A Perfect Day

I saw the proofs from my wedding day last night. More than 400 of them. And they all told the same story - one I'd known in my heart and saw very clearly, proof positive, as I looked at the evidence. Saturday, August 4th, 2007 was a perfect day. The start of a happy life. Even now, four days later, as I sit alone in my office with a book to start, a kitchen full of stuff to put away, bills to pay and a house to find, a yard to weed and a bathroom to clean, I can't stop smiling. I am married to the man who is perfect for me.

Saturday started out good. I woke up. Thought about the day ahead, the things that had to happen before everything would fall into place - decorations to oversee, people to meet with for last minute details, arrangements to check. I should have been jumping up, getting on with it, pushing forward, making it happen. Instead, I laid in bed and smiled. I was getting married. Today I was going to hear him say "I do." I couldn't wait. Nothing else mattered.

And that is exactly how the day progressed. I could look back on it and find things that should have happened differently - that had been scripted to happen differently - and who cares? My beloved and I went to breakfast. I couldn't eat much, but it all smelled good. And the diet coke was good. Mostly, I was sitting snuggled up to Tim and was content.

Then it was time to present ourselves at the Bed & Breakfast where everything was to take place. We had two hours to speak with those who were handling our wedding details, to oversee the final preparations, to change out of the sweats we were wearing, before we were to meet with the minister for a session and sanctify private vows that we wrote to each other. The most incredible thing about those vows were not so much what they said, but what they showed both of us. Everything Tim had written spoke to everything inside of me. He knew exactly what I needed. He knew me. And he said the same thing about my vows to him. I hit every single need he had as I made my promises to him. It was an incredible experience. Those there with us - the minister, the photographer, and our dear Iris who's been with us from the beginning of our wedding journey and took care of us all day on Saturday - just kept talking about how moved they were.

After that we were to start getting ready in earnest for the big event. Time to move. To make it happen. So many things to do. So little time. Tim and I went outside on the front porch overlooking rambling acreage of green and trees and rocked in big white wooden rockers, holding hands, talking. Always talking. I can't get enough of listening to that man. I love his theories. His way of looking at life and the world. I love how he challenges my thinking. And listens to me.

Eventually we did have to move. Mostly because my hairdresser arrived. I was whisked off to the bridal suite where for the next two and a half hours I was tended to - and visited - by my mother, my fourth grade school friend, my aunt, my precious little Claire baby, and my cousin who was acting as wedding coordinator and handled every crisis there might have been so I didn't know there were any. My hair was curled, it seemed like one strand at a time. It went up. The antique pill box hat was in place. Along with the veil. I had on the Victorian wedding gown I'd found. The overall decision was that the beading I'd done on it made the dress. The train swished behind me as I moved. Claire Claire visited again and told me "Aunt Tia, you look beeauutiful! Just like Ella!" Ella is in one of her movies. A take off of Cinderella.

The guests were all seated. I could see them out in the gazebo from my second stoy window. It was time to start. And then the rumble came. Followed by a downpour that wasn't even going to pretend to be just a sprinkle. People started to get tense. Looking to keep me calm. To assure me that all would be fine while they scrambled to find the best choices to make. And as I watched it all, as if from someplace above me, I thought about getting tense. About panicking. And all I could do was say, no big deal. Let's get everyone inside and get married in front of the fireplace in the front room. We can use the CD player in there for the wedding song and by the time we're done, the deejay will have had time to move his equipment up to the house for the reception. All I needed was a place to hear Tim say I do. As far as I was concerned that could happen in the bathroom in which I was standing. A few minutes later my cousin appeared to say that people were standing in the living room. I thought chairs for them would be a good idea. I waited a few minutes more. And the next thing I knew, Tim was leaving the room next door, where he'd changed and had been waiting. He walked down the long, golden wood staircase. I could hear the music start. And my mother, who'd been with me for the past hour, said it was time to go. I'd thought I'd be making the trek alone. As I've felt like I've done so many things in my life. Instead, she was walking down with me - in front of me. And so we went.

My mom looked beautiful. She'd bought a deep red suit for the occasion, with shoes that matched perfectly. I can't remember a time in recent histoy when she looked so elegant, and completely pretty. She was wearing the coin pearl earrings I'd brought back from Hawaii for her. I had on mine, too, though we hadn't planned that. As I followed her down those stairs, I knew that I was experiencing another perfect moment in a perfect day.

My bouquet was shaking as I joined Tim and the minister at the front of the living room. The bouquet was exquisite - deep red roses, babies breath, and ribbon. I have it hanging here in my office now, next to Tim's red rose, where they'll dry and be preserved forever.

We stood together, one on each side of the minister, our hands locked behind his back, as the wedding song played out. And then the ceremony began. We'd chosen a traditional ceremony, with words about the first marriage in the garden of Eden, and the apostle Paul and Christ. And then the moment I'd been waiting for, anticipating was upon us. Tim said I do. With a look in his eye that told me that he meant those words with every fiber of his being. He wanted to be mine as badly as I wanted to be his.

And then, being me, I messed up tradition just a bit. After the exchange of rings, and the lighting of the unity candle, where our two flames became one, the minsiter started his piece about the power invested in him and pronounced us man and wife and before he could finish, while his voice continued with words about no man putting asunder, I let out a huge Yes! and threw my arms around Tim's neck, where they stayed through the rest of the ceremony. And finally, finally he told Tim he could kiss his bride.

We'd already way beat him to that one.

The rest of the evening was more than I'd envisioned. We'd kept the party small for many reasons, but mostly so that Tim and I could be focused on each other. We were able to move from table to table and visit with every single one of our guests. My brother and his wife were constants, corralling their babies who, instead of getting in the way, WERE the way. Little Bubby danced. Three year old Claire presented herself at the feet of Tim's much taller than her older brother and asked him to dance. Emma watched, and smiled and was a sweet presence everywhere among the mixture of people. There were family friends dating back from the time I was in third grade, cousins from Michigan, Tim's daughters, a close work associate. Even the little girl I babysat in high school - my first baby - was there, all grown up. I hadn't seen her since she was five or six years old.

We danced. We ate. My mother made a toast about winding roads straightening out that I will never forget. There was quite a gathering of single women to catch the bouquet. Emma and Courtney caught it together. Interestingly enough, there wasn't one single man in the group, so we decided that whoever caught the garter would get lucky that night, instead of getting hitched in the near future. My cousin's husband, Bob, caught the garter. My little Bubby wore it on his head for the rest of the night. I think we all got lucky.

We missed my daughter greatly, but took time to invite her presence into our space. Remembering her, speaking of her. Loving her. Understanding that she was in her own place, where she needed to be. And looking forward to the time when her space and ours will once again be the same.

And then, even the end of the day was lovely. The guests who had to drive back to Dayton and Columbus started to leave until eventually there were only those of us who were staying in the rooms at the Bed & Breakfast - and, of course, Iris. We opened gifts. We visited. We talked about the day. Peace and happiness encapsulated us, filled us.

Peace and happiness are in my heart now. I've been writing about this kind of love, the kind that is exciting, compelling, but goes far beyond that to a place of perfect rightness, for most of my life. I've penned (okay, computered) more than 45 novels on the subject, and finally, I can tell you that I know what I'm talking about.

Read the books. Live the life. It's all real. It's all good. In the end, it's all there should be.

ttq