Days that Matter - Fourth of July
My Wedding Day - Once Everything, Now a Footnote
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July.
Most people think of fireworks, flags, barbecues. Me? I think of a wedding in Acapulco, Mexico, twenty-five years ago. My wedding.
We chose the Fourth for simple reasons: cheaper flights, guests had time off work, the logistics made sense. Freedom wasn’t really on my mind, at least not consciously.
Thirty guests came from all over the world: Japan, Chicago, California and other places I don’t even remember now. My friend Nicole flew in from Tokyo. Darby, Chanda and Marie were my anchors. Delores did my hair; we aren’t even friends anymore.
I don’t remember what I ate that morning. I don’t remember the flowers on the tables or the music before the ceremony. I don’t remember most of the things people usually hold onto. I forgot my vows and stumbled through something off the cuff that wasn’t particularly poetic.
But I do remember my bouquet: calla lilies. I chose them because of their simplicity and elegance, and because they always reminded me of Mexico… bold, sculptural, alive.
I remember the drive to the church. Alone. No mom, no dad - both gone by my twenties. I wanted clarity in that moment, not distraction. But really, I was full of questions. Was I ready? Was this right? What the hell was I doing? It was a quiet drive up into the hills above the bay and I had no one to steady me, but me.
The church itself? I picked it for its mid-century modern architecture and the ridiculous sweeping view of Acapulco Bay. Capilla de la Paz is airy, open, almost like you’re floating above everything, even stubborn and uninvited doubts.
That day was overwhelming, not big or loud, but in the way that made it feel like the centerpiece of my life story. And now, it’s barely a memory.
This is the part that fascinates me: how something can be both a favorite moment in your life and transmute into a footnote. How something can feel like the center of the universe one moment and dissolve into a soft, almost forgettable corner of your mind.
My life has always been about duality. Black and white. American living in Canada. Craving adventure, aching for stability. Longing for deep companionship, fiercely protective of my solitude. A woman with no true home at the moment. Sure, I pay rent in Toronto, but I haven’t set foot there in months.
Even my wedding day lives in this split: a big event that now feels small. A bright, glorious day I barely remember.
I’m not sad about it. Not particularly nostalgic. More intrigued by the elasticity of memory, how life keeps moving forward whether or not we’re ready.
Tomorrow, there will be fireworks in the distance. I’ll think of that young woman in Mexico, alone in a car on her way to promise forever. I’ll think of her kindly. I don’t long to be her. She’s part of me but she’s also, just a footnote.