At Dave's Request

This is the first time Dave has asked me to blog about something. So I feel like I have to oblige. He has been laughing all day about this. I don't find it very funny, but here we go.

We had our first fight last night. Like real, raised voices, modified swear words, moved to tears fight. It was stupid. We were both tired, and had long, stressful weeks. We have one month until the wedding and we're down to crunch time: finalizing food, photography, clothing, and...invitations. We ran into a little problem with the size of our sealing room in proportion to the number of people we want to have present. In short, the room is too small to accommodate everyone so we were trying to figure out what to do.

I chose to share this problem with a close friend who suggested Dave and I hold a ring ceremony so that we could include those we wanted to invite to the sealing but couldn't fit in the temple. I thought, "Brilliant idea!" and immediately called Dave, thinking he would think this was a great solution to our problem. His response: "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of." I thought he was joking. Nope. Turns out he's never even heard of a ring ceremony. Balloon: popped.

We met up later that night and tried to figure out what to do. We had our fight, eventually made up (mostly), and decided to decide when we were better rested and had some more time to think.

As we were driving back to St. George (we were in SLC for a conference/picking up my wedding dress), we reached a philosophical agreement and found what we considered to be a viable solution to our problem. We pulled into town as I was drafting our newest insert to be included in certain invitations. Dave hopped out and ran into the bank, leaving me to finish crafting before we stopped off at the printers. Suddenly, I had this terrible realization. I had not only suggested but had insisted upon having a ring ceremony, an event that puts me squarely at the center of attention. Me, who detests having Happy Birthday sung to me because I have to stand there awkwardly not knowing where to look as people hold a burning cake in front of me. I would have to stand there with hundreds of people looking at me while someone said some kind words and I wouldn't have anywhere to look but right at Dave and then I would get so moony-eyed that I would hate every picture that was taken during those 15 minutes. (The sealing doesn't freak me out as much because (1) it's a required part of getting married while a ring ceremony is not, and (2) there are no cameras to capture just how crazy, sappy in love I am with Dave.)

Panicked, I ran into the bank where Dave was sitting with an employee and said, "Dave, I can't do a ring ceremony!" After he recovered from the initial shock of my outburst, I explained my reasoning, to which his response was uncontrollable laughter. The teller looked at us like we were crazy. Dave kept laughing all the way to San Diego.

Our first fight and it was over a non-issue. I think this is what it's like to be married. In the end, we decided on an informal luncheon with someone saying a few words about eternal marriage and the like. Dave and I will probably sing a song. Who knows. I know where to look when I sing, so that seems like the most reasonable solution. :)

I think my favorite part about this whole fight was the gas station rose Dave bought me on our way back to St. George the morning after. It's the first flower he's ever bought me and it made me smile. I love him. Like, a lot.

Two years

I don't know if anyone even reads this anymore--it's hard to say. It might be easier to believe that than to consider that there might be people who don't know me that well lurking out there since Dave and I used this blog to collect addresses and share our engagement story, etc. Especially since I just want to talk about my mom for a second, a topic that is pretty sacred to me.

I've tried to pretend this day could just pass by if I didn't give it much thought, just like I thought that if I didn't spend too much time hugging my mom at the airport for the last time that our parting wouldn't hurt so bad. I was wrong then and I was wrong this time. Anniversaries are strange things. It's just another day on the calendar, and yet today feels different. People's lives are going on like normal, and my day has stood still. I remember feeling so disoriented after my mom died when I came across coverage of the Oscars. My initial reaction was, how could anyone possibly care about an event like this when my world has just ended? It was the first time I realized that every day someone's world ends and that I was not the first to wonder how the world can just charge on in the face of so much sorrow and loss.

My life slowed down significantly that day. Things that used to matter to me fell by the wayside. In survival mode, only the most important things remained in my life. As I reflect on my life two years later, I'm happy to find that that particular way of living is still mostly in place.

This year's anniversary is much different than last year's. Last year I was still enduring the hottest part of the crucible. I wasn't sure I was going to make it--on many levels. Then came a moment of deliverance. Followed by a lonely summer in Rexburg where I really had to figure my life out: where I wanted to go, if I wanted God to be a part of my life, how I was going to trust him again. And then, one day--labor weekend, actually--after months of fasting and prayer, suddenly the fire stopped burning. I can't explain it, but it was as if I had been covered in a shroud of darkness that had suddenly been drawn away, and I realized the sun had been shining all along. It had been shining all along. All along.

My life changed in that moment. I felt guilty for feeling so relieved, so happy, but then I felt her next to me, telling me, "Julie, if you're happy, I'm happy. Be happy."

A little over a month later, I met Dave. I never thought I would be happy again, and here I am, happier than I have ever been in my entire life. It is one of those bittersweet moments: the growth I experienced in the wake of my mother's death was necessary for me to be ready for Dave. Consequently, though, the two most important people in my life will never meet. Not in mortality anyway.

Dave and I will be married in 45 days in the St. George Temple. I am fairly certain that not even a legion of angels could keep her from attending. I just wish I could see her. Hug her. Hear her tell me how proud she is of me. How happy she is that Dave and I found each other. I wish we could share that happiness together, in person, with her holding my hand. That's what I wish today. Wishing may not make it happen, but I can certainly paint that lovely, happy picture in my head.