THAT’S MY STORY - BOOK 1

Taking a Courageous Path

A search for who I am and the spiritual growth that just happened along that journey.

Estelle R. Reder

Eloquent Books
New York, New York

CHAPTER 2

The Leaving

As I walked back inside the house, I thought, “Okay, now that my mind has been made up - I’ve decided to leave -how I get the body out?” I knew that my husband would not take too well to this decision, so what was I to do?

I decided to move into the guest bedroom, so I moved some things in there throughout the day and when it came time to go to bed, I told my husband: “Oh, by the way, I’m going to be sleeping in the guest room, for the next little while. My back has been really bothering me, and perhaps sleeping alone, on a harder surface, will help improve it.”

He said, “Sure,” and gave me a strange look as he went upstairs to the master bedroom. The guest room was on the main floor and after I got into bed, I sat up facing the door. I knew that he was going to come back and that a major confrontation was coming up.

I asked God and my Guardian Angel to send help…to give me the strength and courage to face whatever would be coming up. Sure enough, less than a half an hour later, downstairs he came, and planted himself at the bedroom door, leaning on the door-jamb. “This isn’t really about your back, is it?” he sneered at me.

And at that moment, something strange, but wonderful and magical, happened to me. I had my first out-of-body experience; I guess you would call it that.

As I sat there, leaning back against the pillows, what I can only describe as my soul, left my body and moved up into the far left corner of the room and I remember looking down at that woman on the bed, and hearing her say “that’s right. It’s not about my back.”

From where I was looking down, I thought, “Wow, way to go, girl.” I knew it was I, speaking those words, and yet I could stay detached and unafraid. At the time, there was so much happening that I had no time to analyze what was going on. I was just living it.

John marched into the guest room and sat down on the chair on the right side of the room, “So, do you want a divorce, then?” he asked, with a smile on his face. I heard myself say, “Yes, yes, I do!” From where I was observing, I thought, “She’s actually said it. She’s doing it.”

Well, with a look of shock and surprise on his face, he said, “Let’s talk about this, then.”

I replied, “John, there’s nothing left to talk about. We have talked for 28 years…you have talked for 28 years…I have listened. Anytime we had difficulties, you said you would change…that you would help me around the house; that you would cook one meal a week…and so on. Those things never materialized. It is too late for talk now. It’s over! I’m leaving.”

John talked, talked, and barraged me with arguments, insults. He hit me on all the emotional levels that he could. “How can you do that to your only son, if you really, really love him?” he countered. “What about your mom and dad? You know how devout Catholics they are. Have you no feelings for them?

“What about my mom? I thought you loved her?” he continued on and on, as I slowly, quietly started crying, and I kept crying throughout the verbal assault. I was still out-of-body, looking down at this woman who was crying and I felt such compassion for her.

He kept up the pressure for perhaps an hour; perhaps more…I lost track of time. Finally, he had run out of things to say and although I was crying, I had not once retaliated, or raised to the bait that he was casting out…I had not backed down or changed my decision.

He finally left the room, and as I came back down into myself, I was so surprised that my resolve had stayed strong. As I turned out the light, for an uneasy sleep -but I did sleep - I asked for strength and endurance, as I knew that the days ahead would not get any easier.

The next day, I went over to my girlfriend Sue Lagasse. We spent the afternoon lying around her swimming pool. I went on her air mattress, going around and around her pool, the action matching my thoughts that were going around and around in circles in my head. She left me alone, knowing there was a lot on my mind - not knowing what, but she knew enough to leave me alone to figure it out on my own. I did this for two weeks solid.

In the meantime, the second day, John was going to a football game with our son, Marc. I asked him, “Are you going to tell Marc that I’m leaving?”

He replied, “Yes, I’ll talk to him about it.” I was surprised, as John had never really taken any initiative to talk with Marc about anything. At puberty, it was me that Marc came to…to find out about the “facts of life and stuff.”

