Hard times

Brent and I got engaged in August of 2004.  My stepfather, who I loved dearly (and who I credit for saving my mother after going through an extremely painful breakup and divorce from my father when I was sixteen years old) was diagnosed with liver disease several months earlier.  Our engagement was quite bittersweet, because it was very difficult to plan a happy occasion knowing that he may not be alive to attend.  My mother was wonderful, teaching  school full time, taking care of him at home (he was 17 years older than my mom), and still making the time to help me plan my wedding.  My thirty-first birthday was coming on November 29 of 2004.  Brent planned a trip for us to Lake Tahoe, and I was soooooo excited.  Being born and raised in the deep south, any opportunity to actually witness and experience real snow sent me into a childlike tailspin- hehe.  One week before we were to leave for Tahoe, my sister called me about 11:00 pm and told me my stepfather had fallen trying to get in bed, and he and my mom were on their way to the hospital in an ambulance.  He never came home.  Brent cancelled our trip,losing the plane tickets (as we all know, Delta's main priority is NOT compassion for it's passengers).  I begged him to go ahead and make the trip with the couple that was going to join us, but he refused to leave my side.  My stepfather died 5 days later, on Thanksgiving morning.  My wedding was planned for April 16th, and I went on with the planning, though with a sad and heavy heart.  Brent and I had started building our own home around the time we got engaged, but something else loomed over our heads.  I owned (and lived in) a condominium that I was having absolutaely NO luck selling.  What was bad about this?  We could not afford the new house AND my condo, and the prospect of trying to pay for both gave us both an ulcer.  Poor planning, you say. But, unfortunately, that is us -hehe. About three weeks before we married, I found a buyer -although she put me through TOTAL hell with her list of demands.  And being desperate, I had to comply.  A month before the wedding, we closed on our new house.  Brent moved into the house.  I packed up my condo.  We got married, honeymooned in St. Lucia for six days, returned home.  I closed on my condo two days after we returned from our honeymoon, and spent the entire day moving in the POURING down rain. But finally (sigh)!  Things were starting to fall into place.  Then we got the call.  Brent's parents, married for thirty-five years,were divorcing.  Were the stars lined up against us?