My husband came from a deeply Irish Catholic family. His older sister married in the church. His brother's wedding was not Catholic, but it was at least Christian. I wanted a civil ceremony with our own vows and something that had no religious overtones at all. I was always grateful that his brother broke the ice there, at least he was the first to not have a priest.
We didn't go fancy, we were poor college students. My ring was a plain band with a small engagement ring that was similar to this one. I still felt like a queen wearing that diamond.
His mother didn't travel. Getting her to take a day-long car trip was a bit of a miracle. Here we were asking her to fly to Denver for the wedding. Until we met the plane at the airport we had no idea if my DH's mom would be coming in, or if we would be picking up his sister in her stead. Fortunately, she managed to actually get onto the plane and fly west for the wedding. We were very grateful that she conquered her fears just for us. I thought she would, though. My DH was her favorite child, even as his brother was his father's favorite.
We bucked convention - cultural, religious, and regional, bringing two lives together that spanned the midsection of the United States. We faced the odds of joining two people who really didn't have that much in common, and we made our own payoff. And as I get frustrated now and again with his stubbornness and mood swings, I look back on our history together and yes - I still love him. I suppose that's why we're still together and celebrating tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment