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Today I did something I've been meaning to do for ages.
I cleaned out my inbox..
Mail for the band, spam, and random messages from correspondents account for nearly 200+ messages a day, and well, I get lazy. I've been lazy for a long time, and the first messages in there were from December of 2001. Since I use pine directly from the shell of lostsignal.com, the amount of CPU usage needed to open the 300MB mail spool was starting to show signs of hurting other processes, I decided it was time for spring cleaning.
There's now a folder of Melissa's emails to me over the past year. Most were jokes, or funny little anecdotes that took place in the morning after I left for work, and more than a few were sweet love notes just to cheer me up, as my job tends to take a big chunk of my soul.
More than once my breathe caught in my throat, and I could feel my pulse causing my body to actually sway from side to side with each beat. It's still extraordinarily hard to move forward without realizing my driving force, my stability, is no longer there.
"Just breathe" she'd say.
Last night I left the office with fond memories intoxicating my mind, due to that little chapter I wrote out yesterday. I think I'll continue this trend for now. Although looking back may not be the best thing for my own sanity, I've got a different perspective now on these events. I have a clarity now I didn't possess before about these moments that came to mean so much to me.
----
The few days following the miscarriage were some of the hardest we've ever experienced together. While a wave of relief washed over my family, Melissa's family just didn't seem to take to the news too well. Her Grandfather suddenly having chest pains, and had to be rushed into the hospital for an extended stay. Melissa has always had the habit of blaming herself for such things, and she took his condition to heart. Her Grandmother would call crying, which only made things much harder. She was very close with her "mom-mom," and all that woman wanted was a great-grandchild in her time. I stood by her as best I could, trying to keep things on a positive note. We spent our nights at home, with the occasional rented movie and case of beer.
Less than a week following our overnight stay in the hospital, Melissa called me early in the afternoon crying her eyes out.
"Are you okay? What happened??" immediately I thought of her grandfather's fragile condition, our dogs escaping to the neighboring highway, all the things you never want to think about.
"I was just fired."
As it turns out, her middle-aged manager decided that she just wasn't improving enough since their last talk.
Their last talk was two days before the miscarriage.
Melissa had kept quiet about her pregnancy, since she had the legitimate fear of being let-go after they found out. It's against the law, but few medical practices that she had worked in took employment laws seriously.
My colour drained from my face, and my grip tightened on the handset. I could feel my blood beginning to bubble under my skin with molten fury. I couldn't see straight.
"Can I call her?" I asked calmly.
"Why?"
"I just want to know something." I was wrestling with my desire to punch walls. I'm never a violent or aggressive. It takes a great deal to push me to anger. She reluctantly gave me the phone number, and I promised her I'd call back in a few minutes. I step out of the door of my office, took a few drags of my cigarette, and tried to relax. After what must have been less than thirty seconds, I calmly walked back to the phone and dialed the number she had provided.
"Hello, can I speak with Diane please?" I used my best customer service voice. It tends to throw people off.
"This is she, how can I help you?" She had the typical curt tone of a retail manager that gets off on making her employees feel lower on the food chain than herself.
"My name is Charles, and I'm Melissa's boyfriend."
"I've got nothing to say" she quickly retorted in a less than friendly manner.
"I just want to know something."
"mm?" I could tell I was making her sweat.
"I wanted to know how you could be so heartless and cold as to fire someone less than a week after they lost their baby?!"
"I'm not having this conversation with you." I was freaking her out, and it was wondrous.
"Well, you can have it with me, or you can have it with our lawyer.. On second thought, I think I'd rather you just talked with our lawyer. It's more amusing that way."
With that I hung up, and called Melissa back. She was both flattered and embarrassed that I had called her old boss little that, but I'd like to believe that it helped lighten her spirits a bit that afternoon.
On the way home from work that night, I decided to speed things up a bit from my previous plans. The morning of the miscarriage, I admitted to Melissa that I wanted to look for an engagement ring for her. She had no arguments with my logic, and I guess she just thought that it'd be a long, long time before I actually could afford to purchase one. I resolved to start trying to find money wherever I could, and to try and find the perfect diamond.
The following few weeks were frantic, as I called everyone I knew that owed me money. While my efforts were completely in vain, I did gain a deeper understanding why one such debtor can't afford the money owed to me.
