Category: Divorce

21May

To Brandon, with love.

Michael and son Brandon – Halloween 1991

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Michael Corrier’s death, my husband of 11 years.

I hesitate to publicly acknowledge this date out of concern and respect for my husband Charlie. But, he’s mature and understands that this day is still a day that I stop and remember a man; a great man that was in my life for many years. Just because I have had the good fortune to meet and marry Charlie, doesn’t diminish the good years I had with Michael. 

Ten years is a long time to go without seeing someone, or talking to someone. Their voice becomes distant, their presence becomes less, their name comes up less often, and sometimes, the people around you never even knew that person.

Life goes on, with or without us.

And as true as those statements are, I stand firm in the belief that Michael Corrier is a man that will be missed and thought of for as long as some of us have a breath left in us.

In less than two weeks Michael’s son Brandon will be getting married to an absolutely wonderful woman named Kelsey. The Save the Date magnet has been stuck proudly front and center on my refrigerator for months now; only to be replaced recently  with the wedding invitation.

Brandon and Kelsey have been making preparations for months. The dress. The venue. The non traditional wedding cake. All the fun things (and some not so fun things) that it takes to host such an event.

And as happy and excited as I am for them, I’m so sad that his Dad will not be there to witness his son getting married. That moment of pride when a father looks over at his son standing at the alter, most likely remembering the day his son was born, his first steps, and so many other milestones that we are privileged to witness as parents. Mike won’t be there for that moment when Brandon watches his beautiful bride walk down the aisle. Standing in for Michael as best man will be Shane, my son, Brandon’s step brother. 

So let me tell you about this man named Brandon.

He came into my life in 1998 when his dad and I married. I thought step-parenting of two young kids would be a breeze. Boy was I wrong.

Just because I was ready to be a stepmother, didn’t mean that Michael’s children were ready to be stepchildren. I was met with reluctance and resentment. When Brandon and his younger sister Heather were with us, they missed their mom, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to be there with us.

Much of our first year of marriage was spent trying to adjust to being part time parents. (Shane had recently moved in with his own Dad).

Even though things weren’t ideal, we all got into a pattern, a routine. It made it easier that Brandon and Heather made friends with some of our neighborhood children. Summers were spent at the pool, cookouts, sleepovers; life as a stepmother, and life as a stepchild became easier, less stressful – and yes, eventually, actually enjoyable.

Michael always looked forward to seeing his children.  He would make it a point to stock up on groceries, look for movies to watch with them, anything to be able to spend time with them. I loved watching him interact with his kids; conversations that would take place over dinner, tucking them into bed at night; he loved being their dad.

I watched Brandon go from a little boy to an awkward adolescent (as most adolescents are). When he turned 13 or so he asked to come live with us. Thankfully, his mother agreed –  and that’s when I became his full time stepmother. Coincidentally, around the same time, Shane came back home to live with us.

Boy was my plate suddenly full! And awesome!

Those few years that Brandon lived with us is when I came to know him much better. Every morning I would take him to school. We had about a 25 minute commute – and don’t judge – but we bonded over listening to Mancow’s Morning Madhouse on the radio. In case you don’t who that his – Mancow is the name of a radio host that was loud, opinionated, irreverent, and sometimes inappropriate. It was mine and Brandon’s guilty pleasure.

As teenagers almost all of us go through a time when our dress or our hair (or both), drive our parents crazy. And Brandon was no exception.

All of his clothes were black. From his hat down to his shoes. With the exception of his gold chain that kept his wallet attached to his jeans. Goth, I guess… but it drove us crazy!

Thankfully, he grew out of that phase.

High school. Rugby team. Good grades. First job. First car. Graduation.

And then one weekend Brandon went out of town with some friends. And his stepfather had to make the impossible call in the middle of the night to Brandon.

“You need to come home. Your dad died tonight.”

Shocked.

We were all shocked by what happened. Suicide. Oh my God, why?

I believe that night Brandon became a man.

At the funeral service he bravely got up in front of everyone; steadily, without hesitation, never faltering.  He talked to this group of friends and family about his dad. About Michael’s  never ending love of family. Of friends. And his children.  Brandon talked about how his dad was always the last one to sit down for dinner, making sure everyone had everything they needed. He spoke of his love for his father. His generosity. The way he hugged, the way he loved.

I have never been more proud of Brandon than I was that night.

That was 10 years ago.

