We were married on July 9, 1976, on a blistering hot Friday night in Michigan, in an old (unairconditioned) Catholic church. I was a bit nervous, hadn’t eaten much that day, and was wearing a high-necked, long sleeved gown.
On returning from the greeting of peace, I felt my head start to swim. I started to perspire. I saw lights flashing. When I came to, I was lying (spread eagle, no less) on the floor of the chancel. When I had pulled myself (and my legs) together, we finished the ceremony sitting in chairs placed at the front of the church, and listened as the soloist sang the song we had chosen: “The Wedding Song” by Paul Stookey of Peter, Paul and Mary.
Today, nearly thirty one years later, I was sitting at my desk when that song started to play. I was overwhelmed with the thought of all that has transpired in those years: childbirth and raising, buying homes, cross-country moves, him supporting me through medical school, playing together in bands all that time. I sat at my desk with tears streaming down my face.
DH was off in another room at the clinic, and came and kissed me on the cheek, saying “I heard them playing our song!”
It is impossible to remember everything that has happened in a thirty plus year marriage, but we can easily look back and say “we’ve come a long way, baby.”
And still have miles to go before we rest.
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