Nineteen Years

April 21, 2001.

It was a day kind of like today. April in North Carolina wins all the awards, outside the occasional terrible spring storm. April days are the critical selling point of living here. The humidity hasn't hit hard yet. It's warm enough, but not too warm. There's always a breeze and the sky is the prettiest Carolina blue this time of year. Like this day, the trees were full of green leaves that day, and April showers had brought plenty of garden flowers. Birds chirped. It was idyllic. And on this day, I was going to marry.

And while I remember what that day felt like in the spirit of the day, I'll be honest to say that I don't remember a ton else. I remember aching over a cake, and what was going to go on the tables, and who was going to take our pictures, and how many people we could have present, and what were the flowers going to look like, and would my very southern Georgia family mix well with the very New York Italians there. In the end, that was never an issue and we learned that really, everyone found joy in good food, good drink, good music & a good time.  But I have to say, if I were on some game show where I would have to recount details of that day in order to win $1,000,000 - my friends, I would surely be sent home with some terrible consolation prize.

When you're getting married, the things that consume you in planning often don't make it past year one.  Maybe they end up as a small detail in a photo album or stuck in the memories of someone else, but they certainly don't make or break the day as you expect them to when you're in the middle of it all. And so, in honor of our 19th anniversary today, I thought I'd take time out during my pandemic writing to document what I remember from that very special day:

• There's a funny story that my family likes to tell about the ceremony. Our wedding was in the Catholic church, and many of my family had never likely been to a Catholic Mass, and our priest was aware of this, so he did a decent job of talking about the service. When it was time for Communion, he announced that the gifts (of wine and bread) would be brought to the altar, and one of my Georgia relatives whispered that he had left his gifts in the car and did he need to go get them?
• Our videographer showed up to the hotel reception wearing some terrible jorts and I made it quite clear to him that he needed to change clothes quickly. Don't come to my wedding in jorts.
• I loved my dress. I also got very hot in my dress and had not planned ahead to figure out how I might remove the veil sewn to my headband to make it easier to enjoy the post-wedding partying. Thank goodness for friends with pocket knives who could cut that sucker loose and let my neck breathe.
• We danced and danced and danced and danced. In the presence of both my grandmothers, we played the best of the 90s dance music and had ourselves a par-tay. Look up every dance hit from that era and we played it. Rumpshaker and all.
• When the night was done, I wanted nothing more than to take off my sweaty, heavy dress and uncomfortable shoes, and upon arrival to our room, was met with "artwork" all over the room. Friends can also be vandals. Thanks Bob. ;)

That's about it. My dad has always said that it was the most fun he's ever had. And while I don't remember all the bits and pieces, I remember what was most important. All of the people we loved were there, together, in the same room at the same moment. While oddly strange, it was something I've rarely encountered because sadly, the only other time that experience happens is at funerals. There were people present that day who we will never see again. Whether by death or by circumstance, that day was a fleeting moment in time. Perhaps we took a moment like that for granted while it was all happening, but as I look back, all that remains is love. I think love can be enough to remember.

Love for the unplanned-for chaos of the moment.
Love for the beautiful day we had.
Love for the people there by our sides.
Love for the celebration.
Love for my spouse and our partnership.
Love for our promise to one another.
Love for that one moment in time.

And after 19 years, here's what I know.

You cannot know the challenge of marriage until you're sitting with it's darkest moments. You cannot know the value of two ears for listening and one mouth for speaking until you have said too much. And, you cannot know true partnership until the day arrives when you see that your happiness is not bound in what you might want, but more often in what brings your partner joy or delight. Some might call that sacrifice. I just know it as love.

In this time we're living, nothing is certain. I know all too well our fortunes after 19 years - even despite darkness and pain and trouble and frustration. All the pains of life have taken hold in all of the 6,935 days we have been married. But here we are. Still taking walks with one another. Still holding hands. Still laughing and dancing to the best of the 90s. Still able to say it was the most fun. Still able to say that we remember the most important parts of the day. And oddly enough, still celebrating in this weird eternity of 2020, delighting in the fact that we are lucky enough to be quarantined together. Happy Anniversary to us.

We're All Just Real People

Like many of you, I have spent the better part of the last three weeks working from home. While not super ideal in my line of work, I have made do, setting up a make-shift office space in what is usually our formal dining room (who uses theirs anyway), and on occasion I move my home office to the patio outside (my preferred quarantine workspace despite the pollen). The WFH lifestyle isn't my first choice, but it has to do for now. Instead, I have settled for really short commute and a workspace where all the coffee and snacks are free. Kind of.

But I miss people.  I miss my morning coffee roundup with the office suite gals and the pass-through drop-by's with colleagues. I miss seeing students, hugging those in need of a little extra care, and high-fiving those getting much anticipated transfer acceptance letters.  I miss walking around our campus - at a time of year when its springtime beauty steps proudly forward - seeing people not normally on my routine path, like long lost friends at a high school reunion. See, it's the people that make up a college.

Instead, I'm here. At my dining room table alone. The grandfather clock incessantly ticking, echoing through an empty house. 

Luckily, we have ways. The wonder of technology still allows me to connect and see and hear the people I miss, and sometimes I can even imagine this day without the virus. I have FaceTimed more in the last three weeks that I have collectively FaceTimed ever. I have WebEx Meetinged and WebEx Teamed and Facebook Lived and Zoomed. Here's what I'm learning: these people who I miss so dearly are all real, human people, and I'm learning to love them even more at a distance. I thought I knew them, but I think I really know them now.

Executives are mothers in charge of 3 year-olds with toys and imaginations, and they point out when no one answers questions in meetings. 

Intelligent faculty known for impressive, high expectations are also overrun with emotion and compassion for their students.

Staff who are used to interruptions from students use that same longing glance at their pets, who walk over keyboards and feign for a little attention. 

My put together, dressed to the nines, friends love a comfy t-shirt and yoga pants just like God intended.

And others are, like me, sitting alone in their unused dining rooms, lost in the moment and looking for another person to arrive.

There's just something about seeing someone in their natural habitat. Their home. The place where they lay their head every night. Where they come home to people and animals they love. Where they eat their favorite food and listen to their favorite song. These spaces we've been confined to are the places that hold all the things that make us who we are. We aren't just the title on our business card. Rather, we are a whole, complete person serving a mighty important role as we build an online college in a week, but who also wipe tears from crying children, mow the growing grass, wash dinner's dirty dishes, and who now, don their mask and gloves to buy groceries. Perhaps the expanding virus might also be growing our heightened sense of humanity for one another. 

They say when one sense weakens, others strengthen, and I think my people senses are heightened in this age of solitude and quarantine. I'm noticing people and their humanity probably more than ever. Perhaps I'm paying too much attention who might be approaching my six-foot area, but it seems that we're looking each other in the eye a bit more. We don't miss asking someone how they are, and we seem to really want to know the answer. We take precautions when we're out, not just to protect ourselves, but to protect those around us. We take a little extra time and care to say, "Stay well." In fact, we really mean it.

I think about all the things that will be different when I'm able to return to my office with a skyline view, regaining my morning coffee chat, student high-fives, and the whole bit. I won't miss the ticking clock or the empty room, but I sure hope we get to keep some of what we've learned about one another. I hope to remember to ask about the dog or the cat and the bouncing kid who passes by our meetings. I hope we all retain a bit more of our attention to one another and look each other in the eyes as we walk our path forward. Most of all, I hope we retain our sense of humanity, remembering that we patiently suffered this current moment together...apart. And I hope we continue offering that solid look upon each other's faces, generously offering our meaningful wishes to stay well in the days ahead.