My first wedding began with my father and I taking a step down an aisle in a Catholic Church. It may not show on our faces, but we were both praying that the groom would die before we got to the part where dad would lift my veil and kiss me goodbye.
He did not.
Over the next 20 years this man cheated on me twelve times. He was a lawyer, and I wasn’t paying attention.
So, I was ten years single.
And then I met the love of my life. He is tall, handsome, and wicked smaaht. We married standing before a rabbi, under a chuppah.
That was twelve years ago. We both pay attention and don’t cheat , because we want to be together always, and we both have serious, life-threatening illnesses. We laugh. We fight. We apologize. There hasn’t been a funeral. And, although we know that such things happen, we dream that they never involve either of us.