The next morning, John had gone out golfing, very early. Around 10:00 a.m., Marc phoned. I assumed that John had talked to him, as he had promised that he would. “So, Marc, how do you feel about what’s happening?” I asked him immediately. He replied, “What’s happening, mom?” I said, in shock, “You mean, your dad didn’t tell you that I was leaving him?” I started to cry. Marc answered: “Mom…Lizanne and I are coming right over… are you going to be okay until we get there?” he asked, concerned. “Yes, I’ll be okay.” I answered, tearfully.

Half an hour later, Marc and Lizanne walked into the house, both hugged me, and we sat down to talk. They were both so supportive, and understanding. While I was trying to explain how I had come to this decision, at one point Marc said, “Mom, I lived here with you both. I remember how things were. Once especially, when I was about 12 years old, I said to my friend Sab, “Sab…mom and I are leaving dad. Another time,” he continued, “was before Lizanne and I got married…four years ago…I was sure you were leaving with me, when I moved out that night.”

Marc and I have always been close, and it came as no surprise that he had sensed the impending decision for a long time. “Mom,” he whispered gently, as he held me tightly in his arms, “you have a right to be happy. You have to do what you want to do, for a change…not what everyone else thinks you should do.”

Lizanne, my beautiful daughter-in-law, has been like a real daughter to me, from the moment I met her. Had I drawn up a blueprint of who I would like as a wife for my wonderful and only son, I would have drawn a picture of Lizanne.

We had become very close in the six years that I had known her.

She was so impressed that Marc, being an only child, knew how to cook, wash clothes, clean…, and listen! She remembered the first date she had with Marc. He brought her home (while we were out), and cooked her a candlelight dinner… macaroni and cheese, with wieners and ketchup. I knew I could count on them, that morning, as we held each other in a circle of love and support.

THE ROSE FAMILY

The rose is a rose,

and was always a rose.

But the theory now goes

that the apple’s a rose,

And the pear is, and so’s

the plum, I suppose.

The dear only know

what will next prove a rose.

You, of course, are a rose—

But were always a rose.

Robert Frost

CHAPTER 3

Going Back in Time

The next day, I was back at work. Professionally, I was at the pinnacle of corporate success…for a woman. I had risen to the upper echelons of my career with the company I worked for since 1981.

My career had started out very humbly. I came from a big French family, living in the country, one hour’s drive from the big city of Winnipeg, Manitoba (Canada), right smack in the middle of Canada and just across the border from North Dakota (U.S.A.). I was number seven, out of twelve children, and named Estelle Rose, after mom’s sister…my godmother, Rose.

St. Malo, Manitoba (1964)

At seventeen years of age, I approached Mom and said, “Mom, I want to go to Red River Community College in Winnipeg.” I did not know how I was going to be able to afford it, but I knew Mom would find a way…and she did.

On a Sunday afternoon, she called the Manager of the St. Malo Caisse Populaire and we walked over to his house. Mom explained to him that I wanted to go to school in Winnipeg, and that I would need a loan. After raising twelve children, Mom had started working at the local sewing factory. She did not make a lot of money but whatever she made helped.

Dad was a great carpenter and worked hard to make a decent home for us all but sometimes it just was not enough, so Mom had decided to go to work, in spite of protests from dad.

We were sitting at the kitchen table of the Manager’s home when she said, “Dennis, my daughter wants to go to school in Winnipeg, and she’s going to need money. How much do you think she would need for a year’s stay in Winnipeg?” The Manager answered, “Well, let’s see. Calculating her school fees, her room and board, and so on, $1,000.00 should be enough to see her through one year.”

“Okay,” Mom said. “I’ll co-sign her loan.” The Manager took out a loan application, Mom signed it, and we walked home, hand in hand. “Mom,” I said humbly as I squeezed her hand, “you’ve given me a chance to make something of myself.”

“I promise you this…that you’ll never be stuck with any loan payment once I start to work and that I’ll make you proud of me.” I very seriously promised her. She squeezed my hand back and said, “I know that you will, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“How are you going to tell Dad?” I asked worriedly. I knew that Dad would not be too thrilled with the idea that Mom had co-signed a big loan for me. (Hey, this was 1964, remember!… Mom was only making $12.00 per week, at the sewing factory, so $1,000.00 was a LOT of money, back then.)

