For Dear Life

By Sarah Tauber

Overcoming infidelity transforms first-time author into an influential woman

In For Dear Life,' Sarah Tauber openly shares an intimate and encouraging look into her life

CALIFORNIA Oprah Winfrey. J.K. Rowling. Vera Wang. Marilyn Monroe. What do these successful and influential women have in common? They are women who failed before they succeeded. While the women who have achieved such celebrated status are few, those who have gone through similar inspiring life transformations abound; and among them is Sarah Tauber, the author who debuted with a genuine revelation in "For Dear Life."

For the first time, Sarah unveils the most intimate, and probably the most challenging, phase of her life. "For Dear Life" recounts the story of a young American woman who lived for two years during the 1970's with her husband and their young child in Tehran, Iran. With a workaholic husband having little time or attention for his bride, she became involved with an Iranian man.

Although infidelity may be taboo, it is a timeless issue that both men and women have struggled with. Sarah's affair was something many women may have experienced. Yet, it was Sarah's humble admission and firm decision to address her past that truly healed, defined and transformed her into a credible example for women today. Writing a story that most of her family and friends were unaware of was both painful and cathartic. Today, it is this same story that offers women the gift of hope and encouragement.

Raw, real and radically uplifting, "For Dear Life" is a powerful story that runs the gamut of human emotion happiness, sadness, fear, love, agony, remorse and eventual joy. Sarah may not be as influential as Oprah, Rowling, Vera or Marilyn, but the humility and the great strength of character that she shares with these women, as evidenced in her story, will truly earn her a special, influential place in reader's hearts.

"The choices you make in life have consequences, some ripple out to encompass other lives. You can overcome the bad choices, make better ones, and ultimately be happy again," says Sarah, speaking encouragingly to anyone who has walked that path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493148967

Sarah Tauber

Sarah Tauber is a world traveler who retired three years ago from a corporate job to pursue her passions of dressage riding and writing. Her first book, For Dear Life, is a memoir covering two years she lived in Tehran, Iran, in the 1970s. It is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Xlibris. The Story She Had to Tell is her first novel. Sarah lives in San Diego County with her husband of ten years. Her blog and website can be found at sarahtauber.com. She can also be reached on Facebook and LinkedIn.

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Copyright © 2013 by Sarah Tauber.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013922031

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-4895-0

                 Softcover       978-1-4931-4894-3

                 eBook            978-1-4931-4896-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Though this book is nonfiction, some of the names have been either changed or disguised to protect the identities of certain characters.

Rev. date: 01/14/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

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CONTENTS

Introduction

Act One How It All Began

Act Two Crossing The Line—1975

Act Three On My Own

Epilogue

To the two young men who made me a better person and for completely different reasons, my sons, Otto and Kirin. One who lived this story with me, and one who was born to a stronger, more mature woman. My pride in both of you goes beyond anything I could ever put on paper.

FOREWORD

To Mom, With Love:

When my mother told me she was writing a book I said to her Wow Mom, how exciting, that’s great! When she told me it was a memoir, and what she was going to write about I thought to myself Why? Why would you write about such a painful period in our family’s life? Why would you want people to know about that period and the actions you took? Why? Having now read what she wrote, I understand why. What I knew of that period in our lives and what I know now has changed the perception of my mother drastically. As a five year old boy having his family ripped apart for unknown reasons, I hurt, I cried, I adapted but shouldered sadness for many years to come. As a young man in my teens, being told by my still hurting father in a moment of anger that the reason my mother and he divorced was that she had an affair, I was angry and resentful towards her. I pushed it aside for the sake of maintaining status-quo in my already challenging journey into adulthood. And now as a divorced forty-one year old father who has found love again, I have patience, understanding, forgiveness, and perspective. I am still saddened about the circumstances surrounding that time in our lives, but I now have what I previously lacked regarding that time… . and that is peace. My father passed away in 1995 when he was forty-eight. I still needed him (I don’t think that ever goes away). He was a great, yet at the same time flawed man and I loved him dearly. My mother, also great and flawed, but I am blessed to have her in my life for all the love, caring, and compassion she has both shown and taught me.

As you read her story, I encourage you to think about a personal mistake you have made, or about someone who has hurt you deeply. Think long and hard about the toll it has taken on your life, and whether or not you are a better person for having lived with that. Then, take a deep breath and forgive yourself or that person so you may have peace. This is why she wrote her story.

I forgive you Mom, and I love you.

Otto

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Because this is my first book, I leaned on many people to assist me. My biggest supporter was my husband, who gave me the encouragement I needed, even at my lowest times when giving up seemed like a good idea. Then there was my sister, who could almost be called a co-author. On practically a daily basis I would call her up and read her several pages. What do you think? Does this sound good? She did not play the role of pleasing sister and tell me everything I wrote was great. She was an honest critic, remembering things I had forgotten, especially during our childhood. My husband and my sister were invaluable to me.

