the wedding day

Over a month after Keller and I’s wedding, I’m still piecing together feelings and memories. The day went by so quickly. Most everything during the ceremony is a blur of emotions, and everything post-ceremony is a blur of faces, smiles, and laughter.

I remember trying hard to be a relaxed bride while my sister had her hair done four times, and after that while waiting in line for lunch in a veil in with a restaurant full of onlookers. The girls and I had makeup done, laced me into my dress, and my nearly-sister-in-law walked me upstairs for Keller’s first look of me as his bride. He waited in the sanctuary as I took a couple deep breaths, suddenly nervous, and walked in to see his face light up.

Then, lots of photos, stuffing my dress into a car for more photos, cars and trucks honking and waving at the site of a white dress, a brief freak-out of time-anxiety during yet more photos at the church, and it was time to go into hiding as guests began arriving.

I remember standing at the back of the church, my dad saying something in an attempt to be calming, my whole body shaking as I got ready to step into a room of 130 sets of eyes that would all be on me.

During vows, I remember telling myself “it’s ok, you can take a minute, take a deep breath” as I tried to find my voice around my joy that couldn’t help but overflow in the form of tears.

After the ceremony before the guests were dismissed, being at the back of the church: Just energy and joy with the wedding party.

Worrying that my parents’ house would be wall-to-wall people, and walking in to find it intimate but open, better than we had hoped and exactly as I’d dreamed since a child.

When we were supposed to cut the cake, the knife was nowhere to be found, so I tried to entertain the waiting guests, awkwardly.

The rest of the reception was just circling and smiles and family and laughing and friends. Narrative memory doesn’t really pick up again until towards the end of the night, when one kindly discreet friend pulled me aside and whispered “You need to go, you need to get laid,” and two minutes later a louder coworker saying “What are you doing here? Go to the hotel!” and as we were preparing to leave, a parents’ friend shouting “GO HAVE SEX!”

Walking to the elevators of the JW Marriott and the loungers cheering for us.

And that’s as far as you get to come in my memory-piecing process.

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