(I mean, your superhero Dad-identity is sexy and all, but at the end of the day, I married the man, not the superpowers, ample as they may be.)
It was slightly snowing, remember? Magical swirling snow. Not enough to stick. Not enough to worry anyone or feel too Christmasy just yet. It was solidly November and a rainbow of leaves still clung up there in the branches. In fact, a few of them floated down, all mingled with that delightful snow, as we made our separate ways in the church parking lot.
I could see you in front of me, getting out of your father's car. Your mother threw her hands over your eyes so that you wouldn't see me, standing there on top of the parish center steps, with all my bridesmaids. I laughed. I can't remember if it was her hurried gesture to protect you from bad luck, even though I wasn't even in my wedding dress yet. Or if it was because, since we were 25 and rather broke, I was going to be wearing a dress you had seen before. Or if the snow made everything so dreamy and perfect. I don't know why, but laughing in the snow, there on those steps, is something I can see so clearly. Even 10 years, 3 and a half kids, a million memories, and who knows how little sleep ago.
I was never one of those little girls to plan my wedding. Designing each detail, down to the flowers and lights, leaving a big hole where the groom should be. Or maybe using Johnny Depp or your favorite member of the Brat Pack to stand in until Prince Charming showed up. I thought more of my career, my writing, my unfocused world-saving passion. Boys were fun and certainly something to think about, but weddings could wait.
I see now that I just couldn't have been able to dream up anything to match you anyway, so it is just as well that my mind was spared fruitless fantasies of ruffled dresses and tulle veils. At the end of the day, I would have married you in an empty airplane hanger, wearing a bag. Don't get me wrong; the wedding was fun, and having my father play Moon River for our first dance, surrounded by everyone that I loved, is one of many delightful snow-memories from that day. I can see them in my mind, anytime I want to; captured forever in a little beautiful snow globe, dreamy through the glass of time.
But lovely as that snow was, it melted. It floated away. It ended with the quickness that intense beauty often does. That's OK. That's why we took pictures. But you? No. You don't end. You, and my love for you, just grows and grows until I am sure that my heart is going to burst from holding all that love. And it kinda does, spilling out into a life that starts to include other creatures, more family, new places, different ventures, some babies, so many connections and miles. And then, suddenly and yet not suddenly at all, it is 10 years. 10 years of marriage and are you sure it hasn't been 100 years? And are you equally sure it hasn't been 10 days? I don't really care how long because I want it to go on forever anyway.
It isn't snowing today, but somehow it is still magical around here. Because everyday that you are my husband is magical.
I love you-