Wedding Day - Not Just a Party and a Piece of Paper

Quibbit and I went to see the Sex and the City Movie last week, and the next day I said to him "I'm sure glad I watched all the SATC episodes in syndication ... I don't think the movie would have made as much sense to me if I hadn't. You really needed the context of the series to understand the impact."

Quibbit replied, "I think the movie was understandable either way. You're not so much talking about knowledge, as you're talking about appreciation".

Wow, he'd just said a mouthful.

I think every New York woman who has ever poured out her heart onto a computer screen while living in a yes-it's-cramped-but-it's-so-centrally-located! Manhattan (or Manhattan adjacent) apartment has fancied herself a Carrie Bradshaw of sorts. Everyone, of course, except Sarah Jessica Parker herself who admits to having no sense of fashion and never wearing heels in her own life. I bet if she took the quiz she'd find herself mid-way between a Miranda and a Charlotte.

Anyway, this isn't about the Sex and The City movie (except tangentially) (Although is it still necessary for me to say "spoiler alert?" Well ... I don't give the entire plot away ... but for the purists: Spoiler Alert). As I was saying, this isn't about SATC. This is about weddings vs. marriage, the difference between your best friend and the one who understands you best, and, as Quibbit says, the difference between understanding something vs. really appreciating it.

I haven't posted much about my upcoming wedding for a few reasons. The chief reason is that Quibbit's mom's death took up a lot of space in my heart, and made anything associated with the wedding very bittersweet. It's really difficult to plan such a joyous occasion knowing that someone you love will be missing.

The other reason is that I'm just not a Bridezilla, and since I'm an events coordinator for a living, this is really not something I need to document appointment by appointment, step by step and decision by decision. (We're having black magic roses in the bouquet! We're getting an antique Rolls Royce limo! My dress has a colored panel! Ugh, there are a thousand wedding blogs that deconstruct every dang element. If you want to hear drivel like that, please ... have at it.)

Unlike Carrie Bradshaw, I've never had this cadre of women who surrounded me -- in fact aside from a few short bursts that occurred in my mid-twenties, once I passed college I never had a group of friends at all. Or, to clarify a "group of friends". I have a lot of friends, and a solid number of friends I would put in that close circle, but we don't all hang out together the way Carrie and her gang do. Partly because for a long time I lived in a few different worlds and a lot of the women I held dear didn't really mix. Sure, they got along well when we'd gather for the milestone birthdays, but as far as a "Hey, I'm hanging out with the girls" type thing, well, that just never was my life. I'm more of a one-on-one type friend.

When I got engaged it made sense, emotionally, to ask my oldest friend to be my Maid of Honor. Not because I didn't value other friendships just as much, but more because she and I went through many watershed moments together, and there wasn't a big thing that ever happened to me that I didn't share with her. For most women, it makes sense that your sister, or (in my only-child case) your known-her-since-birth friend should automatically take that spot next to you as you stand up before everyone and declare to love one man for the rest of your life.
But it makes more sense if that woman who stands in that spot of honor not only knows the gravity of the day ... but appreciates it. As Quibbit says, it's understandable either way, but there's a difference between knowledge and appreciation.

After 4 months of being my MOH, but being more MIA than MOH, Ookanuba decided to admit that there was somewhere else she needed to be on my wedding day that took precedence. She'd been weighing the choices heavily, but ultimately -- to me -- if there was a choice at all, then there really was no choice. Her debate was succinct but heartfelt: "I've been here for the last 30 odd years, and I'll be here for the next 30 odd years ... it's really just one day."

She's right. Technically, it is just one day. Just like the day you're born is just one day, and the day your loved one dies is just one day, and the day you get a promotion is just one day. September 11th was just one day. In a very factual, clinical, scientific distillation -- these are all just days that line up one after another, and things happen as they happen.

Similarly, Shakespeare was just a man. The Sistine Chapel is just a building. The Olympics is just a game. You can reduce anything to it's basic element. But then there wouldn't be heroes, landmarks, shrines, or holidays, or dreams to aspire to. Money is just paper. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

I once heard something about the concept of faith ... that for those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not -- no explanation will do. If you don't put sacredness in this one day -- there is no magic phrase I can conjure that will make you do so.

I possibly would have understood the other side of this debate better if it came as a reality check on how I'd become carried away with the day and the glitter and the shine and the distraction. Or if I realized I'd put more preparation in 10.18.08 and completely ignored the preparation for the days that follow -- the actual marriage. But I'm not 25 anymore -- I don't have it in me to be distracted by what's born itself out as the window dressing. I love a good party. But I love a good life with a good partner even more. And Quibbit and I have been preparing for Marriage, Capital M much more than wedding ... small w.

