Time After Time

It’s December 9, 2012. Today we’re going to French Lick with Double Trouble to ride The Polar Express. Our plan to spend last evening together in French Lick with Nonna and Papoo watching the kids was thwarted due to The Plague that swept through our house. Such is life sometimes, we’ve learned.

We’ve been married six years today. Let me tell you what comes to my mind most about our big day.

Six years ago today the girls and I were getting ready at 2875, painting nails, drinking mimosas, etc., etc. I was not nervous. I was beyond excited. I believe you guys were hanging out at Schutte’s house, probably talking shop as the married boys gave you advice on how not to screw up and the non-married boys tried to get you to drink [more]. The married boys did a good job. The non-married boys didn’t (thankfully). Who cares, the point is we were both on our way to Togetherness and we each spent the last few hours leading up to it as we would’ve wanted to, relaxing as we each saw fit. Earlier in the day, Mom helped me zip up the dress, do the veil, practice in my way-too-high-heels (at least for me). Dad gave me that beautiful bracelet that I almost never wear because it’s too special. I took pics in front of Mom’s Christmas tree with both sets of parents separately, and my favorite pic of all, with me and Mom and Dad together. As usual, my parents were rock stars and genuinely caring towards one another that day. They even hugged and kissed one another upon Dad and Gaile’s arrival to the house. They may be divorced, but they loved one another enough to make me and that will forever mean something to them. And more importantly, I think, that will forever mean something to me.

Some of the gals, my mom and I. I'm the one in the green, not to be confused with my best friend in the world and matron of honor, Lauren, in the black. Kate is the cute blond to the way left, Colleen, my seester, is the spunky strawberry blond, Maria, my hottie cousin, is in the cream, and my Mom is to the far right.

Six years ago today the girls and I were pacing in the church basement waiting to get the show on the road. There was a lot of laughter, visits from the church above from friends and family, many re-applications of deodorant (I’m such a sweaty mess; this you know well). Finally, it was time to head upstairs. Morgan was singing the girls down the aisle. Mary was playing the flute. I love that they were both a part of our day. As the last few girls made their way to the front of the church, Dad was bracing to walk me to you and Aunt Laverne said to me as we were waiting in the wings, “Oh, honey, Jack looks really nervous. Are you sure he’s ready?” Little did any of us know that you were practically pissing your pants because Fr. Don had STILL not arrived (and when he did, he was asking you twenty questions to prepare for his homily). Dad sloughed her off, pulled us both together, and whispered things that I will not tell you, as what a father tells his daughter at this very moment is sacred. You will find this out with P. It will be the ONE time in our lives I do not beg of you to share with me your words. As the doors to St. Bernard Clairvaux’s church swung open and Dad swept me down to you like the perfect gentlemen, I caught a glimpse of all who were there. I remember vividly who was on the left as we walked down, who was on the right. They were there to bear witness. We did a good job fillin’ the place, Goetz. 

My Dad and My Groom, the two leading men in my life

Dad took me to you and I was so overjoyed that I kissed you. That wasn’t part of the script so you acted kind of confused. A very typical reaction from you, my love. You recovered well, shook Dad’s hand, and off we went. I do not remember the look on Dad’s face—my eyes were glued on you. You will know that feeling, too, with P—the moment that your girl turns her eyes to another man. But I will tell you now, my love, speaking from experience, that it does not mean she loves you any less. In fact, it means she loves you more. Because she knows that your whole life you’ve just wanted to see her happy—and she is. Beyond words.

Six years ago today we listened to the readings and petitions, Fr. Don’s homily, Morgan’s sweet voice filling the church, as if we were the only two there. Do you remember when Doc adlibbed his petitions, asking the congregation to pray for the health of our children—and that they have more hair than you? Do you remember the reading of Adam and Eve becoming one (I could hear the eye rolls of my feminist friends in attendance, but I didn’t care, I love that reading and we picked it out together), thinking how that would be us later that night? Do you remember when Julie’s voice quivered during the Love is Patient, Love is Kind reading? I remember it all.

Doc lamenting your last night of singledom at our rehearsal 

Six years ago today we prayed to Mary together, holding hands and resting our heads on one another. We offered her a bouquet. I will not say what I prayed for, but I think you know because she listened. She also listened when I prayed to her during their births. She continues to listen. She has become my prayer rock. Do you remember when I gave you one of my favorite books, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept? That book is what brought me to Mary. It is no accident our daughter is named Pilar. I think Mary likes us—I hope anyway. She will watch out for us, and help us through whatever lies ahead. I sometimes have to remind her that we are human and to not give us anything we cannot handle.  

Mary listened, Goetz. We've got proof.

Six years ago today we exchanged our vows and you could barely fit my ring finger on my hand. I chuckled when you just kind of left it there, half on. I remember slipping your ring on you and thinking how you became instantaneously even more attractive to me with it on because at that moment you were bound to me, and I to you. To this day, you are much better about leaving your ring on than I am. It suits you well, Goetz, that ring and all that it means. More than you used to let on, maybe even more than you had hoped or imagined—but I knew you always had it in you.

