Thirteen years ago today I found myself all alone. I was in a small room off to the side of the altar in St. Mary’s, and my best man—brother Jay—had just gone to the back of the church to check on things, make sure (as is his wont) that all was running smoothly.
So I paced around the little room, checked my bow tie, attempted in vain to listen to the music—something by Bach, I think, although I don’t recall what—and tried not to feel the way I was feeling: a bit nervous, although that was mainly stage fright (and well deserved, as I did indeed blow one of my lines, as had been predicted at the rehearsal dinner).
And most of all, I felt incredibly lonely. My big day and I was all by myself. I felt very small and very young and very alone.
And then Jay came back and assured me that all was well and we got the sign and moved out to the front of the altar and a minute later the trio kicked into “Here Comes the Bride” and I caught sight of my best friend in the whole world walking down the aisle towards me, more beautiful than I ever could have imagined a human could possibly look.
And with two small and resulting exceptions—coming back to the apartment alone late at night/early in the morning after the birth of our first child, and then a few years later coming back to the apartment alone very early in the morning after Max was diagnosed with leukemia—that was the last time I was lonely.
Since then I’ve often had more company than a hermit like me is really designed for. And yet I still never get nearly enough time with Top Management. Because it’s not possible to.
Best of all, we’re just getting warmed up. Top Management has somehow managed to grow even more beautiful than she was on our wedding day. And for reasons which utterly elude me, she still doesn’t seem to have gotten completely tired of me yet.
So. Thirteen years down, a lifetime left to go.
Happy anniversary, love of my life.