Mom just smiled at me and said, “Leave your Dad to me. I’ll make him understand why I had to do this.” And I did…and she did. I do not know what was said between them but Dad came out to the living room and asked me, “Well, what it is exactly that you want to learn, with all that money?”

I had researched courses available at Red River Community College and wanted to go into Accounting. That course was all filled up for the year and I did not want to wait another year, so I signed up for the next best thing…Secretarial Science.

I learned how to type, and was actually the top of my class, at 130 words per minute…a skill that I have come to appreciate even more, especially when computers came into being! Some of you might remember “the Dictaphone.” Well, I learned how to work that machine, and type correspondence from it.

As well, I learned “Pitman shorthand,” a skill I use still today. When I am in meetings, and people are sitting close to me and I want to write things to do while have them thinking that I am listening, I do it in “Pitman Shorthand.”

It intrigues people to see a bunch of squiggles. I invariably am nudged and asked, “What’s that? What does that mean?” Then I explain some of the lines and strokes and what words they actually represent. It leaves people very impressed!

Therefore, I moved to the big city, boarded in with my oldest brother, Noel and his wife, Annette. They were expecting their first baby but very generously took me in. For a very nominal fee, they gave me room and board for over a year, while I studied very hard to complete my courses.

At that time, Secretarial Science was a two-year course but I only had money for one year. As you could go at your own pace, I worked doubly hard, and managed to get it done in fourteen months. I only had $10.00 left when I graduated and knew that I had to get a job, immediately! Therefore, I started going on job interviews.

One was especially funny! A friend of mine, Andy Chouinard, and I had been singing and playing guitar together for the fun of it, for over a year. We had entered a few “coffee house-type” contests and won first prize. Therefore, we decided to enter the one on TV…a local talent contest. We did not win, but came in second. The following week, we entered the St. Boniface Music Festival, in 1964 and we were Awarded 1^st Prize.

However, the Manager of the local Coca-Cola plant was watching that night and he told his assistant about it the next day. “They should have won that contest,” he told her emphatically. Unbeknownst to him, his assistant was a friend of a friend of mine, who knew I was looking for a job. She phoned me and said, “Why don’t you go down to see this guy. Maybe he’ll give you a job.”

Therefore, I phoned him, and explained who I was and got an interview. Well, it turned out he was more interested in my skills at singing and playing the guitar than he was in my secretarial skills. I didn’t get the job! Nevertheless, it still makes me laugh when I think about it today.

After looking for work for a few weeks, I had $2.00 left when I found a job. It was humble beginnings, indeed. However, someone was willing to take a chance on me. It was as a secretary of the Appraisal Institute of Canada. I started at $82.00 a month. That was an incredible salary, especially for my first job.

I stayed there for a year and then got another job with a higher salary. After 17 years working with various levels of government, both Federal and Provincial, I decided it was time to join “private enterprise.”

Mom and dad could not understand why I would leave such a secure position with the government to go and work for a big, bad private company. In addition, I was going to be working “out on the road.” The first woman across Canada hired to work “out on the road,” visiting accounts throughout the Province of Manitoba. There I was…twenty-two suits and me (that is how we referred to working with men). To quote Dickens: “It was the best of times…it was the worst of times.”

I had had my first and only child (as it turned out) at the age of 20. This was 1967. Women were not expected to go back to work, once they had a baby. Therefore, working in the male-dominated financial world, it surprised me to encounter almost outright hostility from some men; once they found out I had a child.

Most suggested I should stay at home, care for my child, and leave the business to “them” (i.e. men). However, I patiently explained my situation to them, instead of reacting negatively. Most men surprisingly understood. I just worked doubly hard, and showed them that I knew what I was talking about…that I could be trusted and that I was not going away.

I find that if you are honest, straightforward, mean what you say and deliver what you promise, good things will happen…and they did. I had a few good men as mentors and they guided me through the minefields of the corporate world.

There I was in 1995 and I was Regional Manager of Credit Union Insurance Services, Manitoba Region.

