Two Weddings & A Funeral

In the weeks prior to Mark’s death, we were figuring out the logistics of going to Denver for my nephew’s wedding. Because it was on a Sunday, Mark kept going back and forth on whether or not he was going to go because he had a class to teach that Monday morning. He would have to leave the reception early to get to the airport and with luck arrive home about midnight. Due to those obstacles he decided not to go, to ride the MS150 that weekend like he’d done for years, and to teach his class on Monday.

This seemed like the most logical solution until September 4th happened, and the best laid plans for the weekend of the wedding and the rest of our lives were thrown into chaos.

I planned a funeral, wrote a eulogy, talked extensively with the human resources department at the med center about Mark’s benefits and barely retained anything of what was being said to me, I kept my physical therapy appointments because my sciatica was off the charts, and moved robotically through my life doing what needed to be done. In the background of this painful reality was my nephew’s wedding, my nephew and his soon-to-be wife whom we all loved. I think everyone assumed the kids and I wouldn’t go, but the more I thought about it the more I wanted us to go. Some of it was practical. All this money on this celebration was being spent and canceling so close to the date didn’t seem fair to them, we were going to be with my family who were as shocked and heartbroken as we were, and I desperately needed out of our house where the trappings of Mark’s life before that day were everywhere.

The kids went in my daughter’s car, I rode with my sister and brother-in-law. I don’t remember much of the ride except stopping for lunch. The rest is a blank of me staring out the window for hours on end. We booked an AirBnd that we all agreed upon arrival was very weird which seemed appropriate for our circumstances. A few blocks away was a creek where people were swimming and tubing and I thought that if Mark were there he’d run down the stairs to check out the fish. I leaned over the railing, looked down at it all, and wanted to scream until there was nothing left in me. Instead I ended up at a boutique to buy a new dress because the one I brought with me was the same one I wore to the funeral and it was too much to put that on again.

We went to the wedding and were given so much grace it fills me with tears at the memory. My brother made a toast and said his extended family had recently taken some brutal losses, and in the midst of those events along with our celebrations, we should vow to make time to really check in with each other. When the bride danced with her father, the girlfriend of my nephew’s twin brother sobbed as her father had suddenly died that summer. The kids and I sobbed because their father had died twelve days earlier. Then the music came on and we all danced with our very broken selves and all the way home said we said we couldn’t believe we did it.

A few weeks ago, that nephew’s twin brother got married, and with the exception of my oldest daughter who opted not to go so as not to risk exposing her kids to Covid, we arrived back in Denver three years later for another wedding. This time was easier and I got to see most of my siblings who I have not seen under joyful circumstances for too long. The groom and his wife were adorable, the setting was gorgeous. When the bride danced with her brother in place of her deceased father, we all cried. We toasted, we ate, we danced, we roasted marshmallows on the wrap-around porch, we waved them off on their new life with glowsticks.

When I was recently looking through my phone, I came across the picture that was taken of us three years ago. It’s heartbreaking for me to look at it. We look as if we were trying so hard not to look broken yet we were exhausted and there was no escaping what was in our eyes. At the time I think everybody thought I was crazy for putting my foot down and insisting we go to that wedding. I wouldn’t argue with the crazy part as I certainly felt that way, but in hindsight it was a silent declaration that we still had to live our lives and that all along Mark wanted us to be there even if he couldn’t.

In the span of these three years, we have painfully moved forward with the grief and sorrow that will remain with us always. We have also made space for the beauty and joy that life delivers. Neither has been easy, but there could be no sadder fate for me than to see Mark on the other side and say to him that our lives stopped when his did. He was the most vibrant person I’d ever known and it is our job to carry that forward for him.

We have, we do, and I am so very proud of us.

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