Nine years ago today, I married my best friend.
September 14th, 2001 was not our chosen wedding day. It was September 11th. Instead of getting married, I spent that Tuesday trying to make sense of the world. I remember that it was a beautiful, sunny day so we went for a drive around the city with no destination in mind. We saw the Coast Guard close to shore, helicopters over head, newsies popped up on street corners literally calling “Read all about it”. The day was surreal to say the least.
On Wednesday we had a Buddhist ceremony and Marc’s parents threw us a wedding banquet. The Buddhist ceremony was all they cared about but technically, we should have already had the civil ceremony out of the way. We still didn’t know when City Hall was going to open and when they would be able to reschedule us. We didn’t mention this to his family.
On Thursday we wondered if we would be able to go to China that Sunday for our honeymoon as planned. And if so, would we actually be married on our honeymoon?
After a few days of uncertainty, we were married that Friday morning and our honeymoon was delayed by two weeks. We had already been together for 7 years, so a few days made no difference to us. We were happy to be married. We were happy to start our marriage with a great adventure. Many were not so lucky.
In case you’re wondering, I am the world’s worst bride. I ate gorgonzola mac and cheese the day before the wedding; I picked my ring out 6 days before the wedding; I wore a denim jacket; my $50 dress was rumpled and my hair was messy. These were not the details I cared about.
I only cared that I was happy. I still am.