THE AFTER-ECHO

The mellow sounds that cliff and island gave,

Have lingered in the crescent bay,

Until, by lightest breezes fanned,

They float far off beyond the dying day

And leave it still as death.

But hark, —

Another singing breath

Comes from the edge of dark;

A note as clear and slow

As falls from some enchanted bell,

Or spirit, passing from the world below,

That whispers back, Farewell.

So in the heart,

When, fading slowly down the past,

Font memories depart,

And each that leaves it seems the last;

Long after all the rest are flown,

Returns a solitary tone, —

The after-echo of departed years, —

And touches all the soul to tears.

Henry Van Dyke

CHAPTER 4

Hope Rising

August 1995

Going home that night, I felt a glimmer of hope, that maybe I’d be able to do this, after all. My very survival was at stake, this I knew. I braced myself for the barrage that was to come, when I walked in the door that night. However, I was ill prepared for the weeks of continuous verbal pressure ahead of me.

At first, he was conciliatory and placating. He offered to move out, and leave me the house. I starred at him in disbelief. That was so unlike him. I knew it could not or would not last. Sure enough, the next day, he countered his own offer by saying: “I’ve changed my mind! This is my house. You are the one who wants to leave…so you leave. I am staying. And you’ll never leave, ‘cause you love this house, you designed and decorated it!” he exclaimed in triumph.

When he saw that I was not deterred, he continued: “…and I can’t believe that you would dishonor our wedding vows. What’s that going to do to your mom and dad, and my mom?” He hit me on every possible vulnerable point that he could. He knew me well enough to know what I held dear. However, instead of weakening my resolve, it only made it stronger.

After two days in the spare room, he suggested that I move back into our bedroom upstairs and he would take over the guest room on the main floor. I knew that I would be trapped upstairs, with no possible escape, and he could guard me from the main floor.

However, he could not stop me from going to work. A week later, my resolve was now stronger, so I phoned my girlfriend Leslie Wellman. Leslie and I had been friends for over ten years, having started out as business associates, and our friendship grew from there, even after she left the Company we were both working for at the time.

After struggling through a divorce and some health issues, Leslie had regained her hold on life, and was living in a condominium in River Heights. Therefore, being the only person that I knew who was divorced, I called her. She was not in, so I left her this bombshell of a message on her answering machine: “Leslie, its Estelle. I need your help. Please call me. It’s urgent! I’m leaving John, and I don’t know where to go, where to move to…I need your guidance and assistance.”

A few hours later, she called back: “Gee whiz, Estelle. That was a heck of a message. What is happening? What is going on? Of course, I’ll help,” she volunteered, as soon as I filled her in on what had been happening to me throughout the summer. It was now the beginning of September.

John and I were still living in the small town of St. Adolphe, about a half-hour drive from Winnipeg. I had not lived in the city for over 28 years, even though I drove to the office every day, which was situated in the heart of downtown Winnipeg.

I had no idea what was a good neighborhood. Did I need to sign a yearlong lease? A myriad of other questions popped into my mind. I had been scouting out different locations on my own but I was scared of signing a long-term lease.

Leslie immediately reassured me, with an offer that completely took me by surprise: “Why don’t you just pack up a suitcase, with enough clothes and stuff for a week or two and move in with me? I have a spare bedroom that you can use until you make up your mind what you really want to do. You can stay a day, a week, a month, or a year! If you decide to go back, no harm done. If you decide to move on, you’ll be more prepared.”

I took her up on her offer, as a drowning person clings to a piece of driftwood. I went home and told John that I would be leaving soon, I was not sure when. I discussed with him the counseling service that was free of charge, as part of my employee benefits. I suggested that he call the number and make an appointment. He scorned at that and walked out.

My neighbor and friend, Sue Lagasse, offered to help me through the packing and leaving. I felt so numb, the last two days before leaving, that I could barely think. On a Wednesday morning, after John left for work, Sue came over, and we packed up two small suitcases of clothes, took a small four-drawer cardboard storage unit, a few pieces of jewelry, and left the house, not looking back once.

