Our wedding was a beautiful affair. It was also very unconventional.
In the late 1990s, when we were married, nonreligious ceremonies were uncommon. My wife and I did not want a traditional religious ceremony because we found it uninteresting. We wanted something more dynamic that was closer to who we were.
Fortunately, my in-laws found a priest who was willing to do whatever we needed to make the ceremony meaningful for us. His only condition was that we had to do it in the church. The Catholic Church had no provisions allowing the priest to perform a ceremony outdoors, which we really wanted. Still, we accepted.
In the weeks leading up to the wedding, my wife and I debated what we wanted during the ceremony: what types of readings, music, and vows. By the time we were finished, I had typed up a multipage document that I had given to the priest.
I expected him to take that document as inspiration. However, he did everything almost verbatim during the ceremony.
It was beautiful. We read from The Bible, The Little Prince, by Antoine de St-Exupéry, and The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. Trumpets blared, a viola da gamba resonated, and voices filled the church. The only thing missing? Little kids crying. At the time, none of our friends had small babies.
Supper was a mixture of both of our cultures. We bought standard catered food, and we asked family members to bring homemade dishes. There were no assigned seats, and my wife and I barely ate because we spent so much time going around talking to the people we love.
Of course, we danced until late in the evening.
***
By the time the day was over, and we finally made it to our hotel room, we were both exhausted. I think I carried her across the threshold of the hotel room, but honestly, I’m not really sure. Old age, you know.
We had been together for two years before the wedding, so consuming the marriage on that day was not a priority. Besides, we were both tired, and having a poor performance on our first evening as husband and wife seemed … uncivilized.
Instead, we agreed to take a shower and go to sleep, so we would be well-rested for the next day’s after-party.
We nestled under the covers, spoke a bit about the evening, kissed good night, then she turned her back to me, and we spooned.
That’s when it started.
***
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I held her close as I said it.
“I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you.”
I said the words softly in her ear.
“I love you. I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.”
I couldn’t stop.
“I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.”
It was the only thing I could tell the woman I’d chosen to spend my life with.
“I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.”
She sobbed uncontrollably.
“I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I didn’t stop.
“I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.”
Eventually, her sobs subsided.
“I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
***
“I love you.”
***
That night, I must have told my wife that I loved her more than 200 times in the span of a few minutes.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
’Til death do us part.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
***
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Photo credit: Nick Karvounis on Unsplash