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I'm not really good at remembering dates, but I'll never forget the day I got married, August 21st. The date's easy enough, after the way we celebrated our first year together. My wife and I had decided to have a quiet Sunday at home, just the two of us, no interruptions. It seemed like such a simple plan. Until the phone calls. The first few we ignored, but soon our phone started ringing nonstop. We took turns answering.
None of the calls were happy anniversary messages. The first call came from my brother. "Jim, these guys you’re working around are murderers, some are doing life sentences," he said, "You should find another job.” Then my mother-in-law, who usually phones to say, “You should be watching Oprah,” but changed her modus operandi, "Are you watching Channel 4 news?” Indeed, we were. There had been a news alert about ten dangerous convicts breaking out of the Ryan Correctional Facility in Detroit. We couldn’t believe it. Somebody had thrown numerous guns over the perimeter fence, along with bolt cutters. Most of the names being reported were familiar to me, yet the whole incident seemed so far away. It had been a quick reminder of who I had become, of who I dealt with on a daily basis.
When I initially started at Ryan Correctional, I worked eighteen months straight before taking my first vacation, which happened to be my planned wedding and honeymoon. I remember Old Man Adams, in prison for killing his wife, yelling across the mall area as I was leaving, “Don’t do it! What you really need is a restraining-order!” The other inmates within earshot started laughing.
Nothing really goes according to plan. Ask my wife about our wedding and she’ll mention her grandfather’s desire to see his last grandchild get married. Unfortunately, he died thirteen years ago today, one day short of fulfilling his wish. I spent part of my honeymoon as a pallbearer.
Then there’s that memorable moment of the actual wedding day, where the priest ignores your request not to mention the recently departed. We exchanged wedding vows in the company of grief stricken relatives.
Today’s photograph shows my wife and I, hand in hand, ready to cut our wedding cake. The first cut is the deepest, deeper than you could ever imagine. We were not ourselves on that day. According to the picture, according to the knife’s engraving, we were some other couple on some other day.
None of the calls were happy anniversary messages. The first call came from my brother. "Jim, these guys you’re working around are murderers, some are doing life sentences," he said, "You should find another job.” Then my mother-in-law, who usually phones to say, “You should be watching Oprah,” but changed her modus operandi, "Are you watching Channel 4 news?” Indeed, we were. There had been a news alert about ten dangerous convicts breaking out of the Ryan Correctional Facility in Detroit. We couldn’t believe it. Somebody had thrown numerous guns over the perimeter fence, along with bolt cutters. Most of the names being reported were familiar to me, yet the whole incident seemed so far away. It had been a quick reminder of who I had become, of who I dealt with on a daily basis.
When I initially started at Ryan Correctional, I worked eighteen months straight before taking my first vacation, which happened to be my planned wedding and honeymoon. I remember Old Man Adams, in prison for killing his wife, yelling across the mall area as I was leaving, “Don’t do it! What you really need is a restraining-order!” The other inmates within earshot started laughing.
Nothing really goes according to plan. Ask my wife about our wedding and she’ll mention her grandfather’s desire to see his last grandchild get married. Unfortunately, he died thirteen years ago today, one day short of fulfilling his wish. I spent part of my honeymoon as a pallbearer.
Then there’s that memorable moment of the actual wedding day, where the priest ignores your request not to mention the recently departed. We exchanged wedding vows in the company of grief stricken relatives.
Today’s photograph shows my wife and I, hand in hand, ready to cut our wedding cake. The first cut is the deepest, deeper than you could ever imagine. We were not ourselves on that day. According to the picture, according to the knife’s engraving, we were some other couple on some other day.
13 comments:
Could that other person be Mr. Wilson? There's a slight resemblance, me thinks.
My parents got married on the 20th (today) and tomorrow is my moms birthday. =D
Congrats!
Wow. I always wondered about things like that; something tragic happening just before a wedding. That’s Terrible. Did you end up going anywhere for your honeymoon?
I'm surprised about what old man Adams said to you. It's hard to picture your job. It must be strange having murderers know personal details about your life. They probably thrive off stuff like that though.
"The first call came from my brother.”Jim, these guys you’re working around are murderers, some are doing life sentences," he said, "You should find another job.”"
I love the "you should find another job" conversations. Everyone always knows better.
Approaching thirty and still married.
You lucky dog.
Congrats
Up to thirty were the happiest years of my life.
Well, happy anniversary. You're very lucky. All the best to you and your wife.
I checked out your sketch of your dog on your June 10th post. Amazing. That's done on wood? How on earth did you get the expression in his eyes like that? It's really good.
Josie
Congrats to you and your wife. My mother in law, God rest her soul, use to tell my wife and I on our anniversary that "the first one hundred years was the hardest."
Enjoyed the post. MW
Love the post, Jim! I'm always amazed when people make it thirteen days let alone years into a marriage. Love the details and the picture. Very telling and brilliant.
To answer your question Wichita-Lineman, no we did not have a honeymoon, still haven't.
Also, it's funny how the little things can get messed up too. The knife was left behind from a previous wedding reception and had the couple's name and wedding date engraved on it. We didn't know about it until we looked at our wedding pictures, at a close-up shot of our hands cutting the cake.
On another note, Josie, it's called scratch art. You take a blank canvas layered in black ink, and start scratching away to white.
Thanks everyone for the comments.
Hey Jim,
Excellent post. You deserve a honeymoon and a vacation, dude!
I can empathize with rough starts. My marriage has always been one of compromise and doing without and for that reason I respect and love my partner more than I can say.
Being married for 17 years now, I can honestly tell you that we have had only one real vacation. I was worried we wouldn't know what to say to each other as we'd never been alone, without the constant burden of family and work. It was great! It just wasn't long enough!
Jim, Ok. Happy Anniversary! Likewise Happy Birthday to me! -Bro Ron
how come people always say the first cut is always the deepest? that's the second time i heard that today.
Christine, It's lyrics from a song. You probably heard it on the radio. Thanks for commenting.
And Happy B-day Bro.
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