Arriving at Leslie’s she held me in her arms and the three of us cried together. Then, Sue and Leslie helped me unpack and settle in her guest room, which would turn out to be my salvation over the next four months.

In the meantime, I was still Regional Manager, attempting to continue working daily and barely holding it together. Some days, I would just sit at my desk, at the office, and tears would start flowing all by themselves. My assistant, Karen Lefebvre, seemed to know by instinct when I was distressed.

She would come by, smile encouragingly, and close my door so that I could break down in private, which I did often in the first month or two. The advice I had given to John to seek out counseling through the Employee Assistance Program, I took as well. I realized that I needed professional help. I knew that I wasn’t alone, that every time I felt I couldn’t go on, every time I felt the burden of starting over overwhelming; someone would phone, lift my spirits and give me their encouragement.

I had three visits with the Company psychologist, and that helped me tremendously. The first visit, as soon as I walked in, she handed me a box of tissue, and I think I used the whole box in a two-hour session.

The second visit, I only used half a box of tissue. I told her at the end of the session that I must have been making progress, as there was half a box of tissue left over. We both laughed at that. I felt lighter leaving that session.

By the third visit, (these were spread over a two-month period), I hardly cried at all. We focused on going forward, instead of going back. Other women have left relationships in much more dire circumstances than mine. I had a great job, a good salary, with great benefits, my family and friends surrounded me with love and support…I was blessed, indeed.

My sister Monique Piette was one such special person. She and I had always been very close, growing up. Then she married and moved 1,500 miles away, but that never stopped us from remaining close. I would visit every time my job sent me down East; I would make a point of stopping over for a day or two. We talked on the phone often.

It was with a heavy weight on my shoulders that I called her, the day of my move to Leslie. I announced to her what I had just done. She was in shock, at first, only because I had never told her how it really was between John and me. She lived far enough away that, when she came to visit, I was able to put on a good front.

Then she said to me, “Now it makes sense! When we stayed at your place two months ago, (when Monique and her husband Hector had come home for their 25^th anniversary celebration), I was watching you one morning, when you thought you were alone. I saw the utter despair in the way your shoulders drooped, and the look on your face, until you saw me. Then, your face just lit up, and I thought: My Good, what kind of burden is she carrying?”

She continued: “I want you to come out here for Christmas. You’ll need to get away, and it will be too difficult to do all the family get-togethers, with everyone questioning you, so book your tickets now.” Therefore, I booked two weeks off work for Christmas in Cornwall, where they lived.

With Monique “in the know,” my next move was to tell my parents. How do you tell your 78 year old parents, who themselves have been happily and lovingly married to each other for over 60 years, have raised a family of twelve children, burying one child at age ten, yet had loved and remained devoted to each other to the end?

With a heavy heart, I phoned them to let them know I was coming down for a visit. It is an hour’s drive to the senior citizen’s complex where they lived, and that was a long, hard drive for me.

When I got there, I sat down on the sofa and taking in a deep breath, said, “Well, Mom and Dad, I have something serious to talk to you about. I’ve left John, and moved out two days ago.”

Mom and Dad looked at each other, stood up and held out their arms to me. We stood there, in the middle of their living room, hugging and kissing each other and crying at the same time.

Dad’s lips were trembling, as he told me: “I suspected for the last twelve years, that John wasn’t taking care of my little girl.”

Mom added, “Are you going to be okay? Do you need any money? What can we do to help you?”

We talked throughout the afternoon, drank gobs of tea, and by the time I left, I felt twenty pounds lighter, knowing that I had not disappointed my parents after all. They loved me and supported me, unconditionally! What a feeling of euphoria, for the first time since I had moved out. “I just might survive this, after all.” I thought in complete surprise, as I felt hope rising inside me.

We are a close-knit family, always there for each other. We grew up in a loving, happy home, filled with light, love, and music. Most of the family members can play one to five instruments, have beautiful voices, and some have even been members of country and rock bands over the years.