I have watched Brandon grow into one of the finest human beings on this planet. He could’ve used his dad’s death as a crutch, or an excuse not to succeed in life. Any lesser person would have. But he didn’t.

Brandon stayed by my side in the darkest of times, even while dealing with his own grief; when there were no answers to the questions. No rhyme, no reason. And even though we were “technically” not related any longer, he has never not been my son, and I have never not been his stepmother. He made the choice to stay in our lives after his father passed away, and for that I am eternally grateful.

This fine young man has completed college (he and Shane graduated on the same day). He has continued to advance in his career. And now, he will be marrying the love of his life.

We miss Michael. Some of us always will.

But I have been blessed to have a part of him continue to be with me through his son.

Michael’s legacy.  Brandon Michael Corrier.

So, next Saturday, as champagne filled glasses are raised and toasts are made, I will raise my glass and silently toast to Michael and the son he left behind.

Cheers to father and son. Cheers to your legacy Michael. You would be so proud of him, I know I am.

Wish you were here to see it all.

14May

Turn the page

A few weeks ago a piece of my heart backed out of my driveway headed south to New Orleans. A new car. A new job. A new life. Adventures out there for the taking.

Shane. My son.

This boy, this wonderment, this blessing was born to me 31 years ago. I was the ripe old age of 30 when I became pregnant, 31 when he was born. Years earlier I thought I was finished having children. My former husband and I had two daughters, and that was enough for me. My life was full, it was complete.

Then divorce happened.

I remarried a few years later, and found myself yearning for “Just one more.” That’s how I approached Shane’s dad, a man that had formerly been a self proclaimed bachelor. Although it took some coaxing out of this reluctant forty year old Irishman, I won him over to the idea of having a child of his own.

Each one of my children has a special place in my heart. I remember when my first child was born I could never imagine how I could possibly love another human being as much as I loved Heather. And then Robin was born two years later. And whoa! I loved her in her own unique way. By the time Shane was born, I knew how much love my heart could hold for a child – but I was still a little amazed that he had me from his first heartbeat.

Sadly, when Shane was 5 years old, his father and I divorced.

This kid took it all in stride. I always said that he was my “happy medium” child…. not too head strong, but not passive either. He was always a happy guy, fun to be with, a jokester, always a smile on his face. Shane is an easy person to to like, to love.

The older I get, the more I seem to say, “Where has the time gone?” And nothing makes me say that more than when I see my children.

When Shane first started preschool he had a tough time saying goodbye in the mornings. There were a lot of tears, and lots of hugging at our morning drop off. His little voice pleading, “Please don’t go Mommy.” I can’t count how many mornings I spent the remainder of my commute choking back tears, feeling like I had broken my son’s heart. It took several weeks, but it got easier as Shane & I got into our routine. High five. Kiss on the cheek. Tell Quack to have a good day (Quack was his teddy bear that rarely left his side). And then one day there were no tears. No “one more hug Mommy”. No looking back for a last glance at Mom. Just a little boy learning independence.

Turn the page and he’s walking into high school. Then he’s driving. First girlfriend. First job. Graduation.

Turn the page and he’s off to college. Then graduation. Then nursing school. Another graduation. Then his first job as an RN.

Then later talks of setting out and seeing the world. Serious talks of travel nursing.

And just a few months later, Shane gets the call he’s been waiting for. A job is his for the taking in New Orleans.

And suddenly I’m the one wanting to hold on. I’m the one with the lump in my throat silently begging for one more hug, one more high five. Where’s Quack when you need him?

Time to empty his apartment. Pack his essentials. Store away memories. Countdown to his new life.

And on that last day as Shane drove away, as a new chapter in his life opened, a chapter in my life closed.

The chapter when all of my children lived in the same city. A time when a “family night” was sanctioned and all would arrive. The times that Shane would call and say, “Hey, are y’all home? I thought I would drop in”.

But that’s okay. For everything there is a season.

I wish you well son. Go see the world. Be happy. Be resourceful. Be adventurous. I’ll leave the light on for you.

All my love,

Mom

05Jul

She believed

shopping

This bracelet came up on a news feed of mine. I studied it. Not the bracelet, but the words. I’ve probably studied over it more than some people would study for a test. Well, not so much study, but ponder. The words are powerful. The words imply strength and courage and all the other positive feelings that are conjured up in these seven little words.