I have friends who read the rough draft and gave me their feedback. You know who you are. That was particularly meaningful as they were not my relatives and I could count on a fairly unbiased opinion.

To all of you who helped me in any way, my deepest appreciation. I genuinely could not have done it without you.

A special note to my son, Otto, who lived through this experience with me. Thank you for reading my book, even though you really didn’t want to. Thank you for forgiving me and for trying to understand all the whys. I love you and your brother more than you can imagine.

A final thank you to my mother and father who have long since passed. I felt your guiding hands and loving support along the way. In equal measure you taught me to be brave, stand tall, believe in myself and most of all, forgive.

INTRODUCTION

The story you are about to read happened to me nearly forty years ago. The fact that I kept a journal for most of that time helped me tremendously in jogging my memory. I included several of the journal entries so you could be there and experience, along with me, the torment, frustration, and agonizing confusion I felt. You’re welcome.

Although somewhat repetitious, the entries reflect the girl I was back then. I had put myself into a situation where the outcome threw me into a daily battle between should versus want, but mostly the question was, what is it that I want? I would not wish it on anyone. Aside from the rippling effect it had on those closest to me, it did ultimately change who I was, and I would dare say for the better. When we make poor decisions and suffer the consequences, the least we can hope to get out of it is that we have become better people. At the time I was going through it all, becoming a better person was the furthest from my mind. I just wanted to survive.

Keep in mind as you read this that I had a fairly normal upbringing. I was a happy child with parents and a sibling who loved me. That was never in question. I considered myself to be an average human being who was not perfect but not terribly flawed either. In the book, I take a stab at what might have brought me to do the things I did. If a psychiatrist studied me, I don’t know if he would agree with my analysis. When I think about it today, I am still not sure why it all happened. Perhaps I will never know. I was young, inexperienced, and trying to blossom (something I had not done prior to marriage), that is, to become my own person within the confines of matrimony. Does this mean I married too young? Most definitely.

I also do not wish to portray my German-born husband, Werner, as a bad or abusive man. When I met him, we were both very young, but he was extremely mature for his age. He had been on his own for a while, had lived in the United States since high school, and served four years in the army, where he became an American citizen. He was smart and caring. The circumstances of his birth were beyond his control. It left its mark, however, in indelible ink.

During our time in Iran, our relationship was tested to the outermost limits and only because of what I had done there. It brought out the worst in him—all his insecurities and the anger he held on to both before he met me and after my misconduct. I behaved badly and acted selfishly and most childishly. Neither he nor I was prepared to handle what was in front of us.

You grow and move on, which is what we both did. You learn from your mistakes (hopefully), never to repeat them (again, hopefully). We never grow when life is smooth, only when it challenges us. Sometimes, probably often, we create our own challenges to grow and learn from. Could that be called self-help? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Yes, I would agree. At least the potential is there. I hope you enjoy my story.

ACT ONE

How It All Began

We make our own misery. I am telling you this up front so that it will sink in by the end of my story. It is true. Its antithesis is also true—we create our own happiness. Yes, there is hope. I am living proof.

After working six straight months of overtime at his job, my husband was laid off. This was partially due to the economy as well as the fact that his boss had gotten word he was looking for another job. It was shortly after that my husband found a job ad in the paper for computer work overseas.

He came home one day in September 1974 to tell me that he had been accepted by Computer Sciences Corporation for the overseas position in Tehran, Iran, for a duration of two to three years. We would be leaving at the end of December, three months away. My initial reaction was Are you kidding? No, no, and more importantly, NO! But as time passed and I saw how excited he was about it, I decided it might turn out to be a great adventure. This was our opportunity to start over, away from family, away from temptations that had plagued our marriage for years. It would also be an opportunity to save money. Salaries were generous overseas. We could potentially come out of this rich and happy!

You need some background. I am going to start with a glimpse of my childhood. I think it will show you who I am and how I became the woman I was in Iran.

I grew up in three states, starting with Rhode Island. I was born into a middle-class family in East Providence, with a sister aged seven and a half waiting for my arrival with great anticipation. She fast became my idol. I wanted to be just like her, dress like her, and act like her. She was beyond amazing in my eyes. To her, I was a little nuisance, always getting into her things and messing them up. She had a cologne bottle on top of her dresser, shaped like a cute little bear. To a three-year-old, the allure was too great. I not only took the bear bottle but also drank it! The doctor in the emergency room assured my mother that I would live; worst case was I would be drunk for a short time. I have no memory of this.

During my third year, we moved to Foster, Rhode Island, which is fifteen miles from Providence. We had a large farmhouse, which both of my parents lovingly remodeled. My mother painted and stenciled walls; my father built beautiful cabinets in our huge kitchen. He also made a sofa, which was built into the wall in the living room. It was a wonderful home on fifty acres of land with a creek running along one side and a dilapidated barn