I walked down the aisle of St. Mary's in Muskegon. An old Catholic church, with a really old priest, with sunny yellow walls and bright glass-colored windows.
My Mom, who never looked more beautiful than that afternoon, and I spent 2 months working on every detail of the day, right down to the exact ivory ribbon wrapped around each bell on each table. The drooping tulips tied to every pew.
Well over 200 friends and family were there. My flower girl, my niece, had an incident with the sponge rollers and looked like Medusa electrocuted. But she was beautiful in her champagne dress. My girlfriends dressed in apple red. My brothers shined up in tuxedos at the front. My Dad, teary eyed and proud, walking me down the aisle.
That aisle. I wasn't nervous. I was excited. I'd known Rich since I was 15 years old. Like a well-worn t-shirt that you put on night after night because it's what makes you feel like everything is the way it should be. That was Rich. It was the way it should be.
We were about to embark on an adventure. After a week somewhere tropical and beachy, I would join him in Los Angeles, having only visited a few times in my life. I left my job, my family, my friends, my home. But I knew it was the start of something great.
And 10 years later, it has been. A small apartment in North Hollywood. Dive bars in the Valley. Long days and nights of building our careers. Harley rides to Neptune's Net. Countless airplane rides into Grand Rapids. Heartache. A mortgage. Joy. A dog. Two babies.
Then (young and free and happy, ready to hit the town) -
Now (older and parents and happy, driving carpool) -
An entire decade. The days pass slowly, the years quickly. I don't know where that quote is from but it is true.
It's our 10 year anniversary. And I feel so lucky.