It was not you, my bride, that first gave me goosebumps that day. Nor the evocative drone of the lone piper immaculately clad from head to toe in tartan. No, it was that first crunch of gravel beneath my feet that hinted at what was to come that first made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end…
For when wrinkles have long formed around our wedding rings, I hope that it will be such details I carry forward from the blur of that most beautiful, balmy June day that began in an old barn on a farm in Scotland. I shall remember the woven hearts and fairy lights strung from the timber beams above our heads. The candles flickering in nooks in the stone walls, and the jars of wildflowers dotted about the floor. I shall remember how anticipation hung dense in the air, for of course, as always, you were late!
I shall remember how the piper raised his shawl to shield the view from the barn’s solitary window – one of my favourite moments of the day – before you glided in like a movie star from the Golden Age and nearly floored me as we locked eyes down the aisle. I shall remember your father’s eyes, wet with tears of pride. I shall remember your tears as we made not vows before a god but promises to each other in the name of our beautiful baby boy.
I shall remember the love and joy in that barn. I shall remember the intimacy. How friends and family had crossed borders and continents to share in our most sacred day. Five hundred miles, five hundred more… I shall remember how my hardy friend’s voice cracked with emotion as he read a poem from The Thoughts of Nanushka that begins with the line: “May your friendship and trust endure and strengthen through the winters of your lives…”
I shall remember how our hands were bound together with lace and tartan cloth in an ancient Celtic ritual that gave birth to the expression ‘tying the knot’. I shall remember our first dance, to ‘Let There Be Love’, a song with which I have sung our son to sleep more times than I can count, whispering the lines: “Come on Baby Blue, shake up your tired eyes, the world is waiting for you. May all your dreaming fill the empty sky…” I shall remember how we formed a circle with our guests for the final chorus and held hands, arms aloft, and hollered “let there be love” in unison, until hoarse.
I shall remember your father’s poignant speech, that pregnant pause, and the relief when I got the first laugh of mine. I shall remember my best man’s kind words. I shall remember the ceilidh band’s futile attempts to keep our guests in step as we danced and laughed like our very lives depended upon it. And in a way, they very much did, for we knew that this group would never have chance to dance and laugh together again.
I shall remember the calm as we embraced on the shores of Loch Lomond as our photographer gladly embraced the moodiness of the day’s dying light. It was the first time all day that we had found ourselves – almost – alone and finally able to take a breath. I shall remember smoking cigars and sipping whisky from hip flasks around the open fire before the darkness ended its shift to hand over the keys to our future to the dawn.
But most of all, my bride, I shall remember that first crunch of gravel beneath my feet that marked the start of it all.