As Carrie said to Mr. Big -- "It's just us ...". While Big saw Carrie making their day into "a circus" (big dress, huge guest list, coverage in the tabloids) she just saw the joy of celebrating the thing she'd wanted for so long. Quibbit, of course, is no Mr. Big. In fact, he's always been more Aiden than Big (as evidenced by the fact that he even WENT to see the SATC movie with me) -- so he knows it's just us. We haven't gotten lost in the details. We've been reveling in them, and (when they get overwhelming or odd) discarding those that don't work for us. We're not doing anything because it's 'how it's done'. We're doing everything because it's how we want it done.

Ultimately a wedding day is not just another day but with a big party. Marriage is not just a piece of paper. We are all the architects of our own relationships, nothing says that anything needs to follow a certain routine in order for your relationship to mean something ... to have validity, and to have gravity. But if you do chose to get married, your wedding day is the moment you take a step that solidifies something important to you; your love for one person that is so strong that you vow to partner with them for all that life has to offer be it curve balls, celebrations, milestones, upheavals or just the daily grind. A lot of people have been fighting for a long time to have the choice to sign that piece of paper. Tell Ellen and Portia that it's just another day. Tell every other same sex couple who want to pledge their love for each other in front of their friends and their family that it's just a piece of paper.

Taking someone else into your world as a mate is taking on all that they are. Their failures become yours, their successes become yours, and vice versa. It's not just a big party. It's not just a random day.

But I'm the type of person who celebrates anything -- it's part of the reason I went into the events management industry. Because I love gathering people in a room and creating a joyful energy that builds and builds, that binds everyone together and that creates a magical experience. Why WOULDN'T you want everyone one you love to gather in one big room, celebrating your happiness with you -- and making it theirs too? Why DOES everyone jump up, silly as it always is, the minute those first notes of NEW YORK, NEW YORK are played, and self-deprecatingly (or often just drunkenly) release themselves over to the ritual of the faux Rockettes kick line? Because it's a ritual. Because it's a common joy. Because, for a moment, we're all in each other's paths and we're all part of something bigger than ourselves. Now, if we all do it for a 30 year old Frank Sinatra tune, why wouldn't we do it for 2 people in love? (And, for the record, NY NY is not on my "must play" list. But I begrudge NO ONE their moment).

Back to why I even want to get married: Quibbit is the one person in the world who was able to strip away the hardened, cynical, sarcastic layers that had formed around me and make it okay to be vulnerable. He made me soft enough to be able to fall, because he'd always catch me. But he also made me strong enough to catch him when he stumbled. Loving Quibbit has been the most amazing journey I've ever made, and marrying Quibbit is the most amazing road map to a lifetime of future journeys. I don't want my MOH to just know that, or to understand it, but to fully appreciate it. So, as shocking as it -- I had to realize that Ookanuba can have knowledge of what a wedding means to her -- but not the appreciation of what it means to me. Neither of us is right, and neither of us is wrong -- again, we are all the architects of our own lives with the gift of working with our own rules. However, in order to participate as an Honor Attendant in someone else's momentous day, you DO need to be on the same page about what it means. You don't need to agree about the dress, the flowers, the choice of music, the limo, the venue, the cake, the shoes, the first dance, the color scheme, the wedding favors or the seating arrangement. The truth of the matter is, I don't particularly care what anyone thinks about the choices we've made for our wedding day. I care that Quibbit and I are happy, harmonious, always striving for growth, always working to be the best people we can be individually, and the best couple we can be together. We enhance each other, but we don't substitute each other for what we've already put in place be it friends, hobbies, or interests. We don't compromise for each other, but we do cooperate with each other. We communicated, we trust, and above all -- we make life happy for each other.

I waited an awfully long time to meet the love of my life, and I'm grateful that I'm a full-blown adult going into this marriage. Our relationship is the culmination of everything I'd set in motion alone for years. Why WOULDN'T I want to celebrate something so powerful? Every couple is unique unto themselves, and only the two people involved knows what goes on between them.

I've been lucky enough to be blessed with friends who are smart and understanding. When I called up Di to ask her if she'd step in as my MOH ... she agreed wholeheartedly, completely understanding that being asked second doesn't make you second choice. She'd unwittingly been my stand in MOH for all these months anyway, and someone who is precisely the person I know respects this huge step I'm about to take. I'm actually grateful that things worked out as they did, a feeling a peace came over me the minute all the pieces fell into place.

So ultimately, our little quartet is harmonious again -- Quibbit and I standing up for each other and promising to love, honor, and support each other ... and our two Honor Attendants who believe in our love, and the commitment we're making to our love, and our life together. Two wonderful people who believe in supporting us the way we choose to do it because they don't just understand us ... but they appreciate what it means to us.

