As you may have seen in my previous posts, I mention Manfriend quite a bit.
I love him.
He is a good man. He has made me believe life can be good, and that there is love and happiness after divorce. He is kind. He is sexy. He makes me laugh. He is a sweetheart.
On December 13, he got down on one knee, told me he didn't want to wait anymore to start the next phase of our lives, and asked me to marry him. After the initial shock wore off, I said yes.
My parents proceeded to ask when we thought we'd get married, and I said it all depended on when my annulment arrived. The last correspondence I received indicated it would take up to a year for it to be decided.
Four days after Manfriend proposed, I received a letter in the mail from the Archdiocese Tribunal:
"This letter is formal notification that the Reverend Judges of this Tribunal have handed down an AFFIRMATIVE decision and that the nullity of the [NAMES] marriage has been judged as proven in the eyes of the Church.
"You are hereby informed that you are free to marry in the Catholic Church insofar as your marriage to [EX'S NAME] is concerned..."
There are other formalities in the letter. I could barely read them through my tears. I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd be waiting for months for this letter. And it was there, in front of me. I called Manfriend at work and told him the news. He was initially speechless, and then said, "Wow. Talk about perfect timing!"
I know!!!
Manfriend and I talked later that night, and we decided to look forward to all the positive things in the coming year.
I feel so blessed and happy right now. I am overjoyed.
Love you, Manfriend. I can't wait to be Mrs. Manfriend in late 2010!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Catching Up, Part II: Coumadin Free!
In early September, after an ultrasound of my leg and blood work completed, my doctor informed me I no longer had to take Coumadin.
I can't tell you how relieved I was.
I've since had a follow-up ultrasound of my leg, and everything is still clear! I am so happy!
While there are moments where I still freak out a little if I feel a twinge in my leg, I feel like I sleep a lot better at night now.
Let's face it. My early 2009 was not terrific, but things definitely picked up!
I can't tell you how relieved I was.
I've since had a follow-up ultrasound of my leg, and everything is still clear! I am so happy!
While there are moments where I still freak out a little if I feel a twinge in my leg, I feel like I sleep a lot better at night now.
Let's face it. My early 2009 was not terrific, but things definitely picked up!
Catching Up, Part I: Death and Heartache
Hello:
I just looked at the last time I wrote anything here, and I'm embarrassed it's been that long. There's so much to tell, though, so I guess it was worth the delay in posting anything. It's been a roller coaster of a year.
Let's catch you up, shall we?
Death and Heartache
In August, I lost my beloved Scottish Terrier to intestinal and liver cancer. He was seven years old, and such a joy. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or miss him. I am grateful to have my 12 year old Boxer girl, but he was the one that always greeted me at the door. I miss my furry welcoming committee.
When I found out the diagnosis, Manfriend looked at me and asked me if I was going to contact my ex. I stared at him. I really didn't want to, but at the same time I knew if it was me I'd want to know (which is exactly what Manfriend said to me). My Scotty's timing was interesting, as I had to contact my ex anyway to inform him I'd be going through the Catholic annulment process and he'd have to complete some paperwork.
I e-mailed him on a Sunday with the news about the dog and about the annulment. He wrote me back immediately and told me he wanted to see him before I took him to be put to sleep. The next day, I called into work to let them know I would have to work from home for a couple of days. I had already taken a half day, as I had to go to the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in the afternoon to start the annulment process, which consisted of providing payment, completing initial paperwork, and being deposed by a Deacon.
I asked my Dad to watch the dogs while I traveled to Philadelphia. My mom went with me for the ride. We parked and went to the Archdiocese's building, and I signed in as my mom found a chair in the waiting room.
Side note: When I get nervous I tend to make inappropriate observations..and then say them out loud. Case in point: I had no idea what to expect as part of the deposition, and as my mom took out a baby blanket to embroider for my niece, I looked above her and noticed a painted picture of Jesus. It looked like Jesus was giving gang signs. I mentioned that to my mom, and she just looked at me and said, "Keep it up, Cher." I think she was worried I would botch up my chance at the annulment if the wrong person walked by and overheard me.
The Deacon, a very nice older gentleman, came for me. I handed over all the necessary paperwork, and he informed me he'd be interviewing me, and the deposition would be cassette-taped. It started off pleasantly enough: How was your childhood? How many years of Catholic school did you attend? And then, we switched to: When did you notice changes in your marriage? What do you think it was that ended your marriage?
