even if i am. (30 page)

chapter fifty

daa na na na

Anticipation had me up earlier than the rest of the house. I slipped out of bed, tried not to wake you and went directly to the computer.

From:
[email protected]
To:
friends
Sent:
Wednesday, July 26, 8:14 a.m.
Subject:
true love

They say true love is unconditional, ours, bittersweet.

On July 23
rd
, Anthony proposed.

A proposal so sweet, so thoughtful, so pure,

that today, we are getting married

under the tree in our backyard.

“To have you as my wife, even for a day, means everything to me…”

Please join us this evening for our reception to celebrate love, and to celebrate life.

Our house at 6:00 p.m. (It’s okay if you’re late.)

We will cook dinner on the grill. Have champagne and cake.

Please do not bring anything and dress comfortably.

Our reception is meant only for you to share your love,

and a chance for us to share ours.

I went to the kitchen, your mother greeted me with a coffee and a smile. “Today’s the big day. You want to help me decorate? We don’t have much time…” I grabbed the ribbons, ran giddily into the backyard, Gladys chasing after me. Still in my pajamas I hung white ribbons from the tree branches, low and streaming. Your mother pointed to places I missed as she decorated the chairs for us with white ribbons and flowers from our garden. It looked like
A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream
and that fairies might appear during the ceremony. It was a beautiful, perfect July day. Not a cloud in the sky. While I hung the ribbons, “Let Myself Fall” hummed in my ears;
I let myself fall in love with you. There was no turning back since I let myself fall in love with you.

Our wedding decorations in the backyard.

…

“Wake up, my fiancé.”

You puckered your lips for a kiss before opening your eyes. “We’re getting married today.” You sat up in bed, stretched your arms wide. “Will you ask the nurse to come in? I’m ready to stop the pain medication. Let’s unplug me already.”

It was something you requested with April the day before. You wanted to be absolutely present during the ceremony, without machines that would get in the way of your vows. Everyone, hospice, the doctors, your parents — we all agreed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to miss a thing today.”

I jumped on your bed and kissed you as you bounced. “I’ll go get her, but think about what you want to wear to your wedding.”

“What are you gonna wear?”

I blushed. “I have no idea…”

…

You were so funny. Do you remember how long it took for you to pick out what you were going to wear? I think you did that on purpose. You knew exactly what you wanted to put on; you just liked me holding up each shirt asking, “How about this one?” You decided on pants, the ones you wore to your brother’s wedding. If time would have allowed him to be here, he would have been your best man. The black tuxedo pants from his wedding would have to do. Crisp, ironed, and already perfect. For shirts you had a handful of options. From white, to colors, striped to pattern. In all of your choosing, you picked out a light (almost white, but not quite) pink linen shirt, declaring, “I can’t wear white on my wedding day.”

It still makes me laugh.

Getting ready without pain medication took enormous effort. From brushing your teeth, to fixing your hair, to dressing, we took our time. We teased and giggled. We knew we were getting married, we couldn’t wait, and yet there was no rush. We knew that all we had to look forward to was around us now, that this moment was our future. Sometimes you don’t get more time, so you take what you can get. We stayed in between your pace and mine. I dressed you slowly, making sure you were perfectly presentable. It took us over an hour. You looked incredibly handsome, smiling broadly. You were radiant. Your mother bought a gorgeous gardenia corsage and pinned it carefully to your chest, telling you just how handsome you were. The fragrance filled the room. It was quarter to ten when Laura knocked on the front door. I was still in my pajamas when she said good morning.

“Honey what are you doing?” She eyed my polar bear pajamas.

“I’ve been helping my fiancée get ready.”

You pointed to me, mouthed to Laura, “That’s my fiancée,” and smiled.

She snickered at the two of us so playful. “But it’s almost eleven, the wedding is about to start. I think it’s time for YOU to get out of your PJs.”

…

Women have dresses we know we look good in. Our boobs perky, our waist tiny, our butt and legs firm. I’m not vain. I just know I look good in it. My dress is lavender, and against tanned skin, it looks amazing. Stunning. Sexy. It’s my go-to dress, my would-be wedding dress. You’ve seen me in the dress before, at a premiere party we attended. The dress didn’t last a minute once we got home. You instantly peeled it off, carried me to the bedroom, and left it in a pile on the floor.

I rummaged through the closet, knew it was on a hanger somewhere in my sea of clothes. Flipping through hanger after hanger took me some time, but finally I spotted the familiar lavender swatch of fabric. “Ah-ha.” I pulled the dress from the closet and took it off the hanger, shook out its silky fabric and laid it on the bed. I noticed another dress hanging. A dress I bought three years ago at a thrift store. Forgot about the dress completely. It was floor-length cream and lace. The straps were wide linen with lace overlay to the waist. Pearl buttons trailed down the front, to the tied waist. A 1970s summer wedding dress.