Not just a party.

Not just a piece of paper.

Not just another day.

While I Was Out -OR- On Becoming a Grown Up

I knew I wasn't a baby anymore the day I could put my own socks on; I'd always had a little trouble getting them over the heel.

It was the early 70s and I was getting ready for kindergarten, sitting in the middle of my parent's bed … a song about a girl named Ruby was coming out of the tinny clock radio The shadow on the wall // Tells me the sun is going down // Oh Ruby don't take your love to town … and I was straining to get my heel into my sock. My finger was wedged, the sock was tight and cutting off circulation. I was yelling for my mom to come do it for me, come slip on that sock with that magic way she had. Then all of a sudden … POP. My foot was in. I was done. The song was still playing. I was absolutely amazed at my new powers. When mom came in to ask why I was yelling I told her about Ruby. She walked away like it was any other moment, like any other day … but it wasn't. For this one small thing, I didn't need her anymore. Some rites of passage are easy.

The other kind … the hard kind … well, that's the rite of passage I've been going through for the past few months. It's hard to write a blog that centers on frivolity when your days are centered on trying to figure out what life is all about.

Throughout my whole relationship with Quibbit I'd been distracted by how sick his mom Cindy was. She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after we'd started dating and by the time I made it to his home town in Michigan for that first visit she greeted us in a wig – all her hair gone from radiation and chemo. Still, her smile was wide, and her eyes were bright with excitement at meeting me. Her huge heart made it easy to forget her wig ... and what having to wear one really meant.

When she went into remission it was a short victory and then it was a long un-victory as she realized she hadn't beaten this awful disease at all. She had, of course, hidden the worst from the ones she loved best, and by doing so ripped the band aid off quickly in the end, when it was too late for anyone to understand what was happening with enough time to make sense of it. Although, really, no amount of time would have ever been enough to make sense of it.

As time went on Cindy's illness was around me all the time, you couldn't take about her without thinking in terms of months or years … well, really just months. She called Quibbit one afternoon with concerns about how all TVs would have to be digital in 2009, but all I could think was ... "Will she be around long enough?" Every day, little things like that popped into my head. When setting a wedding date we chose the fall, just 8 months away ... hoping of course but still wondering Will she be around long enough?

I called Cindy optimistic to the point of delusion. I couldn’t tell if she really didn't find her illness all that daunting, or if she just recognized it and then decided to forget that she recognized it. (I think it was the latter; Cindy had been a nurse for all of her adult life. She had seen. She knew.) Whichever one … we found out about the cancer spreading to her bones and liver in an aside during a regular conversation. She might have been talking about an eye exam.

When we found out about the brain tumors we decided to go visit for Christmas. The fact that it took forever to get there was more tragic than a loss of time. For Quibbit, who saw his mom so infrequently, it was a loss of the balance of his mother's days.

Sitting with her one morning as she laughed gaily about this and that, serving up a breakfast that seemed to never end, she seemed particularly alive, in a way that only a dying person can seem. Her zest was unwavering, and she pulled out every ounce of herself in that trip, knowing that even it wasn't the last Christmas with her son, it was the next to last. How do you reconcile a visit that is saturated with the fact that this may be the last time that everything is normal?

Two months later, when Quibbit and I got engaged, Cindy was thrilled -- of all the parents, she was the happiest and the one looking most forward to having me as part of the family. When we called her on the cab ride home that night he joy leaped through the phone lines.

When my mom and dad spoke with her on the phone a few weeks later, Quibbit had high expectations of everyone getting along and laughing about things they found they had in common. He expected the conversation to go on for hours; of course I think it squeaked by at just under 5 minutes. Granted, everyone was a virtual stranger and miles away, not expecting to meet each other before the wedding, and not expecting to see much of each other after that. I think Cindy would have liked that to have been different. I think she would have liked a lot of 2008 to be different.

During the phone call my dad asked her if she was coming to the wedding. Unsaid were things like "if you're well enough to travel" … and of course anything past that.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Late April Quibbit was on the phone with his sister and suddenly the truth came out; there had been doctor's visits and the news was bad. Three months, if nothing went wrong, three months for Cindy to live. If nothing went wrong.

Quibbit, always so calm and good, always the one to talk me off the ledge as I let things spin out of control, sat in his office and went numb; he never asks me for anything but that day he asked me to come get him and take him home.

We sat in a diner near my house and talked about what his sister had said; what was true, what was conjecture, what was speculation. Cindy had insisted that the news had been mis-conveyed – that three months was a worst case scenario, not a best. If someone could change anything with sheer force of will, this would have been one of those times.