Between my dog dying and reliving tough moments in my marriage, I burst into tears. The second half of the interview consists of me bawling my eyes out and the Deacon reassuring me it would be okay and handing over half the contents of the tissue box on his desk. I'm glad he took notes. I don't think anyone attempting to listen to the tape would have understood the second part.
Completely drained, I walked out, paid the fee, and Mom and I walked back to my car in relative silence. I drove home, asked Dad how the dog was, and he looked at me and said, "he's okay" in a way that let me know it was time to make an appointment to put him to sleep the next day.
I called my vet to let her know I needed to schedule it, and we scheduled it for the next night. I planned on spoiling him rotten until I had to take him and say goodbye.
After a long day, Manfriend came over to spend some time with him. We went outside, and as I look at the street in front of my house, a familiar red truck goes by. I checked my phone and saw he left a text message indicating he was staying at a local hotel and wanted to know if it was okay to see him that night. Sure. Why not? I had already been kicked in the balls all day that day, why not just wrap it up. I agreed, and with that, after over a year, I saw my ex for the first time.
Admittedly, it was difficult to see him. He came in and hugged me. I just stood there like a statue. Once that was out of the way, he spent some time with the two dogs. When I told him I had made the arrangements, my 40-something year old ex burst into tears. He loved that dog, and while I was sympathetic, it was almost more than I could bear. I grabbed tissues for him, we exchanged "how is your family" pleasantries, and then I walked him to the door. He thanked me for allowing him to say goodbye, hugged me again (and I stood like a statue again), and then walked out the door.
Before he got into his truck - and again, why not continue the ball-kicking - I asked him a question that had bothered me for a long time. I gave him a name, and asked him how he knew her. Very casually, he said, "Oh, we're dating." Just like that. We're dating. Keep in mind I still have annulment deposition trauma circling in my head. I told him that was interesting since her number was all over our mobile number bill since the December before we got divorced. Again, nonchalantly, "We were just friends." Uh-huh. A friend of which he had never spoken. As emotional as I was, my heartbreak was complete, and I felt like I could move forward with my life.
The next day, I spent as much time as I could with my little Scotty as I could (in between eight conference calls throughout the day). At about 2pm, my ex texted me again. He wanted to see him one last time before he headed back home. I acquiesced, but told him I barely had time to say goodbye. He arrived at my house at 4pm, pet him, asked me to take a picture of him and the dog with his cell phone, I snapped the shot, and then he walked out my front door, hugged me again, and drove off by 4:15pm.
Manfriend picked me up an hour later, and he held my dog as I drove to the vet's. I carried my dog in with Manfriend in tow, and asked him to sit in the waiting room while I had my appointment. I've never had to say good bye to a pet via euthanasia before, so I was a mess. The vet came in to the room, and she gave him an initial shot, and then she administered the final drug, and I felt him slip away.
There are no words for that moment.
I kissed his forehead for the last time, made the cremation arrangements, and walked out. They give you so much love, and you can only hope they felt happy and just as loved when they exit the world.
I was so grateful Manfriend was there for me. (Thank you, Manfriend. I love you for that.)
I know this was a bummer of a post upon returning to writing, but don't worry. There is good news and happiness in the follow-up posts.
I just looked at the last time I wrote anything here, and I'm embarrassed it's been that long. There's so much to tell, though, so I guess it was worth the delay in posting anything. It's been a roller coaster of a year.
Let's catch you up, shall we?
Death and Heartache
In August, I lost my beloved Scottish Terrier to intestinal and liver cancer. He was seven years old, and such a joy. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or miss him. I am grateful to have my 12 year old Boxer girl, but he was the one that always greeted me at the door. I miss my furry welcoming committee.
When I found out the diagnosis, Manfriend looked at me and asked me if I was going to contact my ex. I stared at him. I really didn't want to, but at the same time I knew if it was me I'd want to know (which is exactly what Manfriend said to me). My Scotty's timing was interesting, as I had to contact my ex anyway to inform him I'd be going through the Catholic annulment process and he'd have to complete some paperwork.