One night after work, I decided just for fun to drive around the corner to the Mall directly behind us, where there happened to be a Robbin's Jewelers. (It's a local family owned chain for those not familiar with Philadelphia) It was a spur of the moment idea to go window shopping, but after been educated on the four C's of diamond shopping, I thought I might start trying to find out what was in my price range.
"I'm just going to.. um, go around the corner to, uh.. the toy store." She regarding me with suspicion. I'm a terrible liar.
"Sure you are" she answered from the couch.
I walked into the jeweler's with my hair a complete mess, in a t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled black pants. I had thought that if I had walked in wearing any flashy, they'd try and convince me I could afford things I most certainly couldn't. A woman greeted me, and pointed me to the engagement bands.
When buying an engagement ring, your first supposed to calculate your budget. They say a good guideline is two months salary, but for me that would have meant 700-800 dollars max. I try never to do anything half-assed. I just made a rough estimate of what I could conceivable come up with if everyone paid me back, and used that as my max.
Finding a band without a diamond in it to actually see what it would look like is difficult enough. Trying to find one with a commission based saleswoman standing over you is just evil. Eventually, I found a band that definitely had Melissa's style to it. It was white gold, with square bagget diamonds. The saleswoman took it back to her cubicle with me, and proceeded to polish it with a jeweler's rag, and began to explain to me again the different attributes of a diamond. I went for quality over quantity. I ended up selecting the clearest, and unflawed diamond within my range, and it ended up being nearly a carat in weight, so I didn't feel like a cheapskate.
"How would you like to pay for this?"
I raced home and managed to write a check for $100 to put down on it. They said that I had until December to come up with the remaining balance. However, I ended up not needing that much time.
The following day in work, I was talking about the ring with my coworker, and my boss overheard and asked me to come outside to smoke with him. I'd been turned down for numerous loans from the Jewelers, so any kind of payment plan with them was totally out of the question. Instead, my boss offered to put the ring on the company credit card, and have the payments automatically deducted from my paycheck. This was the kindest thing he'd ever done for me.
We scheduled a day when he could race up to the Northeast on his motorcycle after work, to pick up the ring and sign the paperwork.
"I have to meet Nick over at the Roosevelt Mall for a little while."
"Why?"
"He's going to dinner with his parents, and we need to buy more software for the office. I need to show him what we need." I'd practiced that in my head all day, and for once, it worked, although I was sweating like a goldfish in a blender.
"You two deserve this" Nick said to me as we paid for the ring.
Now, I've always been a complete sucker for romantic behaviour. A proposal is a big thing, so I was dead set to make it as unique as possible. The booklet that came with it outlined a number of different ways to propose, but every single one of them was cliched, and for the most part, extraordinarily stupid. I decided to take her back to the club that we had first got together, just over the bridge in New Jersey. It had long since closed, but it remained untouched with a big "for sale" sign hanging off the marquee. I was just going to pull over there with her on a whim, and see if I could con her into reminiscing with me on the front steps. It was there that I want to ask her.
"I don't want to go anywhere, I'm tired." She really didn't move much from the couch those days. The weight of recent events was bearing down on her, and she didn't smile much anymore. "I don't want to go over to Jersey unless you tell me why." I couldn't think of a good enough reason.
I eventually agreed, but the ring was burning in my pocket. I figured it was now or never. She was still laying on the couch, and I got down on one knee beside her, and I asked:
"Melissa, I have something very important to ask you." A look of serious concern washed over her face. She had a tendency to hate my little serious talks, since they were rarely good.
"What?" I could tell I was making her nervous.
I hesitated, then answered "What would you like for dinner?" I could read the relief all over her face.
"Well, we still have pasta, and there's some sauce in the cupboard. Did you use all the mozzarella already?"
"Nah, there's some left. Okay, pasta it is." I went to stand up, stopped, turned, and said "Oh yeah, Melissa, will you marry me?" I presented the ring.
"You're a crack-head" is what she repeated over and over as she inspected it, and then slipped it on her finger.
"um, is 'you're a crack-head' your answer?" I was beginning to sweat again.
A huge smile swept across her face, and she said "Of course I'll marry you."
