The Difference Between a Wedding and A Marriage

I performed a wedding today. It was an outdoor summer affair at a hotel/resort in the Columbia River Gorge. The bride and groom were in their mid-twenties, bright, and shining in their tuxedo and gown. The venue was a glade surrounded by shrubs in the full bloom of August. I was in charge of marrying these two young people, of sending them off into a new life together, and I was proud of what I had written for their day. I was feeling good about myself, feeling nostalgic for my own wedding. Or, I had been earlier that day.

Rewind to two hours before the ceremony. My wife texts me about our daughter. I’m in the car, can’t text. I call her back but she’s busy with work and can’t talk. The first misunderstanding occurs. More texts, call to babysitter, call back to wife, more misunderstanding, more texts…disappointment. I think she has cancelled coming out to the wedding. She thinks I’m not putting out an effort to get her there. Both upset, both irritated, the night is blown, expectations are shot, and we both know that I will return to the house, as will she, and we’ll try to find some way to get past it without making it into a total drama-fest.

I walk to the center aisle with the groom in tow. We wait there as the parents are sat, the bridesmaids and groomsmen enter, the ring bearer and the flower girl meander along, and then, finally, the moment when he gets to see his bride. I see him in profile. He looks up at her when the music changes and then drops his eyes again. He looks up at her, smiles, and again looks down to the ground. He is not avoiding her. He is simply overwhelmed because she is gorgeous in her sleeveless gown, her ebony hair swept up and placed perfectly. She’s beaming and goofing a little as she walks the aisle. She’s smiling and laughing with the guests. I don’t think she’s used to being the true center of attention. The groom takes her hand as she reaches the end of the aisle. They turn and face me, expectant.

When I arrive home that night, Tracy turns to face me, expectant. She wants an answer, an apology, an explanation for why the night was ruined. I tell her I thought she said she wasn’t going. She thought I said I was calling my mother to give her directions. I tell her she didn’t tell me that. She says that’s not what I said. We chalk it up to miscommunication and I leave the room in a huff. She pulls the comforter to her chin and sulks. The night for us ends in silence.

For the bride and groom the night is anything but silent. It is full of well wishing, sentimental tears, good cheer, touching toasts, and a bouncing soundtrack. Their friends are present. They’re surrounded by their family. They’re happy.

I’m happy. Overall. I think I have a pretty good life, but there are days where everything ends in frustration, where silence dominates the rooms in my house. There are times when I feel alone inside my own house although there are people here to share it with me. I know she loves me. I love her. It was a bad day. Hopefully tonight will be better. And that, my friends, is the difference between a wedding and a marriage.