I e-mailed him on a Sunday with the news about the dog and about the annulment. He wrote me back immediately and told me he wanted to see him before I took him to be put to sleep. The next day, I called into work to let them know I would have to work from home for a couple of days. I had already taken a half day, as I had to go to the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in the afternoon to start the annulment process, which consisted of providing payment, completing initial paperwork, and being deposed by a Deacon.
I asked my Dad to watch the dogs while I traveled to Philadelphia. My mom went with me for the ride. We parked and went to the Archdiocese's building, and I signed in as my mom found a chair in the waiting room.
Side note: When I get nervous I tend to make inappropriate observations..and then say them out loud. Case in point: I had no idea what to expect as part of the deposition, and as my mom took out a baby blanket to embroider for my niece, I looked above her and noticed a painted picture of Jesus. It looked like Jesus was giving gang signs. I mentioned that to my mom, and she just looked at me and said, "Keep it up, Cher." I think she was worried I would botch up my chance at the annulment if the wrong person walked by and overheard me.
The Deacon, a very nice older gentleman, came for me. I handed over all the necessary paperwork, and he informed me he'd be interviewing me, and the deposition would be cassette-taped. It started off pleasantly enough: How was your childhood? How many years of Catholic school did you attend? And then, we switched to: When did you notice changes in your marriage? What do you think it was that ended your marriage?
Between my dog dying and reliving tough moments in my marriage, I burst into tears. The second half of the interview consists of me bawling my eyes out and the Deacon reassuring me it would be okay and handing over half the contents of the tissue box on his desk. I'm glad he took notes. I don't think anyone attempting to listen to the tape would have understood the second part.
Completely drained, I walked out, paid the fee, and Mom and I walked back to my car in relative silence. I drove home, asked Dad how the dog was, and he looked at me and said, "he's okay" in a way that let me know it was time to make an appointment to put him to sleep the next day.
I called my vet to let her know I needed to schedule it, and we scheduled it for the next night. I planned on spoiling him rotten until I had to take him and say goodbye.
After a long day, Manfriend came over to spend some time with him. We went outside, and as I look at the street in front of my house, a familiar red truck goes by. I checked my phone and saw he left a text message indicating he was staying at a local hotel and wanted to know if it was okay to see him that night. Sure. Why not? I had already been kicked in the balls all day that day, why not just wrap it up. I agreed, and with that, after over a year, I saw my ex for the first time.
Admittedly, it was difficult to see him. He came in and hugged me. I just stood there like a statue. Once that was out of the way, he spent some time with the two dogs. When I told him I had made the arrangements, my 40-something year old ex burst into tears. He loved that dog, and while I was sympathetic, it was almost more than I could bear. I grabbed tissues for him, we exchanged "how is your family" pleasantries, and then I walked him to the door. He thanked me for allowing him to say goodbye, hugged me again (and I stood like a statue again), and then walked out the door.
Before he got into his truck - and again, why not continue the ball-kicking - I asked him a question that had bothered me for a long time. I gave him a name, and asked him how he knew her. Very casually, he said, "Oh, we're dating." Just like that. We're dating. Keep in mind I still have annulment deposition trauma circling in my head. I told him that was interesting since her number was all over our mobile number bill since the December before we got divorced. Again, nonchalantly, "We were just friends." Uh-huh. A friend of which he had never spoken. As emotional as I was, my heartbreak was complete, and I felt like I could move forward with my life.
The next day, I spent as much time as I could with my little Scotty as I could (in between eight conference calls throughout the day). At about 2pm, my ex texted me again. He wanted to see him one last time before he headed back home. I acquiesced, but told him I barely had time to say goodbye. He arrived at my house at 4pm, pet him, asked me to take a picture of him and the dog with his cell phone, I snapped the shot, and then he walked out my front door, hugged me again, and drove off by 4:15pm.
Manfriend picked me up an hour later, and he held my dog as I drove to the vet's. I carried my dog in with Manfriend in tow, and asked him to sit in the waiting room while I had my appointment. I've never had to say good bye to a pet via euthanasia before, so I was a mess. The vet came in to the room, and she gave him an initial shot, and then she administered the final drug, and I felt him slip away.
There are no words for that moment.
I kissed his forehead for the last time, made the cremation arrangements, and walked out. They give you so much love, and you can only hope they felt happy and just as loved when they exit the world.
I was so grateful Manfriend was there for me. (Thank you, Manfriend. I love you for that.)
