You told me once, that growing up, you never really imagined having a wedding, that you just assumed you wouldn’t, and I swallowed back my sadness, knowing I too, couldn’t really visualize it without feeling profoundly vulnerable, without counting all the ways the act of marriage would question our very love.  When I proposed to you, #loveislove wasn’t a thing yet and while we could legally wed in Massachusetts, it meant nothing beyond our state boundaries.  We contemplated a private courthouse service followed by a backyard gathering for close friends and family but, that too, felt hollow and inauthentic. How could we bring forward our vivid love story in the mere half-light?  We deserved so much more.

And so we went all in.  Yes, we were two brides-to-be.  Yes, it confused vendors.  Yes, some friends and family struggled with the concept.  Yes, we were both going to wear dresses, walk down the aisle, and have a first dance.  Yes, yes and more yesses.

And while there were plenty of these awkward moments, and some more painful ones, all of them fell away as we blasted Beth Hart through open windows on our way to the Crane Estate in a complete downpour, when our moms guided us into our wedding gowns, when we held hands with our closest people to bless our love, when mother nature winked out a rainbow, when you walked down the aisle towards me and I could not physically hold back my tears, when our ceremony was filled with laughter and heart and togetherness and words and songs that drifted through the sea and sky, when we were gifted toasts from the soul, when our first dance and last dance paired romance and whimsy, when we went around, one by one, to all of our guests, and received an outpouring of love and genuine happiness with us and for us, when the night came to a sweet and gracious end that we grieved the loss of for days to come, when we let love lead and discovered, like most little girls grow up believing, that our wedding day was the best day of our lives.

I love you always.