8 Years Is Only a Drop in the Bucket

Eight years ago today, I was squeezing into the laces of a pure, white gown.  I was forgetting to breathe and wanting the day to hurry hurry hurry but slowly; I wanted every second to be plucked from its timeline and examined before it could be placed back on the speeding light of wedding-day time.

Here's one series of seconds I remember with spotty clarity:

The church was empty, quiet.  Bridesmaids were hidden away somewhere, getting ready for the evening, but I was dressed.  I was sweaty.  I practiced my walk in heels that were never seen under the heaviness of the gown's skirt.  Inside the flowered sanctuary, through a rectangle window, my husband stood at the foot of the chancel's steps.

He stood as if ready for the ceremony to begin, hands clasped firmly behind his tuxedo'd back. 

I opened the door, and he saw me.  Without the halting processional music -- only silence -- I could hurry down the aisle to his side.  We were alone, except for the photographer who'd hidden himself outside the doors, protecting our first glimpse from other glimpses. 

I know brides are usually the focus of the day in terms of beauty and grace.  But oh -- my groom.  He glowed.  He glows.  He's warmth and light and comfort and strength.

In the space of seconds that we'd carved out to give each other before the excitement could begin, I remember wanting to sit down and bury my face in his neck.  I wondered why all the preparation had to keep us apart for so many hours of our day. 

What I don't remember is what we said.  I only remember how it felt to walk towards him in that dim, lofty sanctuary: floaty and pulled and desperate and hopeful and happy.  I'm certain I slipped my fingers into his and that I wasn't ready to be pulled away again before the ceremony could begin. 

I'm also certain that I still feel this way when I walk towards him, this glowing man of my dreams.  Pulled and desperate and happy.  It's compulsory, my walking towards him. 

And lucky for us, we've only had 8 short years of practice; there's still a lifetime left. 

Happy Anniversary, Justin -- I love you, I love you. 

And I love you.