There have been few times in my life so utterly blissful and emotionally uplifting as the few hours I spent at our wedding. It’s like I was from Kentucky, happy with my Appalachian peaks, and then I found out about the Grand Tetons. I mean, for mountain-top high by contrast to normal life. Sorry if that metaphor didn’t shine through the murky prose.
The funny thing was, everything up until I showed up at the co-op (we got married at an art co-op studio space… which I won’t explain unless I want to later) amounted to a particularly bad day. I was mad and anxious and hurried and disappointed and tired. My wedding day wasn’t all perfect. That’s fine. Our wedding, however, was.
I know you’re supposed to see your bride and either start crying or faint from her utter unspeakable beauty. And, don’t get me wrong - my wife, and on that day, my bride was utterly an unspeakable beauty… the sort that would make your throat get lumpy and your palms leak sweat like an old fishing boat run aground. But the moment that she descended a staircase to greet me with a smile and a wedding dress and the shine of her skin and eyes and the curl of her hair- at that moment, I was not overwhelmed, or even really able to take in all that I saw. I was relieved. It was over. The waiting for the pieces to be there was all done. And the rest of the afternoon and evening just rushed on by.
I think the photographer took pictures of us meeting. I had been standing out in the sun in my suit, and it is a dark gray suit, so I was hot, and my feet were tired. I can’t recall doing much prior to us jumping in a vehicle and driving to get pictures done.
It was nice taking pictures, but more posing that I thought natural or necessary. But I am not a professional photographer. I am just a husband who was a groom who wanted to have an awesome wedding, and did. So, we took pictures. Or, better said, pictures were taken of us. About us? With us? For us? A lot of things, yes. And they went fast.
We drove back to the co-op and people were already there. Like my father, absent-mindedly wandering on the other side of a busy street, waving to us. For more than an hour, we took a few family photos, but otherwise stood outside, greeting our guests as they arrived.
Maybe here is a good place to interject that this was not a normal wedding in oh so many ways. Like the fact that there was no bridesmaids or groomsmen or flower girls or ring bearers or candlelighters or other activity-laden positions, and must-have picture coordinations. The bride was seen by most everyone before the wedding. The guestbook hung on the wall on lots of paperclips beside photos and writing and all the best memories we could get our hands on. So, just get rid of your most basic wedding notions before you try to imagine all this - except for bride, groom, rings.
How wonderful it is to have everyone that shows up be someone you know. Everyone. Or, that’s how our wedding was. If the wedding was a mountain-top ecstasy, the guests arriving for more than an hour (the ability to arrive across a large span of time was the result of intentional scheduling) was like the last hundred feet of the hike to the top. I smiled like a sane madman.
Everyone was in the room, some sitting at some tables, some standing against the wall or stagger-seated up the staircase that my love had descended to see me just a few hours earlier. We stood in the middle. And there was no higher to go. My mind, not consciously nervous, was subliminally scared of imperfectly relaying the vows I had written, so I held a small sheet of paper and read aloud (with a small amount of improvisation as my eyes and mouth disconnected for a second) with the electricity of excitement buzzing through my fingers to hers. Could life be any better? It turns out, I still had a few steps to the top. My wife read her vows to me in a clear voice without a half-step hesitation. I choked back some tears and smiled as proud as I could be. I had my ring, and she had my ring. I had a new ring, and her name has a new ring. Even reliving it makes me short-breathed.
We kissed. It was not the kiss that stopped the world or even long enough to ensure great photographic memories, but it was simple and true and a good thing that I didn’t let my lips do the thinking, or I would’ve kissed her a thousand times during the ceremony before that point.
I wish I could tell you about the great message from the officiant, or the prayers stretched out over us, or the details that have still sizzled hot and smoky in my mind, but I can’t. Or maybe, I just don’t want to here.
The hardest part, if it was hard at all (but it was the best part, and it really wasn’t hard, just exciting), was over and the party just begun. Like a flood of snapshots out of sequence, I can remember just pieces of the rest. Incredible food when I could get some on my plate and stand for a second, talking with someone here, another few people here, a great-aunt and then a college roommate and a life-long friend. Brownie on a stick and breaded ravioli and awesome punch and everywhere, everyone talking, mingling, laughing, hugging, congratulating. All that I had wanted. I should say, all that we wanted.
And people left. There were hugs, and pictures, and the night drew in dark across the city. We finally left, almost seven hours after I had arrived, with empty bottles of Canada Dry dragging behind our little “Just Married” car. But the fun wasn’t over. We arrived at Tea Garden with a group of college friends and enjoyed the notoriety of being obviously just married on the corner of Hennepin and 26th on a Friday night for all to honk and wave as they passed by (there was no room inside, so we stood on the sidewalk and talked and took pictures and laughed and got our butt slapped [just me]).
And the adventure had just begun. I might get some time to tell about the non-private moments that followed this last week, some that are definitely worth retelling, and some that might fade out of all memory before I can get them typed up and put down forever. Or, since I guess this really isn’t “forever”, just for a long time, I hope. My wife and I are together as long as we’re both alive. That’s a long time, I hope. It’s been awesome already. Good night.