I look back on what my wedding day was and I wonder what it would have been like for another bride.
I don’t remember some great sense of happiness. I don’t think I felt elated. But then again, I didn’t have the great stress some brides had either.
Is it just a matter of circumstance that I can remember more of the weird and awkward, the bad? But, for my own sake, I want to remember some good that day too. Even if the marriage didn’t go well; it may be the only wedding I’ll ever have, so I’d like to hang on to some things.
I remember dancing with my dad, and the photos in the beautiful theater, but I remember how painful it was to not have that look when I walked down the aisle.
I didn’t have some wild wedding night – he fell asleep. We took nothing even resembling a honeymoon.
I remember dancing but my feet never hurt. My shoes came from a shop in NY, ordered after I saw them in some bridal magazine and cost a small fortune considering they were seen by so few and worn only once. The shipping charges alone were ridiculous.
I remember how fucking cold it was, like seriously fucking cold. How it snowed every day that week. How my mother cursed me for planning a winter wedding in Buffalo.
And how it took me about an hour to undo my hair. I wanted to wash it, since he was already asleep, but given that we reached our room at 4 AM, that wasn’t going to happen.
My brother in law decorated the room. My sister got the romantic here, for her now-husband strewed petals on the bed, laid out a nightgown from my mother, decorated the place in all Valentines fancy, left us presents in the phone book, the bible, all like puzzled trivia clues to find them.
Father Peter arrived all suntanned from vacation, and winced (then apologized with a chuckle) for saying that we’d “see” our children. Who’d guess the laugh now is that we couldn’t / didn’t have any, not that the groom wouldn’t be able to look at them
I remembered the mother in law being so pissy because my husband’s brother didn’t show. Family drama shouldn’t have infiltrated the day, but that’s how she is. It is why her behavior now doesn’t surprise me.
My brother stripped – just as the photographer and videographer were wrapping up. I think there’s one photo of this, and I wish someone had caught more, it was one of those hysterical moments my family has in it’s memory bank from that night.
I remember getting cookies that morning with my father at VinChet’s – decadent little numbers that rang up at several dollars per pound.
Other memories –
Driving with my veil on by myself because everyone else got their hair done elsewhere; singing “Going to the Chapel” at the top of my lungs and getting honked at by those who noticed.
My sister & the other two bridesmaids eating cheetos, leaving me to panic that their dresses would have a telltale orange powder.
My brother’s heartfelt wish during a dance.
Having (gasp!) a chocolate cake.
My sister forgetting her right from her left during a dance. Even better, the DJ pointing it out.
Being carried off the back steps to not ruin the aforementioned shoes in the snow.
The mess of a cape that became a capelet, much to my chagrin.
My mom looking like the life of the party, reliving her dancing days.