The Wedding Morning by John Henry Frederick Bacon
What happened last night is unbelievable to me and probably for all of you, too but I simply must share the good news with my fellow bloggers and readers. I’m not sure where to start and usually that means you’re in for a very long story going back further than anybody really wants to go back, even myself though sometimes you just have to jump in with both feet and start typing anyway. Somewhere in a big ball of yarn, there’s a beginning and an end. At least that’s the theory. Considering all the knitted scarves I’ve made, crocheted hats, and toilet paper cats with argyle manes, and even tissue covers nobody wants but graciously accepts anyway, I’ve never met a ball of yarn that didn’t have a beginning and an end. If the scarf you’re making is long enough for a six-foot uncle however, you may have to tie the ends of two balls of yarn together to finish the project but knots can be very neat and tidy if you’re skillful at hiding knots, that is. I can disguise a knot as well as any other neurotic on the planet. You should see the knots my nephew can tie, though. He has OCD. Sometimes you can’t even get in his room because the door handle is tried to the dresser in a beautiful maze secondary only to barn spiders.
Anyway, last night my X-husband called, apologetic and overcome with shame for having replaced me with an Annie Oakley variety who was a far better shot than myself. Though I can shoot a rifle fairly well which is something most farm girls learn to do to protect themselves from wild beasts driving pick-up trucks. My X-husband had won the lottery, can you believe that and it prompted him to think about all the years we spent together as husband and wife, making ends meet and knot very well at times. Maybe we ended up in a dream house but along the way, there were a number of abodes that left a lot to be desired. My husband and I refused to give in to financial challenges though, eventually pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps and achieving what any proud American would call success.
So he was thinking about how he’d spend a jackpot of cash and the first person he thought of was me. His first wife. The wife who always knew he would make it one day, even when times were tough and times were tough a lot during our three-decade marriage. “When my lucky numbers came up, I thought of you”, he said, “And realized what a fool I’ve been. That you’re right, my narcissism is the problem, not your weight. My narcissism is the problem, not my crummy kids. My narcissism kept me from appreciating people who loved me enough to put up with my self-centeredness for years. The people who never said "I" was unworthy, but accused my narcissism of being unworthy of me as a man. The people like you, CZ. The people who saw me as special. Maybe not as special as I saw myself, but special enough.”
I cried with joy. This day is the day I’d dreamed about ever since our divorce, the divorce I reluctantly demanded. In my heart though, I knew he’d wake up at some point and say to himself, “MY GOD, I’ve been an idiot!”
Who am I to say "I told you so" when a wayfaring husband sees the error of his ways? I kept my lips together tighter than my knees have been the past eight years.
“I am leaving the Other Woman,” he said. “I can no longer live with myself or her. You are definitely the most wonderful, smartest, and beautiful woman that ever lived. I know that now. Looking at her face every morning makes me sick. Last week I threw up on my pillow case and it wasn't even IRONED!”
"OH, YOU POOR DARLING!" I cried.
I tried not to cry, but you know how it is.
When dreams come true, tears bless the moment as expressions of gratitude for never giving up the dream. Never saying never. Never allowing reality to interfere with imagined possibilities, even when hope is dashed repetitively with verbal abuse, terrifying rage attacks, and heartless animosity. You still carry this secret belief that at some point, the man walking away with his arms around another woman, will realize what a mistake he’s made! And now, MY moment had come. Was I willing to reconcile? Was I willing to forgive and forget and bask in the glory of love requited?
“Yes! Yes!” my heart whispered. “Tell him YES!”
And so I did.
We set the date for our re-commitment ceremony some time in June. I always loved June weddings---the intoxication of sweet narcissus filling the air. We will be remarried again this spring, at the shock and surprise of most people but not for family members who always knew, as did I, that a love such as ours could never die. It may have hibernated for eight winters (who’s counting?) but it has burst forth once again in full blossom. I’d like to invite everyone who supported my grieving the past many years, to a celebration of love springing eternal. Leave your email address and you’ll get a handwritten note, though it may be pockmarked with tears. I know you’ll understand. My tears are tears of joy. Tears of faith. Faith in the power of a woman’s love for her man.
“Where shall we spend our second honeymoon?” he asked. “We’ve seen Paris. We’ve seen London. We’ve seen Boise. Is there any place in particular you want to go? Let's follow your bliss this time.”
My thoughts were racing faster than Dad’s buckskin mare who could toss a kid in a beet field faster than short-order cooks could toss Caesar salads at Denny's customers. I murmured, “I’d like to visit Disneyland, my love. We’ve never gone to Disneyland. Now that you’ve won the lottery, maybe we can take the kids, too?”
“Oh!” He shouted. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! I was hoping you’d say that. How about your parents? Do you think they’d want to travel with us?”
“YES!” my heart shouted. “YES! And can we take Uncle Teetotaler and Aunt Chastity and Uncle JoeBob, you know his wife passed away last year and Aunt Lydia she’s 97 but she'd love Magic Mountain. Her wheelchair won't be any problem. You can push it like you did just before you left. And how about my nephew and my sisters and brother and all their spouses and kids and their kids, medications have worked wonders for most of them.”
“MY LOVE!” he cried with joy, "Nothing would please me more than the whole tribe accompanying us on our honeymoon. We can sit and talk about our ancestors for hours, just like old times!”
Who would ever believe the ending of my story would turn out like this?
Well, I did, for one.