I tried on the wedding dress. I slipped it over my shoulders and let it slide down my legs to the floor. I zipped the side, straightened the silk under-slip. I wasn’t expecting it to fit flawlessly, but it did. The dress was elegant, fetching. A wedding dress waiting for its day to be adored. It was a beautiful dress. In it I stood up straighter and felt amazing in a garment I’d bought before I even knew when I would wear it.

Considering my tears from our proposal dinner, there was no point putting on makeup. I washed my face, applied lotion, a little blush and lip gloss. I wore stunning ruby earrings my dad had given my mother one wedding anniversary, which she had passed on to me. I combed my hair, twisted back strands into a blue bobby-pin with baby’s breath.

“I’m ready,” I said to myself in the mirror and then again out loud to the hallway. Twenty minutes and I was ready to get married.

This is first moment I saw Anthony in my wedding dress.

I didn’t want to come out of the bathroom and have you see me in my wedding dress. It was bad luck, and we couldn’t afford any more bad luck. So I sat on the toilet seat and waited. I was nervous to see you. I was hoping you were nervous, too. I practiced my vows as I heard the doorbell ring and your mother’s voice answering. There was a conversation but the door was closed and I couldn’t hear the words. Your mother knocked on the bathroom door a moment later, and handed me a gorgeous bouquet of red roses tied together with a luscious white ribbon. A perfect arrangement for a perfect day.

“I’m not sure who they are from, but I think these are for you?” She handed me the roses.

I opened the card.

THIS IS SO I CAN WALK YOU DOWN THE AISLE. I LOVE YOU. DAD.

I was a puddle of emotions sitting on the edge of the toilet cradling roses. I was breaking down, and I wasn’t sure how to stop crying. Your mother stood in the bathroom not wanting to leave my side. I gazed up at her and tried to grin. She too was in tears not knowing if she should hold me or walk away. “You look beautiful,” she declared as I sniffled and examined my roses. I was a mess. Words got in the way of what I wanted to say to your mother, to tell her I loved her, but only tears came out.

There was another knock on the door and Laura entered. She examined the two of us sobbing, then announced, “I think it’s time.”

…

Isn’t it strange how a simple sentence can change you from the person you were to the person you are? The question you asked was no question at all. “Yes. A hundred times, yes. Of course I will marry you!” I had never known completeness like I knew it being wrapped in your arms the night you asked. My fingertips holding onto the cracks of you. Hugging the very foundation of a house of cards. There came a point, maybe when you said the words, “Marry me,” that death stopped being scary. What starting being scary was knowing I would be alone. Going on without you. The fear was a flood that threatened to drown me in tears.

I thought being your wife would feel like water wings keeping me afloat. I know: I jumped into the deep-end of love knowing I would lose it all. I knew I would be alone. I knew the timeline. I was counting the days on my fingers. I knew you were going to die. I knew my heart would break because of it. Yet, no matter how fleeting or tragic, I believed in love. I believed in us. I would marry you freely and happily because that is the lunacy of love. I would make you a proud spouse, because I couldn’t make you live.

…

Laura stayed in the bathroom with me. “She is right. You do look absolutely beautiful.” She handed me Kleenex hidden beneath her robe. “Okay…” She tucked the loose hairs behind my ear. “Do you have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue?”

I had forgotten the rhyme. I’m not even sure what the rhyme is for. I asked Laura what it meant. “I’m not exactly sure, but my idea is that each represents a good-luck token. ‘Something old’ symbolizes family and the past. ‘Something new’ means optimism and hope for your new life ahead. ‘Something borrowed’ reminds the bride that she can depend on her friends and family…”

I went through the list. “Ummm, let’s see. I have on my mother’s earrings…”

“Family and the past.” Laura nodded.

“Something new? Um, my BLUE hairclip!” I clapped my hands delighted.

“Perfect. Now something borrowed?”

I studied my arms and down my dress evaluating each item. “I don’t really have anything borrowed.”

Laura inspected the room, then her own body. “Ah.” Her cheeks grinned as she undid the clasp of a small gold cross necklace that hung at the base of her throat. “I’ve had this since I was a little girl.” She stood behind me, and positioned it around my neck. “There.” She said satisfied and lovingly. “Now you’re ready.”

Your mother re-entered the bathroom, concerned. “What is it?” I asked. She informed us that you were too weak to get out of bed but fighting with your body to get up and sit under the elm tree as planned. She didn’t think you should use all of your energy on the act of getting up, but instead for the ceremony itself.

“Is it okay if we have the wedding in your bedroom? I think he’s too weak without the pain meds…”

“Tell him if he gets out of bed he’s going to be divorced before he’s even married.” We all giggled and then laughed and then really laughed loud. Laughter didn’t belong in the moment, or maybe it did. “If we have the wedding in the backyard or bedroom or on this toilet… I will be wherever he is.” We stopped laughing.

…

Yesterday we thought maybe your stepfather could play the cello, or the harpist from the church could come, but time didn’t permit luxuries and we never formed a backup plan. When Laura asked if we had a wedding march or if there was a song we’d like to play as I walked down the aisle, I didn’t know what to say. I simply shook my head no. Shit, I can’t believe WE, we of all people, forgot about a wedding song.