Twenty-seven years ago today I was single. The day after that, I was not.
Each year I try to sweep it under the non-existent rug with my very little invisible broom and let the date pass with no notice, but I can’t. I don’t want to. It was and still is a special day that was perfect while it stood alone. Of course, in the grandest picture, it can be considered sad, but it wasn’t on that day.
We didn’t want a wedding and were going to get married in my little apartment in Southampton, Massachusetts that Tyler and I shared, but people wanted to celebrate and so did we.
For today, I will think of the anticipation, the night before. Roger had only been in town a few hours, just enough to sign our marriage license. We parted ways for the night and just waited. Waited to be together forever.
Until death did we part, and even then, we didn’t.