Some of our friends, growing up, included Ron and Ted Palley, of “The Eternals.” After school, I can remember Ron coming over and playing “Bumble Boogie” on Mom’s piano… he sure could play that instrument, even back then, in 1962. His first band was with his brother Ted Palley, Bobby Everitt, Harry, and Johnny Hildebrand. I so wanted to be in his band, but he told me my voice was not strong enough…it was very diplomatic of him to couch it in those terms.

News of my having moved out got around to my other nine siblings very quickly. Some, I had a chance to phone firsthand. Others had found out through Mom and Dad, but all of them contacted me, to offer support, and love…never the condemnation that I was afraid of hearing from them.

NO MATTER HOW FAR

No matter how far we travel

Towards a hill,

Paying attention to surrounding terrain,

Stone and flower.

We are unprepared

For whatever lies waiting

On the other side.

No one will tell you this:

Our bodies understand

The dreams that are truly our own.

Jack Crimmins

CHAPTER 5

Learning to Cope

Fall 1995

Was it easy? No! After working all day, I would get home to Leslie’s condo, collapse on the bed, barely eat, and cry myself to sleep every night. In the morning, sometimes, it was so bad, I felt so drained, that I could barely lift my head off the pillow. I would roll over until I fell off the bed to the floor.

Exhausted, I would stare out the window, at this incredible tree. Looking up into the branches, I watched the sunlight bounding off the bark. Gusts of wind swayed the branches in a rhythmic dance.

I started talking to that tree. I poured out all the pain and agony that I was going through, and started asking the tree to help me, to give me energy to go on.

Then, I started noticing that when I asked, I received. I would start to feel stronger - strong enough to crawl to the shower, let the water pour down on me, sometimes for half an hour, before I felt strong enough to get dressed and face the day.

The drab days piled one on top of the other, as I existed in a gray fog, unable to see beyond one day at a time, unable to see a future, or a way to start over. Then, one day, after many weeks had gone by, I woke up one morning, and did not feel like crying! Wow, what a breakthrough day that was!

That weekend, I went to a work-related seminar and met a man, Frank Hunt, from Ottawa. We immediately felt a kinship and started talking. He had been separated for five years and his wife was giving him a hard time about the divorce.

Frank had been a counselor in the Royal Canadian Air Force, for over 30 years, in the Drug and Alcohol Counseling Unit. He understood where I was coming from and we became friends for “a reason and a season.” He was so sympathetic, understanding, and compassionate.

Our nightly telephone conversations were my lifeline. He would listen, and offer his stories as comparisons. He made me see and understand that not all men are the same, and that someday, I would meet someone whom I would trust enough to love again.

Frank had a daughter and granddaughter living in Ottawa. His grand daughter was five years old, and suffering from MS (Multiple Sclerosis). He was very protective of both of them and would rush her to the hospital at all hours. It was a very stressful time for him as well.

We forged a bond of sorts. I guess because it was over the phone, it was easier to talk to him; it felt more as if I was talking to myself. He mostly listened sympathetically. He did not know any of the parties involved, so it was easier for him to be impartial. Having counseled others daily, he was very in tune to what I was going through, and encouraged me to face it all dead-on.

We met for a purpose, and at that point, I could only hope that our paths would somehow bring us closer together over time. That didn’t happen. We had agreed from the start that longdistance relationships most often don’t work out. We both moved on with our lives, the richer for having known each other for this brief period.

I had to go see my lawyer to discuss the separation agreement and all it entails. Frankly, I was overwhelmed by what needs to be done over a short period. I went back home and prepared a letter and package for John to look over.

In the meantime, John checked himself in at the psychiatric ward at the Victoria Hospital, and then he called Marc and my girlfriend Sue, who both called me. I cried all night long. I cannot go back - no matter what happens.

I cannot be responsible for his unhappiness or for making him happy. I never could. He never listened, and he still is not listening. When I talked to Frank over the phone the next day, he helped me figure it out that John was doing this as a final effort to get me back.

I felt that if I went to see him at the hospital, it would only delay the inevitable and give him false hope. I talked to Marc, and we decided I would rent a small heated storage space and go to the house while John was in the hospital. I could then get the few things that I wanted, as I had left with only a suitcase of clothes.