I know this was a bummer of a post upon returning to writing, but don't worry. There is good news and happiness in the follow-up posts.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Being Smacked With A Message
I've re-learned every day is a gift. I was actually smacked pretty hard with the message this week.
A colleague of mine lost her husband to a pulmonary embolism three weeks ago. He was 46. He is survived by his wife (my colleague) and his two daughters, ages 12 and 8.
I'm going to give you the short version of the chain of events. Four weeks ago, my colleague called out of work. She said her husband took a bad fall and he had to go to the hospital. He cracked his head open and broke an orbital bone (near his eye). I later found out from her he was a lifer on coumadin, due to a blood clot he experienced in 1995 after back surgery. Three weeks ago, she said she had to work from home, because she was picking her husband up from the hospital after surgery (he had blood on the brain from the fall). She expected to take him home that day. She received a call indicating he had fallen. (He collapsed in the hospital's Dispatch area). She went to the hospital, where she found out he was "code blue." He had a moment where he was awake, and said something was wrong, that his chest hurt. Despite their best efforts, he did not make it.
I spoke with my colleague yesterday, to see how she was doing, and she's still trying to process everything in her head. She repeatedly said "I just don't understand. I was supposed to bring him home." I'm glad this wasn't a face to face discussion. I had tears streaming down my face as she told me the chain of events.
Then she asked me about all things related to my experience with DVT and the pulmonary embolism, but my experience was so different from her husband's. I felt terribly I could not give her comfort or answers to her questions.
After I finished my phone call with her, I wanted to walk out of the office and hide. Escape. Run. Never once while I was in the hospital did I think I would die. I imagine that's what he was thinking, too. They would just patch him up. He would go home to his family and resume his life. I think about that poor man, and my stomach churns.
It's been a while since I've really thought about the series of events with my situation earlier in the year. I make no apologies about the self-centeredness of this next comment: That could have been me. I could have been dead, at 36.
A friend of mine said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't understand why you are doing the fitness boot camp. You don't like getting up early, you aren't a fitness junkie, and you don't like being outdoors. Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders, unable to articulate why exactly I decided to participate in something that is so contradictory to who I am.
If I had to answer that question today, I would say, "Because I don't want fear to cripple me." I had my toe in the grave without fully realizing it until three weeks ago, despite the numbers of medical staff, Manfriend and others telling me how lucky I was during that timeframe. I remember being terrified of every pain and ache when I first started the DDIP. I remember pulling a groin muscle in the first week and thinking I had another DVT. I was afraid of the pain and the inconvenience of the DVT and PE earlier this year. Fear can be downright paralytic. I had to mentally fight the fear through the physical activity.
That phone call on Friday was an epiphany. As my Instructor said this week, "The best things in life are not things."
A colleague of mine lost her husband to a pulmonary embolism three weeks ago. He was 46. He is survived by his wife (my colleague) and his two daughters, ages 12 and 8.
I'm going to give you the short version of the chain of events. Four weeks ago, my colleague called out of work. She said her husband took a bad fall and he had to go to the hospital. He cracked his head open and broke an orbital bone (near his eye). I later found out from her he was a lifer on coumadin, due to a blood clot he experienced in 1995 after back surgery. Three weeks ago, she said she had to work from home, because she was picking her husband up from the hospital after surgery (he had blood on the brain from the fall). She expected to take him home that day. She received a call indicating he had fallen. (He collapsed in the hospital's Dispatch area). She went to the hospital, where she found out he was "code blue." He had a moment where he was awake, and said something was wrong, that his chest hurt. Despite their best efforts, he did not make it.
I spoke with my colleague yesterday, to see how she was doing, and she's still trying to process everything in her head. She repeatedly said "I just don't understand. I was supposed to bring him home." I'm glad this wasn't a face to face discussion. I had tears streaming down my face as she told me the chain of events.
Then she asked me about all things related to my experience with DVT and the pulmonary embolism, but my experience was so different from her husband's. I felt terribly I could not give her comfort or answers to her questions.
After I finished my phone call with her, I wanted to walk out of the office and hide. Escape. Run. Never once while I was in the hospital did I think I would die. I imagine that's what he was thinking, too. They would just patch him up. He would go home to his family and resume his life. I think about that poor man, and my stomach churns.
It's been a while since I've really thought about the series of events with my situation earlier in the year. I make no apologies about the self-centeredness of this next comment: That could have been me. I could have been dead, at 36.
