November 18, 2013

     24 years ago today, a boy and girl stood, held hands, and looked into each other’s eyes. He was confident, because being young and a little foolish, he knew that the world would bend to his every whim. After all, she was as beautiful as a spring lily with the morning dew in her eyes, sharp as the sunlight in the afternoon sky, loving as the angel who puts the rosy in the cheeks of a newborn child. How could he do anything but keep his every promise to her? 

     24 years ago today, a boy and girl stood in front of the Justice of the Peace in Austin, Texas. She was nervous, having experienced too much of the world too soon, knowing that promises are sometimes only as valuable as the breath in which they are spoken, unintentially digging her fingernails deep into the hands of the boy who held her in his green eyes until he smiled and gently pulled her nails from the deep creases in his hands. 

     24 years ago today, a girl and a boy promised in front of a small knot of friends and family to love each other until death do them part, not knowing at that moment that their promise would include childbirth and miscarriage, jet airliners flown into World Trade Towers and walks of wonder through snow-filled mountains, moving a family across Texas, North Carolina, and Illinois, discussions of divorce and moments of absolute unity in the face of mountain crushing pressure. The watchers smiled and nodded, knowing the odds against the couple, some remembering their own divorces: enjoying the moment, hoping the happy couple would never have to experience their own pain of separation. 

     24 years ago today, Jan Bremer told the young man to kiss his wife, and he did so, both of them holding their breaths, unable to see anything but tears, unable to hear anything but the rushing of blood through their bodies and the clapping of the few gathered to witness the event. She had always been able to hear three children’s voices, feel their touch, see their faces, and as she looked into her own face reflected in the boy’s eyes, she saw their future family, and they were real to her now. 

     24 years ago today, a girl smiled a scared but hopeful smile, and raised a margarita as a toast to the boy across from her, both having had to show their ID’s, as they were barely old enough to legally order the drinks from the restaurant on the San Antonio Riverwalk where they would spent the one night that would serve as their honeymoon. They looked out across the water, and across the years, to wonder what they would look like two dozen years later – if they would be married, or even still be friends.

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     My grandfather and grandmother were married over 60 years. From when I was a little child, I would love to sit at his feet and ask him about when he first met his future wife. He’d look over at her….

     “Mary was a schoolteacher then, “he’d say. “And she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” Grandma would look over and give the “Ah – whatever” wave, but he would continue, talking with joy about a boy and a girl, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. And his cloudy eyes would fill with tears of joy.

     I know exactly how he felt.