There was a lot of crying. A lot of dark moments, a lot of existentialism. How do you reconcile your life when you're told you've got 3 months to live? How do you process that information? How do you admit that you're not ready? How do you say goodbye?

So much of the wedding plans were done with Cindy in mind; I wanted her to have a trip to New York that not only showed the excitement, joy, and rush of the city, but also one that reflected the life her son had created so far away from their little Michigan town. I wanted her to see how we lived. I wanted her to know.

We planned to go there for Mother's Day which fell on Quibbit's birthday this year, but then got a call. Things were bad. The liver cancer had turned Cindy jaundiced and she was being rushed to the hospital, 2 hours away. The doctor advised that if we were going to go … we should get going. We arrived on Sunday, May 4^th.

On May 8^th I sent out this note:

Last night, on May 7th, at around 9:00pm Quibbit's mother Cindy passed away. As many of you may know, she had been battling breast cancer which eventually spread to her liver, bones and brain.

Quibbit had gotten a call just 2 weeks ago that his mom's cancer was advancing very aggressively and that a new tumor had been discovered in her brain stem. The prognosis was 3 months.

Quibbit and I made plans to visit Cindy for Mother's Day, but by last weekend phone calls from his family confirmed that Mother's Day might be too late; so we arrived here on Sunday night instead.

Cindy was at Saint Mary's Cancer Treatment Hospital in Grand Rapids, just a few miles away from where Quibbit's married sister lives. The first night we got there Cindy was weak but still very engaged, and so happy to see us. We were able to show her photos from the night Quibbit proposed to me, and share some stories with her. She was tired, but happy. Still, we were told that the cancer was advancing rapidly, and we could see signs of that.

On Monday night Quibbit and I held an Intention Ceremony at Cindy's bedside; the Pastor came and did a blessing on our intention to marry, and we closed it with Cindy's blessing and a shared prayer. It broke our hearts to know that she wouldn't be able to make the trip to New York City and enjoy the wonderful party we're planning. It meant a lot to her to be able to participate in our marriage, and we were so happy to be able to do a ceremony before she began to fade even more.

On Tuesday Cindy was transported to the Faith Hospice, also in Grand Rapids. The space was beautiful, peaceful and filled with a caring, comforting staff. By the time Cindy was settled in she was only able to speak in short sentences.

The family gathered around her, sharing stories, singing her favorite hymns, sometimes being quite in the dark, and sometimes having joyful, lively conversations for her benefit since she was always so social and loved a good gathering. Even though she was now only able to indicate "yes" and "no" with some noises, she was still able to respond with laughter when I told a funny story in a broad southern accent. Hearing that laughter meant the world to me, and showed just how strong her spirit was, despite how weak her body was growing.

By yesterday it was clear that she could only hang on a few hours longer; Quibbit had sat beside his mother's bed all night long, comforting her, giving her whatever she needed and sleeping when he could. As we took turns keeping vigil it was hard to see her growing weaker and weaker ... hard to know that she herself was going through a period of transition which was frightening her. We all did what we could to make the journey easier for her.

By last night Quibbit and his sister were singing the hymns Cindy had picked out for her funeral, and she was facing them ... her breath shallow, her eyes unfocused, but her spirit finding comfort in the sound of her children's voices. It was some time during their singing that she quietly passed away. And while this happened far too quickly than any of us would have wanted, and while the end was very difficult and uncomfortable, I think that she went as gently and as peacefully as any of us could have wished.

It's been hard to get back into the swing of things since coming back home.

It's been hard for me to weigh what matters and yet of course, everything matters. I've been swaying between true sadness and loss and not wanting to plan a wedding at all -- to the other extreme of wanting to have the most joyful, celebratory, huge event of all, because that's what Cindy would have wanted. And ultimately, every day that we're here, alive, at peace, and fully engaged in everyone and everything around us is a day to celebrate.

Things like keeping up with a blog, at least in these last few months, have seemed as insignificant as putting on socks in the morning. And yet, I remember when putting on my socks alone was a huge victory. It was the first thing I remember doing without my mom. And I can't help but see this as another milestone, the tougher kind, but one nonetheless that has always been inevitable. It's meant to be this way -- you do one thing without your mom, and then another, and another, and eventually you must accept having to do everything without your mom.

So I'll put on my socks, and tomorrow I'll do it again, and so will Quibbit. And one day soon, when I walk down that aisle and see Quibbit waiting for me, I'll see his mom sitting in that first row, beaming at us, blessing us, and loving us as much as she can. She may have walked out of the room for a minute, but soon enough she'll join her heart with ours and celebrate all the wonderful gifts we've been given while we're here. And she'll be as beautiful as ever.