “play dad” for 20 minutes before the kids went off to school. Then it was time to put on his cloak of denial to partake in chatting with men online, making compliments and receiving them all to cover the hate he had for himself. He got massages, botox, and everything else to fulfill his ego, he always had the newest whatever. One event was with a man well known in the community as a reputable realtor who he decided to fuck around with one lovely afternoon while I chomped on goldfish and sand the ABC’s at work. Apparently this had become routine for this reputable home horor who had propositioned multiple friends so I am sure the two of them were filling each others empty cup. I am sure he would make it to work at some point to during the day. I would then get picked up at 5, most days dropping him back at work while I made dinner, picked up kids and ran around until 7 or 8pm. Always provided the family with dinner and tried to keep the house clean. I then would wait to eat dinner each night after he got home and we put the kids to bed so we could