A friend of mine said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't understand why you are doing the fitness boot camp. You don't like getting up early, you aren't a fitness junkie, and you don't like being outdoors. Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders, unable to articulate why exactly I decided to participate in something that is so contradictory to who I am.
If I had to answer that question today, I would say, "Because I don't want fear to cripple me." I had my toe in the grave without fully realizing it until three weeks ago, despite the numbers of medical staff, Manfriend and others telling me how lucky I was during that timeframe. I remember being terrified of every pain and ache when I first started the DDIP. I remember pulling a groin muscle in the first week and thinking I had another DVT. I was afraid of the pain and the inconvenience of the DVT and PE earlier this year. Fear can be downright paralytic. I had to mentally fight the fear through the physical activity.
That phone call on Friday was an epiphany. As my Instructor said this week, "The best things in life are not things."
Woo-hoo!
I can't believe I did it, but I did.I "graduated" from Fitness Boot Camp. I didn't quit the Squad. I managed to get through most of the running (still, not my favorite). I enjoyed being outside, often covered in grass clippings and mud. I looked forward to starting off Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at "zero dark thirty" with 100+ crazy people and an incredibly disciplined and motivated set of instructors.
On Friday, after an integrity run (we all stayed together - left no one behind) and a series of insane calisthenics, we huddled together for graduation. Each of the new recruits received certificates and dog tags. They honored select recruits for their motivation, discipline and heart. Someone from the squad catered a graduation breakfast (for which I could not, unfortunately, stay).
Here's the nutty thing: After the first two weeks where I could barely walk or breathe, I've come to a place where I crave this time. I've signed up for the next session.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Fabulous: The Millionaire Matchmaker
I'm always on the go. This is the first night in a very long time I've had a night to myself. Just my two sleepy dogs, the television and me. While I miss Manfriend tonight, I feel like the "me" time is so needed.
I made my way through all the premium channels, and nothing. Then, my pastry-puff, mind-numbing salvation: Bravo TV. The entree: The Millionaire Matchmaker. The star: Patti Stanger.
I love this woman. She tells it how it is. Present company included, men and women should follow the Millionaire's Club rules for the participants.
I love watching her verbally beat the crap out of her clients. They get frustrated; they get irritated; but then a light bulb goes off and they start to listen to her. And you know what? She's right. Wanna know something else? A lot of them find happiness when they follow the rules.
However, when they don't follow the rules...drama. Lots and lots of drama.
Both scenarios are great television. I cheer for the happy couples and the men who follow the rules!
I made my way through all the premium channels, and nothing. Then, my pastry-puff, mind-numbing salvation: Bravo TV. The entree: The Millionaire Matchmaker. The star: Patti Stanger.
I love this woman. She tells it how it is. Present company included, men and women should follow the Millionaire's Club rules for the participants.
I love watching her verbally beat the crap out of her clients. They get frustrated; they get irritated; but then a light bulb goes off and they start to listen to her. And you know what? She's right. Wanna know something else? A lot of them find happiness when they follow the rules.
However, when they don't follow the rules...drama. Lots and lots of drama.
Both scenarios are great television. I cheer for the happy couples and the men who follow the rules!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Rest and Relaxation, Damnit
I need to get my head in order. Things seem to be moving faster than I can handle at work, home and personal. I'm sitting on my couch, my hamstrings and knees completely sore from a week of working out at fitness boot camp. I'm making an active effort to ensure I spend equal amounts of time with Manfriend, family and girlfriends. I don't want anyone feeling like I'm ignoring them or that I want to spend less time with them. My head hurts from all the complications related to the several projects on which I am engaged. Even my day off this week felt like work. I'm either too distracted or too tired to settle down and do the things I need to do. Laundry is my continual enemy. My writing time seems to diminish each week. I know consulting is not something I want to do for the rest of my life, but I don't have the brain power to really examine what it is I want to do that can also provide the same amount of financial security. I'm desperate to find balance and to avoid the mistakes I've made in the past. I seem to be falling short in areas.
Honestly, I'm burnt out. I could really use a break. Unfortunately, with Purple Leg at the beginning of this year, my vacation time is scant at best for the rest of the year.
A little rest and relaxation is in order. So, this weekend I'm doing as little as possible - with the exception of laundry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
