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December 28, 1987 -- the night before our wedding

Mario and I will be married thirty-seven (37) years today—at 7:00 p.m. Our wedding took place four days after Christmas and one day after my 25^th birthday.

It was an unusual time of year to plan a wedding, but it was ours and we were happy. Our families, anticipating the usual holiday busy-ness, didn’t necessarily agree.  

“You’ve been complaining your whole life about your birthday,” my mom said, when I told her the date of our wedding. “Now you’re going to get married a day after it?”

“It’s what we want,” I said, a little embarrassed. Truthfully, Mario was a State Park Ranger, and I was a dispatcher for CalFire, so we joked about scheduling our wedding on December 29^th because it was our day off together—Tuesday.    

Despite the unusual-ness of it, our families got on board and looked forward to our wedding. The morning of December 29, 1987, Mario called me at my parents’ house, as I was getting ready to take a bubble bath, to tell me he had the stomach flu.

“I’ve been throwing up all morning,” he said. I could hear the muffled conversation of his groomsmen in the background, cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

“Are you sure it’s the flu?” I asked, more hopeful than I should have been. Mario was an athlete and knew his body well.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Can you go through with it?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Just don’t expect…. I’ll be there.”

He was there, but his face was as white as his tuxedo, and slightly damp. Nevertheless, he smiled and was able to remember his hand-written vows by heart. He endured the long service, gave me a double kiss to seal the deal, and walked down the aisle with me to applause and triumphant organ music. As soon as we exited the church into the crisp December night, Mario took a hard right and puked in the boxwood bushes.

When he was finished, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and said, “Sorry, babe.” A moment later, during our silent walk to the vestiary, where we were supposed to meet the wedding party for pictures, he said something else: “I can’t believe I made it.”

Two days later, on our honeymoon, Mario was better, but I was sick. I caught his flu and was in bed, weakened by a night of vomiting. Unable to lift my head off the pillow, I mumbled something of an apology:

“If I had to get married with this flu, I don’t know if I could do it.”

So, that was our wedding day—not the fairy-tale version that lived in my head, or the “happiest day of my life”— the sobering reality that life doesn't always work out like you plan it. If our wedding was a precursor of our life together, it foreshadowed how we, a couple desperately in love, would have to have a sense of humor to roll with the punches.

Our wedding day was saved by an evening start time—Mario would have never been able to stomach getting married in the morning. The sickness he had, a 24-hour bug, was on its way out. After the post-ceremony puking, he felt a lot better. The church, still decorated with twinkling Christmas lights and poinsettias, glowed with warmth. Outside, the cold air, and the stars lighting up the sky, made the night feel magical and holy.

Our unusual wedding was the precursor of a genuinely unusual marriage. We’ve raised children together, have worked and volunteered alongside each other, traveled (and lived) all over the world, and have endured more hardships than most people I know. But, we also have joy. We treasure a deep, abiding love for one another—a romance that takes work to keep alive.

By most people’s evaluation, Mario and I are opposites. His athletic, analytical, gentle-hearted nature draws people into the warmth of  his friendship. He loves good cigars, aged scotch, and watching sports. I’m creative, impulsive, obsessive, and outgoing enough to be slightly annoying. I unwind by refinishing furniture, and when I do sit down, it’s to eat something, or read a book. Our marriage is solidified by great bonders—things we agree are the most important things in life—faith, family, and a shared love and respect for one another.

When people ask us about our wedding day, we usually pass on telling the story, but say something encouraging, like, “It wasn’t perfect, but it worked, maybe better than it should have.”

In truth, the best I can say about our wedding day, and maybe about our marriage, is that Mario showed up and made the best of it. Despite the flu, he did what he promised to do, and even more. He not only went through the cermony, he posed for pictures afterwards, and then headed off to the reception, all without complaining. He is a man of integrity and has earned a reputation with me for keeping his promises- even the hard ones.

Happy Anniversary, babe. You are truly, genuinely, my favorite human being in the whole world, and I genuinely don’t deserve you.

ILY ~Janet

Last night--at Capital Stage in Sacramento