At the Caisse Populaire, I took care of financial matters. I reorganized the mortgage payments, paid the yearly taxes, and made it possible for John to continue living in the house for as long as he wanted a home there. I promised myself that I would not call in my half-ownership in the house for as long as he lived there alone. When he got himself a partner, we would decide on the next step.

Marc phoned to say that John would be in the hospital for a few weeks. I felt so sorry for him. I felt his pain. I was in pain also. I was so sad for him, but I knew I could never go back.

We decided that while John was in the hospital, it would be the best time for me to go pick up the rest of my personal belongings and a few pieces of furniture. Saturday morning came and I was so scared to go back into the house. What if I missed home so much that I wanted to go back? Anyway, my two sisters and their husbands: (Colette and Jake, Celine and Jack) and my two best friends (Karen and Sue) were there to help me pack and move my stuff out.

I was so wired; I could feel the “fight or flight” adrenaline. We started sorting through clothes, jewelry, paintings, and in the end, managed to fill Jake’s small truck with a few boxes of personal mementos and my personal possessions. I was able to walk out of that house, leaving pretty much everything behind. I never looked back. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt truly free for the first time in twenty-eight years.

The next day, I woke up bone weary. I was aching all over from the stress and tension of yesterday’s move, until Frank called and made me laugh. I could just picture his blue eyes sparkling when he is telling a funny story. He is one neat person.

I kept asking him what is in it for him, while I am going through all this. He says he is enjoying it too…the teasing without being ridiculed, the exchanging of ideas. We talked about things besides my impending divorce and it was so nice to share discussions without always being on guard. He taught me to move on, slowly but progressively.

Frank had a wicked sense of humor. I would love to hear him laugh. He loved golf, but refused to take himself seriously. He was smart and sensitive - a loving, caring individual and a Pisces, like me.

He talked about his daughter Sherry, and his two darling granddaughters Kelsey and Melissa. When he talked about his baby granddaughter Kelsey, I could feel his pain over her very serious illness. She might not live to be 10 years old, he mentioned to me, with sadness and resignation in his voice.

My girlfriend and housemate, Leslie Wellman, had to go to the hospital for minor surgery. I took her there and back and settled her down in bed with a “bed picnic.” I spread a picnic tablecloth on the bed, and then put out an array of munchies….grapes, cheese and crackers, smoked salmon, some cheezies, chocolates.

My bird Sammy was downstairs chirping away as he hated being left alone in a room. Therefore, I went to get him and brought him up on my shoulder. He had a picnic with us. We were both feeding him pieces of grapes, and he loved the cheezies, so we were giving him small pieces of that as well.

All of a sudden, he sneezed and upchucked (if a bird can do that); shaking his head and sending stuff flying all over me, Leslie, the walls behind her. We laughed so hard we thought her stitches were going to open up.

I took Marc and Lizanne out for their fourth Anniversary dinner, and had a wonderful time. I felt so lucky to have them in my life. I loved both of them so much. We talked about all the things we were thankful for and all they have accomplished in four short years. It was amazing.

My friend Ian Dark invited me to join his office staff at a Blue Bomber dinner. Ian had recently been widowed, when his wife had a sudden and fatal heart attack while talking to him on the phone. It had been a shocking time for him, and so he could relate to what I was going through. He asked how I was doing, and I told him it is tougher than anything you can imagine did, but I would do it all over again to get to this point in my life.

One night, my girlfriend Karen Lefebvre and her three boys came over to watch movies with me. She was (and is) a great friend. We had so much in common and explored different ideas together. It was very stimulating being around her. We watched a movie about finding love and destiny. We discussed that although we both did not have great first marriages, that it didn’t mean we were prepared to go it alone for the rest of our lives.

My brother Ron came over to visit quite often. He had gone through a painful divorce himself and so he could relate to what I was going through. He offered encouragement and support each and every visit.

It made me reflect on where I go from here. Was I prepared to go it alone for the rest of my life or was I prepared to spend my life searching for someone who is meant to be with me.