Witness to love

About ten years ago, my second-cousin Celine got married. I went to the wedding. It was on the beach on Long Island, just outside of the City. It was the most spectacular wedding I'd ever attended. The one-hundred or so chairs faced the ocean right near the sand volleyball court that Celine and her family had played on most summer weekends throughout her life. Celine looked stunning as she walked down the aisle – a gorgeous dress, black hair, olive skin, light eyes, and supermodel looks made her radiant. But there was another thing that made her even more radiant  – her love.

When Ken, her fiance, saw her approaching – I witnessed a powerful and genuine display of unconditional love. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes danced with unabashed joy. I had never seen anything like it. I remember an onlooker near me whispering to her neighbor, "Not many people are lucky enough to find a love like that." 

At one point during the ceremony Ken surprised Celine by having an airplane fly across the horizon, above the beach, with a love note trailing behind it – in French! It was a inside message the two of them shared, they're own secret flying overhead. It was the most romantic thing I'd ever witnessed. She was giddy. Even more giddy than she had been moments prior, on the beach altar, on the happiest day of her life, next to the man she was marrying. When they kissed after the pronouncement, I felt as though I was inside of a romance movie. It was perfect. The love I saw between the two of them was unexplainable – it was simply true love.

The wedding turned into a reception on the beach. Ken, besides being the most adoring man I'd ever seen, is also a famous chef and had graced the pages of People Magazine as one of their most eligible bachelors. Celine had walked into one of his restaurants in Boston one day. They met when she sold him French delicacies for his shop – fine cheese, truffles, or maybe caviar. They both spoke French, they both spoke food, and they soon learned, they both spoke love.

For dinner, Ken's friends, renowned chefs, many of whom appear on the Food Network, all set up food booths as their gift to the new couple. Much like the love, the food was out of this world. The dancing began and continued late into the night. A Spanish glass wine vessel, called a porron, was passed around the dance floor all night, spilling thin streams of fine champagne into our mouths. I danced with family and friends, but what I really remember was watching Ken and Celine embrace, love, and dote on one another throughout the celebration. I, as a woman in my early twenties, had been to many weddings, but I had never seen an honest display of love like this.

It was that night when I decided someday I too, would find true love.

Over the next ten years, I gave it my best shot. Over and over, in fact. I love hard. I put it all out there. And I give it my best. Then I met you. And you were searching for the same thing. And then, we finally had it.

I knew our wedding was going to be a showcase of that same love I'd witnessed on the beach between Ken and Celine. I knew what they had, we now had too. I'd waited, and it was worth it. The first time I visited you in Boulder, I walked into your bar and saw a porron sitting on the counter smiling at me. A sign, I thought to myself. I often told you, "I would do it all over again if I knew I got to be with you in the end, Ted. I would go through all the heartbreak, all the wrong choices, all the shit, all of it. As long as you are at the end." Is the Universe testing me now? Is that what this is?

About six months after we began dating, you came with me to Maine where my parents live in the summers. It was your first family trip with me. On the front end of the journey, we traveled to Kennebunkport to meet up with my dad's cousin Tom, his wife Maryanne, daughter Melanie, Celine, Ken, and their babies. I had told you about that infamous wedding and you were excited to meet the family I loved so dearly and the couple I admired. On top of that, we were dining at one of Ken's restaurants called "Earth" – you were impressed by the James Beard award, the menu, and the dedication to local fare.

The visit went well. Almost perfectly. Almost. You had let the kitchen know about your allergy to sunflower seeds and pine nuts. We both knew everything on the table was fine for you to eat – except the squash ravioli. At some point, your appetite and curiosity got the best of you. You looked at me, your face was swollen and your eyes were watering. "Not the squash ravioli?!" I asked. "I forgot. Everything was so good and I just got excited," you responded.

You begged me not to tell anyone. This was your first trip with my family and there was no way you'd want to upset the Iron Chef winner and cousin of mine who was seated just a few chairs down. I swore I wouldn't. You excused yourself to the bathroom, to, as you always said, "pull the trigger." I stealthily got a hold of the car keys and looted your dop kit for Benadryl.

You were gone from the table for a very long time. By the time you came back from the bathroom, most of the table was done eating. You, being a tortoise-paced eater, still had nearly all your food on your plate. More wine was drank by the rest of us as you tried to eat your food and hide the nausea that was consuming you. But the chef never found out. (Until now, possibly.)

On our drive from Earth to our cabin, about 2-hours along windy coastal roads, my father decided to take the "scenic route". It was dark out and there was little to see, so my dad's choice was confusing. My father also happens to be one of the world's most jerky drivers. You sat, stone-faced and silent in the back of the car – stomach writhing and throat contracting. I gripped your hand as we swerved our way to the cabin. You were such a gentleman. You didn't want anyone to know. I honored that, but all I really wanted to do was cradle you, rub your belly, and run my fingers through your hair until you drifted to sleep in my arms.

Ken and Celine's wedding was the first time I started dreaming about my own. And then when I finally met you, nearly a decade later, I knew it would finally happen. While a wedding seems trivial to me now after all of this loss – for that decade, I longed for my big day. And when I met you, I could finally see it. I imagined friends witnessing our love and it being proof to them, after their own potential doubt, that true love was real. That they too deserved it. That it was worth the wait. And then we would help other people to fall in love too.

So now, here I sit – alone, but knowing. I know it's real. I know I got to taste it. And maybe I'll have to wait another lifetime to taste it again, like I said I would. I will have to go through it all over, just to see that glimmer, to feel that warmth, and to dip my toe into unconditional love. And if that's the case and you're there on the other side, it will be worth the wait.