When I first saw these words I thought about the women in my life that intentionally took on a challenge. Chris Mac decided she wanted to have a healthier lifestyle and took on the challenge of losing weight the old fashioned way – by eating healthy and exercising. Hannah  has taken on the challenge of going back to college to become an RN after having a child. Brenda G later in life chose to adopt three children that needed her. Amy made the decision to not only tell her adoption story, but posted it for all the world to read. To these women and others like you,  I humbly acknowledge your courage.

Then there’s the rest of us – no less important,  but our challenges more or less got dumped into our laps. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t looking for them, but they happened just the same. Cynthia discovered she had breast cancer. Angela and Laura G found themselves in destructive marriages. Many of us were given widowhood.  My Aunt Lois and cousins Pat and Tina face each day with the deterioration of their husband/father from Alzheimers disease. Heather battles the fear that comes with having a child with severe food allergies. Then there’s the many single moms I know that get up each morning to fill the shoes of both mother and father. My own sister Terri is synonymous with courage, tenacity, and strength (although sometimes she doesn’t see it).

So I go back to the words: She believed she could, so she did.

In all honesty, there were times when I didn’t know if I could overcome the loss of my husband and the avalanche of aftershocks that came with it. I feel sure that each person I have mentioned and all of the ones in this video have had the same feeling at one time or another in the challenges that have faced them. That doubt, that defeating feeling, that nagging in the back of your mind that says it’s too hard, it’s too much to bear. We fall. We cry. We doubt.

But herein lies the difference: We fell but we didn’t stay down, we wiped our bloodied knees and got back up.  We cried, but we wiped our tears away and pushed forward.  We doubted, but it didn’t consume us. We overcame. And that’s what I celebrate today.

So this is for you ladies:  The women that inspire me, encourage me, and lift me up.

 

10Nov

Match Me.. Match Me Not..Match Me…Match me not..

Back in June of this year I wrote a blog called “Dear Mr. Free-man”.  It was actually my first blog entry. It was an open letter to the over 50, single male population. If you haven’t already read it, I encourage you to do so now so that this next blog makes sense. Go ahead, this blog will be here when you get back.

After I wrote that piece, I questioned myself. Was I being too judgmental? Did I have a chip on my shoulder because I’m not the perfect physical specimen that men are looking for? Was I being too sensitive?

After much soul searching and feeling at times, a little lonely, I decided to go back on Match.com and once more, put myself out there. I mean, if you don’t try to help yourself, then who do you have to blame for being in your circumstance?

So, being the writer that I am, I crafted what I thought to be a pretty damn good profile. Here, I’ll share it with you.

Who I am: A woman who is very excited to be in this time of my life. I am single, although not happy with the way it happened. My children are grown and out of the nest, and I am a proud Nana to Lexi, Luna, and Lucas.

I have learned a lot about myself since my husband’s death five years ago. I have discovered that I am more of a loner than previously believed. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with family and friends, but I have learned that I don’t always have to have someone around to entertain me. I have learned that I am far more independent than previously imagined. Through necessity, I have been forced to become my own problem solver. And lastly, I have learned not to sweat the small stuff – and it’s mostly all small stuff.

A few years ago I started writing a book, well, a memoir of sorts, journaling my life, wanting to document my time here on earth. What it developed into was a collection of stories. I learned that I’m a pretty good storyteller. After several people read my stories, they encouraged me to start my own blog featuring those stories. And that’s exactly what I did! It has challenged me yet in another area of my life.

I love the outdoors, whether it’s laying by the swimming pool, kicking back at the beach, or sitting by a bonfire. I am an avid charcoal griller. Although the Tennessee Volunteers still don’t have a winning season, I continue to be a Vol Fan For Life as we rebuild “brick by brick”.

My ideal partner would be a man that has a zest for the future, a passion for life, a healthy outlook and a thirst for knowledge. A keen sense of humor and honesty is critical for me.

One of my favorite poems was written in 1927 by Max Ehrmann called Desiderata, meaning “desired things”. The final verse is this:

And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham,
drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

If my profile has sparked some interest, or if you read something that you said, “Oh, me too”, then give me a shout. If not, I hope you have much success in your search for the lady you are looking for.

Not bad, huh? I put myself in the category of “A few extra pounds, widowed”. I was honest about my age – 58. I threw in recent photographs that were pretty damn good – nothing racy. My username is respectable, nothing crazy like “foragoodtime” or “hottotrot”, or “cougarlady”. After all, I don’t want to send out the wrong message.

