Just a year and a half later in a tiny church with all our closest friends and family we were married. Five years ago today, I stood fearless with my best friend with my brothers by my side as we exchanged our vows.
Like waking from a dream the day seemed to have floated away, as wedding days always do, but I have the greatest reminder as sleeps drifts away when I wake up every morning laying right beside me.
There is nothing we can't accomplish together, we know this to be true now and somehow always did.
Being the sappy and goofy lovebirds that we are, we decided in our first year that we would try to always give a creative variation of the "traditional gift" for each anniversary. This year, five years, wood.
After much deliberation with my parents at home on our final weeks before departure to Brazil, I decided on the absolute perfect gift. You see my parents have a collection that we've always admired. A school of carefully chosen and expertly carved Pacific Northwest Indian Tribal fish plaques that swim along their kitchen wall. With our collective love for the Northwest, mine inate and Paul's discovered, I knew this would be the perfect addition to our home on our fifth year. Something we would always display proudly as a reminder of home, past and future.
Over Thanksgiving weekend the boys, my parents and I set out to meet Paul in Seattle to rendezvous for a big dinner and quality family time at my brother's house in Seattle.
On a customary visit to Pike Place Market after pastries at our favorite bakery, my dad and I carried out our plan to sneak away to one of his favorite galleries just down the street, but we never made it, or did we? My dad took a precision, base-stealing slide on algae and rain covered 1st Ave. and skidded right into the front vestibule of the gallery. Instead of shopping and sharing a father-daughter moment over Northwest Tribal Art, we spent five minutes that felt like an eternity awaiting an ambulance in a different kind of father-daughter moment, that I hope to never have again and yet all at the same time would never have given back (except for the pain, you can have that). A nice man from the gallery tended to us offering us water and quietly and protectively stood by as we waited perched in the doorway where we landed, to be whisked away to more important matters. Never knowing we were headed directly where we ended up.
Fast forward: 3 weeks.
Stage: Brasilia, Brazil
Northwest Indian Art still running through my mind (that and the healing shattered wrist of my Dad's on a mission I instigated but could have never foreseen) I emailed the gallery in hopes that I could purchase the piece I'd been eyeing, to have it delivered all the way across borders to Brazil and to pass on thanks to whomever was the gentleman that was so kind to us in our moment of despair. To right the afternoon by getting what I'd come for. For my husband, and for my dad.
Not an hour later, I received the kindest of responses from the owner of the gallery, the man who aided us that soggy Seattle afternoon. He told me that he hadn't stopped thinking about my Dad and how he was healing, expressing his concern for him as we waited in his doorway. Noting, what I already knew, that my dad was brave and courageous and marveling that he never showed a moments weakness as he patiently waited to have his first broken bone in 65 years air-casted by medics. Just like the dad of my childhood, that nothing could touch.
Last week my carefully chosen plaque arrived from Northwest Tribal Art, free of shipping charges from my friend Chau.
This morning, like children on Christmas morning, we exchanged anniversary gifts while Paul slipped on his dress shoes, while the children ate pancakes and while we awaited the bell to ring any second to announce the arrival of Paul's ride. Paul opened Eagle-Whale and I knew as the Thanksgiving's weekend events came rushing back to me, thoughts of my dad, our unexpected vestibule of bonding, our silent gallery guardian, my boys being reunited with my husband on a rainy Seattle day after a long two weeks of separation, the bonding time with my brothers brought together from both ends of the country, the amazing food we shared and the downtime we were given to share as a result of the slippery pavement..... and I knew that this was not just a gift that I had chosen, but one that I had been given. Much like Paul. Full circle, just as if the great spirits of the Pacific Northwest Indians had their arms around our shoulders throughout our whole adventure.
Kisses on all your faces on our anniversary: Paul, Peter, Sam, Mom, Dad, Dave, Dan, Janice and even Chau.
1 comment:
What a sweet story! I always admire how you take the time to write it all out and not just plunk endless pictures onto a page (like me). I hope Paul loved it! And reciprocated with something equally cool of course. :)
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