Six years ago today we done did it, we got married. We became the fifth generation of your family to do so in that church in Taylor Creek on Harrison Road. Because we are clutzy and uncooperative, we didn’t leave out the front doors of the church like our photographers wanted to. Oops. It’s alright; they need not capture on film what I had engraved in my mind: I had married my true equal (you’re the chef in the house, I’m on dinner clean-up crew; you do the grocery shopping, I do the laundry; we each do middle of the night feedings because I’m awful at producing booby milk, even though I try my darnedest), my travel soul mate (I’ll get you to Asia, I know I will; Mexico may be up next, or perhaps Spain, Part II), my anchor, my gut check, the only human who can make me laugh during a week like we’ve just had, filled with poop and puke and power outages. There is no picture possible to sum up that for-better-or-for-worse kind of love. It’s not easy, this kind of love—it’s a work in progress, a constant effort, like we always tell our engaged couples. But we are fulfilling our vocation, and there’s no greater satisfaction than that.

Two youngins' at the rehearsal dinner, getting ready to follow our vocation. Who is that young, carefree couple? The rehearsal dinner at Pompilio's, well, ROCKED. They even made a special menu for us.

Six years ago today we went up the street to Twin Lanterns (shortest commute from ceremony to reception EVER, go us!) and got down to business. We entered the reception to the MNF theme (remember when we used to watch every game? Member when we had time and energy to do that?), we cut our cake to ‘Back Home Again…in Indiana,” we had our first dance to “Time After Time” (Chet Baker people, not Cyndi Lauper; we are more classic than 80s…just barely), Lauren and Ryan toasted to our lives together. There was a cheesy video of pics put to music. Peace was made. And then I cut a damn rug and you mingled, because that’s each of our style. I didn’t sit down the whole night and I can count on one hand the number of songs I didn’t dance to. Dang, it was the most fun I’d ever had a wedding, and it was my own. I hope everyone has that much fun at their own wedding. I’m glad we listened to all those people who said not to get hung up in the details or drama—you only get married once and so you gotta make it good. Good we made it, even great. At least we thought so.

Cuttin' the cake. YUM, it was good.

Cuttin' a rug. Watch it now, watch it!

 Six years ago today we went to spend our first night as husband and wife together at the Kingsgate Marriott in Clifton. There will be no discussion of that sacred night, but I will say that I’m glad you went Groomzilla on me, raising Cain about me buying the ivory version of my dress. Thanks to your rant, I took it back and exchanged it for the white version. You were right; we deserved for me to wear white (“All this waiting for you to wear ivory?,” you said). Thank you for making me think twice on that one. And thanks for making the arrangements at Kingsgate, where the next morning we had the World’s Greatest Brunch Buffett. And how cool is it that the first person you introduced me as your wife to was then UC head football coach, Brian Kelly? Pretty damn cool. Nice hustle, Goetz (insert little slap on the toosh here). Side note: Brian Kelly, you’re a traitor.

Obligatory bouquet shot

Six years ago today we began the story of Team Goetz. It’s been the best six years of my life, some days easier than others, some weeks easier than others, some years easier than others. Our first year seemed a piece of cake, no cares in the world. Long walks on weekday evenings, followed by late dinners. Lazy Sundays. Spontaneous weekend road trips. Watching hour after hour of Lost episodes or Dawson’s Creek re-runs (I think it’s alright to tell all that you had a crush on Joey—until she married Maverick, then you thought she was lame and/or crazy). And this last year has been our most challenging. Your parents moved out of your childhood home, the only home you’ve ever known besides ours. We learned my Pawpaw is praying for the Good Lord to take him. A new second job and peaks and valleys with the first. Family drama(s), and family fall-outs followed by put-back-togethers. We hit some growing pains. But without fail, every night when I put one of our kids to bed and say prayers with them, you are first on my list. Without you, I do not have them. More importantly, without you, I do not have us. Without you, I am only half of me. Not in the crazy-and-unstable-I-desperately-need-you kinda way, ‘cos you know it ain’t like that.  That's not my style and even if it were, you wouldn't stand for it. You were attracted to me in the first place because I could stand on my own two feet. And well at that. It's just that I'm infinitely better with you, the same way that you are better with me. You are half of me in the you-are-the-nutella-to-my-graham-cracker, the-oreo-to-my-chocolate-and-vanilla-twist-fro-yo, the-homemade-Ranch-dressing-and-goldfish-to-my-Mother-Bear's-salad kind of way. Any one of those tasty delights is good on its own, but it just isn’t great without the other. It’s like that. 

Happy Anniversary, Jack. Thanks for walking this camino with me. To many more.

The Original Goetz Fam in Le Conquet, France, Spring 2012. In the words of Pooh Bear, "If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus a day so I never have to live without you."