So, I’m six weeks in to my 3 month subscription and I would like to share a few of my experiences.

My first *wink* was received just a few moments after I paid my $67.00  and got logged in. Hey, this is promising. Is my dating life getting ready to hit a home run – or am I ever going to leave the dug out?  So I *click* on his profile. As we all do, we check out our potential “soulmate’s” pictures. You may think this is contradictory behavior from someone that has expressed concern over the “outside” being overly important, but really it isn’t. I think photos can tell a lot about someone. Not necessarily are they cute, or slim, or attractive – but more, do they look genuine? Do they have a nice smile? Are they neat in appearance? Is there a sign behind them that says, “Bros before hoes?” Are they sitting in a 50 year old recliner with wood paneling behind them and a Schlitz Malt Liquor in their hand? Things like that.

Back to my *wink*.  His pictures – not bad – sure he looked a little..well redneck – but you can’t blame a boy for that. But the bio – oh the bio. Here’s what caught my eye – and I can’t make this up. ” Love spontinaity, I love a woman who can smack my ass in the middle of a crowd and you would never know she done it by the look on her face.”  So, what’s worse?  The fact that he likes his ass smacked or his poor grammar? I reeled from both infractions. Move on Cat.

My next potential suitor sent a *wink* my way, along with his one and only picture. Too bad it was a selfie taken in the bathroom with the toilet seat all the way up – like he just took a piss. Nothin’ says lovin’ like a bathroom selfie. Not surprising, I passed on this prize too. Better luck next time Cat.

Screen Shot 2014-10-28 at 5.50.47 PM

Match.com offers this fun little tool called “chat”. So while you’re online checking out who “viewed” you (and moved on), you can chat with other Match members online. So here I am, one Saturday “dude surfing” when Chat pops up.

RU4me from Buffalo, New York says,

Hi. Love your smile.

“Oh” I think. “Communication from the outside world.”

Me: Thank you. How is Buffalo treating you today?

RU4me: You real pretty. You been on long match? (Yes, he really said “long match.”

Me: Uh – no.

RU4me: I not either. Not much luck. One lady want free dinner – other lady only want night stand.

Hmmmm…. a night stand, huh? Not a dresser, or a chest of drawers, but a night stand (Yeah, I get it, he meant one night stand).

Me: Pardon me for bringing this up, but your English is quite broken. It makes me wonder if you are perhaps a scammer. If I’m wrong, forgive me. If I’m correct, shame on you.

RU4me: What you mean. Scammer?

Me: Thank you for confirming my suspicions.

RU4me: FUCK YOU

RU4me signs off and I sign off too in disgust.

I confess, there have been a few men on this site that have caught my eye. I have steered away from the obvious “lookers” and have focused on men with kind eyes, genuine and realistic profiles. I have even put myself out there and sent a few emails (yes of course witty emails) only to get no replies. Well, I did receive a no thanks, as he had just met a lady on Match.com and wanted to see where it was going first. Forget the fact that I still see him daily on the site and “available for chat”.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, this small amount of time on Match.com has shaken my confidence. I have relearned humility. Clearly, I am not the prototype of what men over 50 are looking for. I don’t hike 50 miles a day, I don’t have Christie Brinkley’s body, I NEVER want to jump out of an airplane. I couldn’t care less if I ever ski in Aspen, or run the bulls in Pamplona.

So, what does it take to attract a man that meets my minimal expectations?  Do I try to change who I am to conform to someone else’s standards? Do I diet so that I am physically attractive to these men? As I ask myself these questions I already know my answer. Hell no. Even if I tried to change my personality, I couldn’t -nor would I want to.  We are who we are. Do I diet? Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But you can be damn sure it won’t be to attract a man.

So, what have I learned? I have learned to go back to loving myself – and never forget that I am the prize – maybe not to someone else – but to me. I have learned, once again, not to turn to others for approval, but look inside and see what is acceptable for (what my sister calls) “my own self”.  Sure, it’s nice to get compliments (I’m always open to positive affirmations), but I can’t rely on them to dictate how I feel about myself. That has to come from me.

PostScript

I welcome any comments or anecdote from your own .com dating experience.  Surely there are more out there that have questioned their own worthiness, have had their own self doubt after being exposed to this medium.  Or…just something so funny you can’t keep it to yourself – please leave a comment!

PostScriptScript

…and, if you happen to know of a single man that might be looking for a middle aged plump woman that loves life and has a warped sense of humor, send him my way….that’d be great.