Six years ago today, my first husband and I were married.  The marriage didn’t last, but the day is still very clear to me.  I spent the night before my wedding at a friend’s house.  We got bagels and coffee the morning of the wedding.  I remember getting my hair done, racing around town doing last minute wedding stuff.  I remember getting into my dress, all poofy and way too dressed up for my usual tastes.  My aunt did my makeup.  Funny—she did it at my second wedding too.  And then there were the pictures—pre-wedding family shots.  Shots with my step mom, who looked very elegant (but I think I told her she looked stately).  Me and my dad.  The groomsmen.  My husband-to-be. 

And as the sun began to set, my dad walked me down the isle (it was an outdoor wedding).  The musicians played Canon in D—I wouldn’t dare walk out to Here comes the bride.  My dad was a traditional man, and I knew that he loved me in that dress.  He loved my hair, all swept up on top of my head.  He loved the strand of pearls my step mom gave me to wear.

The ceremony was short—I didn’t know about Quaker weddings then (with their tendency to last what seemed like forever).  We had the requisite dinner and dancing afterward—most of the food was homemade by my family.  Aunts and uncles bustled around the kitchen all day to get the soup just right, the fruit arranged perfectly.  It was beautiful.  And when the night came to an end, my husband and I walked through a million little bubbles on our way out.  It was a fairy tale wedding.

But the fairy tale ended quickly.  We fought; we grew apart.  We moved to a new town, and that only magnified the problems in our relationship.  We decided to separate, to go our own ways, to see other people.  My father, who had cancer, died.  And a quiet sadness settled over my family.  Dad was gone.  My marriage was over.  I was in a relatively new town with a job that wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped for. 

It would be dishonest if I said that my life turned around suddenly, that things were finally good.  That God spared me from emotional turmoil or financial struggles. The years between that wedding day and this day have been hard.  But they have been good too.  I found a faith community (yes it was Quaker), and a new job as a result.  I found a new husband too, although we have much to work through.  I made friends, started a business.  I went back to college and got my degree (finally). 

Six years can be a short time, or a lifetime.  I guess it just depends on the circumstances.  Either way, my life looks completely different from the way it did when I was 23.  I’m more settled now.  I’m trying to accept certain things about me—my OCD, my depression, my size 18 body.  But I’m working on some things too—really enjoying the times when I’m not depressed, reading more, reflecting more.  I’m trying to live in that here-and-now place, I guess as my husband’s counselor would say, I’m trying to be “present”.   I’m trying to be more present in my relationships too—and not just the human kind.  I’m working on my relationship with God. With creation.  With the pets I care for.

Six years has brought me into a very different place.  Time can do that.  I hope you know it will do the same for you.

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