I woke up emotional this morning. As I was in the shower, the Beach Boys sang “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”, and at some point I detected the tingle of oncoming tears. Suddenly, after 39 years of this song in my life, it rang so true even though I could sing the words in my sleep.
I’m getting married tomorrow.
As I padded around my little studio apartment, soon to be our studio apartment, I dodged his starched white dress shirt as it swung from a hook still in its dry cleaning bag. I stopped and looked at it for a moment. “Groom”, I thought. “Husband”. Every minute was the last minute I’d be alone in that room, unmarried, and full of anticipation. I meant to sleep in this morning but by 8 am, a full hour an a half before my alarm was set to go off, I was wide awake. I checked my email in bed, flipped through Instagram, made a mental note to change the sheets and towels so everything will be fresh for our return from the honeymoon, and decided to get up.
Now I’m sitting in the local coffee shop, typing out my vows for our day-of coordinator, making more mental notes regarding Dylan’s vows, packing for the next seven days away from home, and frantically checking the weather forecast for tomorrow (it’s not good). A pile of notecards sits next to me, yet to be written: one for his mom, one for mine, one for each of my two sisters, one for my best friend and Maid of Honor, and one for Dylan. His is my favorite. It has two skeletons on the front, who are holding hands. Under them, it says, “Til death do us part is for quitters”. Perfect.
Last night we had dinner with some friends in from out of town for the occasion and the evening ended with laughter and the closing down of the restaurant around us. As it should be. It was a very welcome relief from the stress of the week. Planning, essentially on my own in spite of Dylan and his family’s willingness to help, cracked me. A few times. I didn’t burst into tears as I thought I would a few times, but I did require a few lie downs in my quiet room. Dylan treated me with kid gloves and for good reason, I snapped at him more than once. I’m not proud. The stress and pressure was a lot to take and I didn’t manage it very well, admittedly.
But I just came from a quick meeting with my flower lady and it’s all coming together. I’m embracing the “do this/not my job” part that has to come with the role of Bride. Delegate as much as possible, and make sure everyone knows when they have to be where, and when. There is a calm coming over me that I’ve been missing and waiting for. By 3 pm we’ll be at the hotel checked in and ready to meet with our officiants, then rehearsing, then eating, then going our separate ways for the evening until we see each other again, 27 hours from right now, on opposite ends of an aisle.
Then it begins.