It really was like any other wedding. It rained all day. The flowers arrived at the very last minute. The photographer, who was hired without references out of sheer desperation, showed up in just a vest, without a shirt underneath. Granted, it was a nice vest, but still, my mother was there and I had had trouble convincing her to come to the ceremony as it was. Just minutes before I was to be married, I was sent to pick up not only my mother, but also the minister, who were at a distant hotel and didn't know how to get to the art gallery–turned–wedding chapel for the blessed event.
But, through it all, I tried to look at the upside of being distracted on my wedding day, keeping the nerves at bay. And, as if a present from heaven, the rain let up just before the event, and a bashful sun sent its rays through a break in the clouds. And once I saw my husband-to-be, in a handsome powder blue shirt and eyes overflowing with love for me, every other care of the day melted away.
The short ceremony went without a hitch (except for us getting hitched at the end of it!), yet surprises still awaited us. At the reception, one of our guests with a severe nut allergy had a reaction to some mole sauce on his appetizer. Doctors were called for, our new-agey minister performed "reiki" over him, an ambulance arrived, and we were asked to return to our meals after our semiconscious friend was whisked away to the nearest hospital, almost 60 miles away. No one could eat, worried as we were. The day which was supposed to be about us, became suddenly about someone else. I felt cheated, but also guilty for such selfish feelings.
We heard late that evening, from a friend who accompanied him, that once our friend was poked in the thigh with an EpiPen in the ambulance, he recovered quickly. They both arrived back at the house we were renting early the next morning, tired and embarrassed. By that point, we were simply relieved and ready to begin married life, armed with stories we could retell the rest of our lives together.
So, you see, it really was like any other wedding, full of hope, love, challenges, and laughter.
Well, that and that the wedding was held in Provincetown, Massachusetts, between two men.
But that was the least significant in my mind of the events of the day...and hope those reading this agree.
Happy Freedom to Marry Week, everyone!
Orange here: I wanted to write something for Freedom to Marry Week and asked my friend Dave if he had any ideas for me. He graciously offered to write a guest post about his wedding. Thanks, Dave, and Happy Valentine's Day to you and the mister!
My oldest and dearest friend—we became best friends when we were 14, lo these many (many!) years ago—is an expectant parent. Her partner is halfway through her pregnancy. Thanks to unenlightened restrictions on who can marry and how "parent" is defined, they must spend two grand so that the non-gestating mommy can legally adopt the baby whose conception she planned and was present for, whose first ultrasound picture she proudly e-mailed out last week. I don't see how it serves society that this baby's parents cannot be married, that they can't obtain the basic family protections of marriage without spending a boatload more money on legal fees. And sheesh, babies are expensive enough as it is without tacking on the cost of legal documents.
I'm resigned to the likelihood that next year's major-party nominees for president will both publicly state their opposition to same-sex marriage rights. But I am hopeful that by 2012 or 2016, support for gay marriage will no longer be considered political poison, and that state and federal recognition of marriage rights will blanket the land.