I cleaned out my inbox..
Mail for the band, spam, and random messages from correspondents account for nearly 200+ messages a day, and well, I get lazy. I've been lazy for a long time, and the first messages in there were from December of 2001. Since I use pine directly from the shell of lostsignal.com, the amount of CPU usage needed to open the 300MB mail spool was starting to show signs of hurting other processes, I decided it was time for spring cleaning.
There's now a folder of Melissa's emails to me over the past year. Most were jokes, or funny little anecdotes that took place in the morning after I left for work, and more than a few were sweet love notes just to cheer me up, as my job tends to take a big chunk of my soul.
More than once my breathe caught in my throat, and I could feel my pulse causing my body to actually sway from side to side with each beat. It's still extraordinarily hard to move forward without realizing my driving force, my stability, is no longer there.
"Just breathe" she'd say.
Last night I left the office with fond memories intoxicating my mind, due to that little chapter I wrote out yesterday. I think I'll continue this trend for now. Although looking back may not be the best thing for my own sanity, I've got a different perspective now on these events. I have a clarity now I didn't possess before about these moments that came to mean so much to me.
----
The few days following the miscarriage were some of the hardest we've ever experienced together. While a wave of relief washed over my family, Melissa's family just didn't seem to take to the news too well. Her Grandfather suddenly having chest pains, and had to be rushed into the hospital for an extended stay. Melissa has always had the habit of blaming herself for such things, and she took his condition to heart. Her Grandmother would call crying, which only made things much harder. She was very close with her "mom-mom," and all that woman wanted was a great-grandchild in her time. I stood by her as best I could, trying to keep things on a positive note. We spent our nights at home, with the occasional rented movie and case of beer.
Less than a week following our overnight stay in the hospital, Melissa called me early in the afternoon crying her eyes out.
"Are you okay? What happened??" immediately I thought of her grandfather's fragile condition, our dogs escaping to the neighboring highway, all the things you never want to think about.
"I was just fired."
As it turns out, her middle-aged manager decided that she just wasn't improving enough since their last talk.
Their last talk was two days before the miscarriage.
Melissa had kept quiet about her pregnancy, since she had the legitimate fear of being let-go after they found out. It's against the law, but few medical practices that she had worked in took employment laws seriously.
My colour drained from my face, and my grip tightened on the handset. I could feel my blood beginning to bubble under my skin with molten fury. I couldn't see straight.
"Can I call her?" I asked calmly.
"Why?"
"I just want to know something." I was wrestling with my desire to punch walls. I'm never a violent or aggressive. It takes a great deal to push me to anger. She reluctantly gave me the phone number, and I promised her I'd call back in a few minutes. I step out of the door of my office, took a few drags of my cigarette, and tried to relax. After what must have been less than thirty seconds, I calmly walked back to the phone and dialed the number she had provided.
"Hello, can I speak with Diane please?" I used my best customer service voice. It tends to throw people off.
"This is she, how can I help you?" She had the typical curt tone of a retail manager that gets off on making her employees feel lower on the food chain than herself.
"My name is Charles, and I'm Melissa's boyfriend."
"I've got nothing to say" she quickly retorted in a less than friendly manner.
"I just want to know something."
"mm?" I could tell I was making her sweat.
"I wanted to know how you could be so heartless and cold as to fire someone less than a week after they lost their baby?!"
"I'm not having this conversation with you." I was freaking her out, and it was wondrous.
"Well, you can have it with me, or you can have it with our lawyer.. On second thought, I think I'd rather you just talked with our lawyer. It's more amusing that way."
With that I hung up, and called Melissa back. She was both flattered and embarrassed that I had called her old boss little that, but I'd like to believe that it helped lighten her spirits a bit that afternoon.
On the way home from work that night, I decided to speed things up a bit from my previous plans. The morning of the miscarriage, I admitted to Melissa that I wanted to look for an engagement ring for her. She had no arguments with my logic, and I guess she just thought that it'd be a long, long time before I actually could afford to purchase one. I resolved to start trying to find money wherever I could, and to try and find the perfect diamond.
The following few weeks were frantic, as I called everyone I knew that owed me money. While my efforts were completely in vain, I did gain a deeper understanding why one such debtor can't afford the money owed to me.
