Wedding Day Blues

Today (I guess now technically yesterday) marks our third anniversary, so I thought I'd tell a little story. 

I imagine most of you would be surprised to know that I was sobbing seconds before this picture was taken. And not in a good way. 

I was having a full blown panic attack. The parents of other couples were giving me weird looks when they realized my tears were in fact, not tears of joy. I had to compose myself in an instant when we started getting pushed outside by a- shall we say- unsympathetic temple usher. Still on the brink of tears, we walked out to our families who were literally soaked by the rain. It had been pouring all day and would continue to.

"But your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life!" And that's not exactly the picture I'm painting. Let me just recount some of the more memorable events leading up to the tunnel.

I did not get more than 3 hours of sleep the night before. There were nerves and excitement and I stayed up most of the night at my best friend's house trying to keep my mind occupied. At 6:30 AM (which is an absolutely ungodly hour for me to be awake, those of you who know me will attest) I scrambled to get myself and my dress/makeup in the car and drive up to Salt Lake, where I had a hair appointment. The rain was so terrible that I nearly crashed more than once. When I finally got to the salon, it became clear about an hour into the appointment that the stylist was brand new and had no earthly idea how to do hair. This, despite my specific asking for someone experienced, since... duh. This was confirmed when the stylist told me this was her first up-do appointment and she'd only been there a week. She then proceeded to drop the curling iron on my face and burn my cheek. And I do mean burn. Some other stylists sitting around on break overheard my shrill statement that it was my wedding day and stepped in way too late. My hair was a mess. My happy, special, once in a lifetime, all about me day, and I thought my hair looked like Chewbacca. *Fun Fact* My initial stylist actually used that term to describe my hair. Can you feel my blood boiling yet?

After being too flustered and running too late, I didn't argue with the cashier and refuse to pay, which on any other day, I would have. I met up with my mom at a nearby friends house where I had planned to do my makeup. Because of the hair debacle, I didn't have time. I would have to do it in the car while my mom drove us to the temple. I had been so tired and stressed that morning, that the thought had never occurred to me to bring regular church clothes to wear into the temple, and no one thought to remind me. So I had to quickly pick an outfit out of my friend's closet and get in the car.

When you arrive at the temple, you hand off your dress to some woman who tells you that it'll be waiting for you in your changing room when the sealing is over (I opted not to wear my actual gown in the sealing; they have very specific rules dictating what the bride can wear). I had securely taped closed a pocket on the sheath of my dress that contained the beautiful green Swarovski earrings that I had barely scrimped enough money to buy in Austria the summer before. I informed the woman of this, and to be very careful, since she said she would be the one to take my dress all the way to the changing room.

I met Josh in the waiting room before going into the sealing, when he informed me that the apartment complex we had made arrangements to live at would not give him the key, so we wouldn't be able to live in our own place immediately after our honeymoon. Talk about buzzkill.

And so it went. 

I'm not particularly close with my extended family, so sitting in a room I'd never been in before, wearing clothes I wasn't comfortable in, making a a massive and life changing commitment, with 50 of my "closest" family members staring... was less than pleasant. Besides that, it all happened so fast and I was so nervous, I can't remember 90% of what the Sealer said.

After the sealing, I was escorted to the changing room where, low and behold, both of my Swarovski earring were gone, and the tape that had sealed the pocket shut was completely removed. Maybe it sounds vain, but literally days went by and I still cried about those earrings. What was I supposed to believe? They fell out? They were stolen in the temple? The lady that I had handed my dress off to had been careless enough to let them get lost? However it happened, they were gone. That was pretty much the last soul crushing straw. I sobbed while changing into my dress, and I continued to sob while trying to touch up my sloppy car-done makeup. I wanted to take out my hair and redo it into something simple and quick, at least so I could wear my veil for pictures. I asked my mom if we had time. 

We didn't.

And so I was ushered to the tunnel where I met Josh, who saw me having a meltdown. But unfortunately for Josh, this was the first meltdown of mine that he had witnessed. He has since learned how to help, but on that day, he had no clue. All he could do was stare, bewildered as to what could be wrong on my "happy, special day". I kept compulsively shoving my veil into my hair, hoping against hope that it would stay. 

It didn't.

After we came out and the initial tunnel photos were taken, we hustled to the steps of the temple where we had a very strict 20 minutes allotted. It was here when I realized, the choice of hiring a friend of a friend as my wedding photographer, which I had felt pressured to do, was a colossal mistake. I would realize this again and again over the coming months. To summarize that quickly; crap photos, low resolution images; way later than promised, harassing the guy to give me the photos at all. I later re-edited the passable ones myself.

After taking pictures mostly inside because of the weather, Josh and I needed to grab some food before the reception, since- let's be real- no bride and groom ever really gets to eat at their own reception unless your reception is literally a formal dinner. Ours was not. On the way, I had the horrible realization that no playlist for the reception had been done. I proceeded to make one on my iPod, finishing literally as I walked into the church. Intermittently, my sister chauffeured us to Cafe Rio, where I got all sorts of weird looks to add to my belt that day, for walking in and eating a pork burrito in my wedding dress. Are you laughing yet?

Guests had already arrived at the church before we did, and we greeted people for the majority of the evening. The speakers weren't good so my playlist played annoyingly quiet in the background. I did not get any of the refreshments except for the ceremonial piece of cake shoved in my face. Nobody had prepared me for this disappointment.

I suppose this is where I'll stop. Nobody wants an account of a wedding night past this point anyway. I've neglected some of the smaller details, but everything that happened that day was an inarguable disaster.

Months after the wedding, I was telling my best girlfriend all the things that happened behind the scenes and she heard me out completely before telling me something I'll never forget. It amounted to this: She was glad my wedding was a disaster. In her eyes, it meant that all of our bad luck was dealt with on our first day of our marriage. Subsequently, she felt it would mean we would have one of the best marriages a couple could have. Not to say we wouldn't have challenges, just that all of them would be conquerable. After 3 years, I can honestly say she was right. That day was awful and traumatic in so, so many ways that I'm sure I've blocked some of them out. But if that means that my marriage can last through anything, then I'll take it.