My First Wedding

I met my husband at age fifteen

We were engaged at age sixteen

We were married at age seventeen

~

My mother paid for our wedding

all we had to do was show up for trying

on the dress, for the ceremony

of matrimony

~

The reception followed shortly after

It was a dry county, so after

the liquor friends did go

They went in the ditch and so

they finished the trip by hitchhiking

so they could get ripped to their liking

~

When they returned to the wedding party,

we went back to the car, which they had borrowed

from me and my new husband. We all had a hearty

laugh and pulled the car right out. It was snowed

in from the blizzard that happened. We won,

as it didn't matter, as we were in love in 1971

~

During our wedding night, there was a fight

between a bridesmaid and a groomsman

And my husband had to knock out that man

He wouldn't stop, and she slept with us that night

In the middle, she would say, and it was funny I lied

She got away with that until the day she died.

~

We ran out of food as the church was full

My mother thought she had enough, but I was grateful

that my mother got the wedding she wanted

She didn't have one, and she told me that she would be haunted

if her grandchildren came without a father

I couldn't believe that was the reason and said, "Oh brother, Mother!"

~

Mom forgot the photographer, so days later

the pictures we would take, and it didn't matter

that ties were missing and shoes didn't match

And I didn't have the bouquet cause someone did catch

it and went home with it. Then there was so much chatter

The pictures really didn't turn out. It really didn't matter

And so many other things were going on, everyone was hungover

Then, in the ice and snow, someone had a rollover

~

Author's Note: We didn't have children until I was 21, and my husband was six years older than me. Both my children had a dad, as most children do. He was on their birth certificate, and that was what she was afraid wouldn't happen, with me living with my boyfriend from sixteen on.

Out of eight people in the wedding party photos, five are deceased. One brother, one grade school friend, and I are still alive. Big partiers all. (Some may say alcoholics. Two of us are in recovery.)

My brother-in-law, who was the best man at our wedding, died yesterday. He was 75 on his last birthday. My sister-in-law called me and we talked about how there would be no funeral, per his request. I told her funerals are for the family.

It is important to get together to support each other in our grief, and that this business about no funerals really only started with the pandemic. Sure, there was always some of that, but not nearly to the extent it is today. When the obituary was posted, there was a family-only service planned.

I was never close to this brother-in-law, but I always considered him family. Will I attend the service? Truthfully, I don't know. If my son and daughter want me to go, I will attend. I am digging up old photos per request for his service.

My clear memories of him were of him breaking someone's nose in a quick punch that most didn't even see or expect. Another time, he thought my second husband hit me, and he was ready to punch him. He was protective of his family, and I respected that about him.

Then there was the time on the carnival. He married a woman whose parents owned the Midway of Fun shows, and we went out for a couple of seasons, and then, now and then, when they were in our area.

No regrets about my first marriage or the family that came along with that marriage. My sobriety means I have lived much longer than I would have if I had continued to drink alcohol and take drugs.