I met my husband Jorge at the entrance of our church in July, 1985. He took a shine to me from the moment he saw me, whereas my love for him took many years to grow, and finally blossom. I really thought he was a very silly young man, and I didn't understand why he wanted to be my friend -- which is what he said he wanted. In truth, he wanted much, much more, but my dear Jorge was one of the most patient men on the face of the earth.

He did ask me to marry him at least twice, during a period of about 19 years, and both times I told him I didn't see a future for us. He said, "Let's be friends!" which is something I heard from a lot of guys in those days of my youth; yet Jorge turned out to be one of the best friends a woman could hope for.

He was there for me more often than not; I could cry on his shoulder (even when another guy dumped me); he walked my dog for me; he helped me do laundry in the middle of the night; and when my Grandma died, he went out in a snowstorm to buy some personal hygiene products for me. These items were so personal, that he didn't even want to ask for help in finding them from the store's sales staff. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Jorge is one of the funniest people I know. He is very gifted in making people laugh, including me. He can actually accomplish this by making fun of me, without incurring my wrath. One day we were sitting side by side on my grandmother's sofa. As I began to stand up, Jorge decided he would bend to one side, and rest his head where I had been sitting. At that very moment, I changed my mind and sat down -- on his head.

I immediately stood up again, but it was too late. We were both laughing. His words: "Did anybody get the license of that truck?"

In spite of myself, I laughed even harder. Yes, we were both laughing at me -- at my ample rear end landing on Jorge's head. There was no shame, no anger, just unbridled merriment. That was the kind of friendship we had.

Did he ever go too far in his teasing remarks? Yes, occasionally, but not intentionally, and I would let him know. We were very comfortable together.

Jorge is also one of the kindest and most compassionate people I know. He loves to help people. His work with the Red Cross, especially during the aftermath of 9/11, left an indelible impression on me. He felt bad when he didn't spend much time with me during those months, but I told him that if he didn't, he would be miserable. He never forgot that. We were growing more in tune with one another.

We were there for each other at family weddings, at hospital deathbed vigils and wakes, or when either of us lost a job and needed a friend to give a hug and some comforting words. We attended the same church, so I can't even count the number of services and church meetings we attended together, or the times we hung around together between services, just passing the time. We had many of the same friends and knew each other's families.

There was a long time when I thought Jorge wouldn't be responsible enough for married life. But then there was Ben, a boy he tutored in the Bronx, his "little brother." Ben eventually became his godson, and eventually Ben's baby sister became his goddaughter. When I saw how devoted he was to visiting little Ben, and making sure he and his mother were alright, my concerns about Jorge's ability to be responsible slowly vanished. Ben is now 25 years old, with a job and a girlfriend of his own.

One by one, the eligible young women in my family got married -- and they were all younger than I was. My independence and autonomy, which I once cherished, started looking less and less important. I started to realize that I was getting older and that I was living alone.

Where could I find someone who I could love -- someone who I was compatible with? And when I did, what would I do about Jorge? I suddenly realized that if I found someone I wanted to marry, it would be impossible to maintain my friendship with Jorge. It was far too close to an actual romance; it was a relationship. We were sweethearts. I couldn't have both him, and someone else. I didn't want anyone else! I resolved in my heart that the next time he proposed to me, my answer would be, Yes.

I had a conversation with my Mom. I said, "If things keep going in the direction I think they're going in, I think Jorge and I are going to get married."

My mother is a force to be reckoned with. I make my own decisions, but her input means a lot. And she said, "If that is what you want, I'm happy for you."

It wasn't long after that, when Jorge brought up the subject again, because we had indeed been growing closer. He said, "I have to ask you a question."

We had actually been discussing some romantic things, but not marriage itself. So he did catch me slightly by surprise, but at the same time, he was a little more cautious than he had been in the past. "If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?"

I was ready for him! "I would say, yes!" was my shocking reply.

He was surprised, indeed. The next thing out of his mouth was, "What about your mother?"

"I've already taken care of that," I answered glibly, shocking my longtime suitor, once again. I then explained to him about my recent conversation with Mom. Jorge and I embraced there, on the sofa. It was a few days after New Year's Day, in 2003. I had just made him a very happy man. We were both elevated onto a cloud of love and joy that lasted well past our wedding day in 2004, and beyond.