It’s amazing to me how ‘significant days’ or rather ‘used to be significant days’ sneak up on you. You wake up … look at the time … look at the day on the calendar … and think … “Oh, so today would have been ….”.
August 3rd – today – would have been my 26th wedding anniversary. 26 years … However, this particular day was last celebrated – officially – August 3, 2002. After that, my little world – or should I say ‘our’ little world imploded, first, then exploded. Still, even though I have not been “Mrs. Lombardo” since April 2004 – when the ink was dry and official on the divorce papers – I still remember August 3, 1991 – clearly.
We were married in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York; in my ex husband’s hometown of Waterloo, NY. It was a hot and humid August as it usually is in that place and time of the year – very similar to the current weather conditions here, in Los Angeles, – warm and muggy – when the humidity shrouds the air like a proverbial wet blanket. What was different, however, is that the day was mixed with an occasional summer rain that caused us to move plans for after wedding activities from outside of my former in laws’ house to inside.
Phil and I paid for all things concerning our wedding on our own. My mom did pay for my wedding dress – which to this day still hangs in my closet, cloaked in a plastic bag and remaining in this sealed contraption for practically 26 years. This treasure from my past has made approximately ten moves with me … taken up space in ten closets. Why it chooses to still hang around with me (or why I choose to hang onto it) remains a mystery?!
We wanted things to be simple at our wedding. The guests were mostly composed of Phil’s family as it local for them. The only members of my family who attended were my parents and up until the actual day, I did not know if they would actually attend as they were not in agreement with my marriage to Phil. After all, not only was Phil Italian but he was also CATHOLIC! Eventually, they decided to attend. My best friend – at the time – was Pennie Dugan (now Wood) and she came, serving as my Maid of Honor. We had met as first year teachers at Browning Road School – myself coming from the state of Illinois and she from Idaho; we became fast, best friends.
Our decorations for our wedding followed the ‘simple’ theme. A simple bouquet of flower for myself consisting of pale yellow roses and lily of the valley. Phil’s sister, Maria, had picked wild flowers from nearby fields for table settings, displaying them in various size jars and vases. The wedding cake was made by one of the local bakers who made cakes and desserts out of her kitchen for various festivities.
Phil was late to arrive to the ceremony. That should have been a sign! However, a night of partying with his best man and groomsman apparently delayed his early rising although when things were breaking up and were horrible and hateful Phil later said it was because he was reticent to marry me and was trying to make up his mind. (Side note: at this point, the author of this narrative places a present day “Whatever!” after the previous statement since at the time the former idea – he was quite hungover – was the apparent reason for his late arrival!)
I remember feeling so filled with happiness and joy as the huge church doors opened into the sanctuary. I couldn’t help but smile; my face could not hold the corners of my mouth from turning upwards. The dress I had selected made me feel like a princess. That sounds cliche but is the truth. It was an ivory color, with huge, tulle-filled puffy sleeves that tapered down my arm with lace and bead work. The back was open (which was scandalous to my then mother-in-law as I was showing my back in church!!!) and the front had delicate lace down to the sweetheart neckline. Beautiful beads and pearls adorned the dress in various patterns from top to bottom. I wore no veil but some tulle and some yellow roses that I placed in my hair.
As my former mother-in-law was a church musician by trade, she did the organizing and arranging of the music for our wedding. I had one song that I absolutely had my heart set on being sung – “Sunrise, Sunset” from Fiddler on the Roof. I loved that song … I was obsessed with that song. The lyrics told the story of the life I had dreamed of once I found the ‘right man’. However, it had to be played before the service per Catholic rules and regulations. It didn’t matter. I remember tears welling up in my eyes as I stood outside the epic church doors leading to the sanctuary. While the sound was slightly muffled by the closed door, I still heard the pipe organ bellow out the notes and chords of the familiar song. And, the soprano soloist’s voice rose and fell along with the verses and chorus. Perfect.
Walking down the aisle to Pachebel’s Canon in D (I know – now also cliche! Yet, I was not going to go down the aisle “Big, fat and wide!”), I was as happy as I thought I would ever be. I locked eyes with Phil who was also had a huge smile across his face. I felt electricity pulse through my veins as our hands touched while reciting our vows. The rest of the ceremony is now a blur in my memory. I do remember the feeling of taking Phil’s arm once Fr. Cosgrove had pronounced us man and wife and feeling as if all the strength I needed to combat whatever life would throw at us. A similar wedding tune played in my head – The Carpenter’s, “We’ve Only Just Begun”. If you had told me at the time that this marriage would be short lived that there would be fighting, doors slamming, a broken bone, broken spirits, tears after tears peppered with some joy, of course, in the form of three beautiful children, several pets, and a couple of houses that we tried to make into homes, I would not have believed you. We were going to be married forever and ever – just like our parents and their parents before us. At least that is what I thought at the time. Yet, it didn’t take long for us to move from “We’ve Only Just Begun” to “Hurting Each Other”.
The afternoon of that day was marked with off and on summer showers. We actually had one dance together as a couple to the “Anniversary Waltz” while his mother, a musician, sang and played the accordion.
Early that evening, my beautiful wedding dress was packed away into the zipped bag it is now serving its life sentence in. Phil’s car, a red, Volkswagen GTI, was packed to the hilt. Only a small crawlspace from the back to front of the car existed for our adopted, six-toed black kitten named Igor to navigate when wanting attention or food (usually the latter). We drove away and as the waving hands of friends and relatives became harder and harder to see, we were on our way to a new adventure. Just the two of us! 
There have been lots of sunrises and sunsets since that August 3rd. Now, it should just be another day on the calendar; however, every now and again nostalgia creeps in and reminds me of what once was when we had only just begun!
Two freeways diverged ... 