One night after work, I decided just for fun to drive around the corner to the Mall directly behind us, where there happened to be a Robbin's Jewelers. (It's a local family owned chain for those not familiar with Philadelphia) It was a spur of the moment idea to go window shopping, but after been educated on the four C's of diamond shopping, I thought I might start trying to find out what was in my price range.
"I'm just going to.. um, go around the corner to, uh.. the toy store." She regarding me with suspicion. I'm a terrible liar.
"Sure you are" she answered from the couch.
I walked into the jeweler's with my hair a complete mess, in a t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled black pants. I had thought that if I had walked in wearing any flashy, they'd try and convince me I could afford things I most certainly couldn't. A woman greeted me, and pointed me to the engagement bands.
When buying an engagement ring, your first supposed to calculate your budget. They say a good guideline is two months salary, but for me that would have meant 700-800 dollars max. I try never to do anything half-assed. I just made a rough estimate of what I could conceivable come up with if everyone paid me back, and used that as my max.
Finding a band without a diamond in it to actually see what it would look like is difficult enough. Trying to find one with a commission based saleswoman standing over you is just evil. Eventually, I found a band that definitely had Melissa's style to it. It was white gold, with square bagget diamonds. The saleswoman took it back to her cubicle with me, and proceeded to polish it with a jeweler's rag, and began to explain to me again the different attributes of a diamond. I went for quality over quantity. I ended up selecting the clearest, and unflawed diamond within my range, and it ended up being nearly a carat in weight, so I didn't feel like a cheapskate.
"How would you like to pay for this?"
I raced home and managed to write a check for $100 to put down on it. They said that I had until December to come up with the remaining balance. However, I ended up not needing that much time.
The following day in work, I was talking about the ring with my coworker, and my boss overheard and asked me to come outside to smoke with him. I'd been turned down for numerous loans from the Jewelers, so any kind of payment plan with them was totally out of the question. Instead, my boss offered to put the ring on the company credit card, and have the payments automatically deducted from my paycheck. This was the kindest thing he'd ever done for me.
We scheduled a day when he could race up to the Northeast on his motorcycle after work, to pick up the ring and sign the paperwork.
"I have to meet Nick over at the Roosevelt Mall for a little while."
"Why?"
"He's going to dinner with his parents, and we need to buy more software for the office. I need to show him what we need." I'd practiced that in my head all day, and for once, it worked, although I was sweating like a goldfish in a blender.
"You two deserve this" Nick said to me as we paid for the ring.
Now, I've always been a complete sucker for romantic behaviour. A proposal is a big thing, so I was dead set to make it as unique as possible. The booklet that came with it outlined a number of different ways to propose, but every single one of them was cliched, and for the most part, extraordinarily stupid. I decided to take her back to the club that we had first got together, just over the bridge in New Jersey. It had long since closed, but it remained untouched with a big "for sale" sign hanging off the marquee. I was just going to pull over there with her on a whim, and see if I could con her into reminiscing with me on the front steps. It was there that I want to ask her.
"I don't want to go anywhere, I'm tired." She really didn't move much from the couch those days. The weight of recent events was bearing down on her, and she didn't smile much anymore. "I don't want to go over to Jersey unless you tell me why." I couldn't think of a good enough reason.
I eventually agreed, but the ring was burning in my pocket. I figured it was now or never. She was still laying on the couch, and I got down on one knee beside her, and I asked:
"Melissa, I have something very important to ask you." A look of serious concern washed over her face. She had a tendency to hate my little serious talks, since they were rarely good.
"What?" I could tell I was making her nervous.
I hesitated, then answered "What would you like for dinner?" I could read the relief all over her face.
"Well, we still have pasta, and there's some sauce in the cupboard. Did you use all the mozzarella already?"
"Nah, there's some left. Okay, pasta it is." I went to stand up, stopped, turned, and said "Oh yeah, Melissa, will you marry me?" I presented the ring.
"You're a crack-head" is what she repeated over and over as she inspected it, and then slipped it on her finger.
"um, is 'you're a crack-head' your answer?" I was beginning to sweat again.
A huge smile swept across her face, and she said "Of course I'll marry you."