Eight years ago today, I was an hour and a half late to see you. You still tease me about that, but I know you will always be there waiting.
You skydived into the church but I wasn't there to see it. It was the first time that I hadn't been waiting on you to land. I have learned that I don't always have to be there for everything to be copacetic.
It rained that day. Actually, it poured just as I was reaching the church. It cooled off the mountains and washed away our previous lives. It served as a sign that things wouldn't always be perfect, but the sun would shine again.
I forgot to throw away my gum and was horrified that I'd be one of those brides who either smacks their mouth the entire time or passes out from locking their knee caps. So I handed it to my father. Poor dad, always standing in the shadows to hold my gum; or glare at anyone who dares take a second look at his daughter.
The reception was a collection of our family and friends from all walks of life. There were those who flew in from Costa Rica, caravans from Michigan, college roommates to kindergarten pals, people who we met kayaking and those from other rivers of our life; all culminating for one thing. To celebrate us. Our union. Our love.
Your best man had the last laugh. During his lovely toast (funny how men with English accents can say anything and it's charming) he requested all the men in attendance return the keys to my house. Puzzled, I watched every male grudgingly walk up front and place a shiny key in a basket.
There were stories told, laughs enjoyed and toasts all around. We still reminisce those stories, laugh at those jokes and toast those who toasted us but with an added sovereignty for those who are no longer around to hear those well wishes.
Eight years later, we are two healthy-children richer, a life-time of love stronger, and viewing the horizon as a journey with endless possibilities and golden opportunities.
I can't wait to see this sunset and everything in between.
I love you,