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My wedding back story

jojoco
6 years ago

Several of you asked about the backstory with my husband and myself. I’d rather not go to deeply into it as like many divorced parents, I have children who took a while to get used to the idea.


But if you’d like a little insight Into how we met, here is a toast that I wrote and delivered during the reception:


The Time Traveling Bride

If I could time travel, I would go back to the Summer of 1979, to an arts camp in New Milford, Connecticut called Buck’s Rock. I would walk down the camp’s familiar dusty roads, passing rolling lawns, weathered bunks, and the winding paths that led to studios tucked deep in the woods. I would wander until I reached the massive stone porch outside of the dining hall. There, I would find my 15-year-old self lazing against a stone pillar, talking to a dark haired 17-year-old boy named Eric.

I would lean in close to eavesdrop on the two. It would be an easy conversation lit with the laughter that underscored their close friendship. I would hear the younger version of me tell a story rich in pronouns and enthusiasm but entirely lacking in concrete details. Future lawyer Eric, would try his best to follow the twists and turns of the narrative. “Wait,” he would ask with a puzzled grin as he attempted to fill in the gaps, “who is ‘she’? And where exactly is ‘you know,over there’?”

I would watch our teenage selves for a few more moments and I would see what had escaped me at 15. I would see how Eric’s s eyes never left my face and I would see the way he leaned towards me in a manner that was both engaging and just a little bit protective. And I would see younger me looking at Eric, infatuated, happy, and oblivious to the rest of the world.

“Listen,” Time Traveler me would want to whisper to my 15-year-old self. “One day you’re going to marry this boy. And everything you love right now, will be magnified tenfold. Forty years from now, your love for him will take your breath away. You will miss him when he travels and you will welcome him with open arms when he returns. Forty years from now, he will still look at you as if you are the only woman in the room. He will call you often just to say “I love you” and every day he will tell you that you are beautiful. Just you wait,” I would want to say, “yours will be an extraordinary life.”

But in the end, I would, of course, say nothing to either one. I knew that the girl on the porch had a lifetime of adventures ahead of her, as did the boy. Adventures that would soon send them down separate roads. But I could be quiet because I also knew that they would eventually find themselves standing side by side, surrounded by family and friends at an old inn in Upstate New York on a beautiful fall evening in October of 2017.


So please raise your glass and join me in a toast to a love story that has been nearly forty years in the making. To my husband, Eric. You are the love of my life.


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