A Dull, Melancholy Roar
Eighteen years ago today, Francine and I were married at Saint Patrick Church in Tacoma. The celebrant was our good friend (and my former coworker and chess opponent) Rev. Bryan Dolejsi. Afterwards, we had a reception at the Holy Rosary school auditorium.
Both the wedding and reception had a roaring 20s theme. Francine made her wedding dress and some of the bridesmaid dresses and planned the reception. I planned the nuptial liturgy, using all of the traditional Gregorian chants.
As a transition between the two, our recessional was Vince Guaraldi’s “Linus and Lucy”. We left the church in a chauffeured Model-T Ford.
The decorations at the reception were spearheaded by Francine’s best woman, Mel, with the idea of emulating a big band stage and dance hall. The music was provided by my best man, Chris, and consisted mostly of songs from the era. The soundtrack (which I still have) also included radio commercials from the 1920s.
As you can see from the photos, we were not in the best of physical shape. We wouldn’t discover a mutual love of hiking for another seven years or so.
Francine and I had a funny tradition. When I proposed to her, I distracted her for a moment with the gift of a wooden Welsh love spoon. While she was oohing over it, I fell to one knee and took out the ring. On our wedding day in 2008, I gave her another. Since then, I’ve done the same for each anniversary. They are small tokens of a great love. In the Welsh tradition, the various carvings have different meanings. In addition, there are the meanings that we ourselves give them.
That spoon in the photo with the two spoon-y bits is the one I gave her when I proposed – two becoming one. The funny crooked one to its right was our wedding spoon. I hung a final, twentieth spoon on the wall the summer she died. There will be no new spoons.
Yesterday, an old family friend, Rachel, picked me up bright and early in the morning. We visited Francine’s grave, and I brought her flowers for our anniversary. It was 23°F (-5°C).
The ground was frozen, and the grass blue-white with frost. Bright bursts of color were scattered through the cemetery, frozen flowers placed at the markers of the beloved dead. My shoes made prints in the grass.
It was eerie, and it was beautiful, and I wept at her grave. I miss her so much.
As I was leaving, I reflected on all of these people, the tapestry of their lives reduced to a few scratches of words and forgotten sentiment on marble or bronze.
On the way back to Pistachio House, we stopped at Costco to pick up my new computer glasses. It’s one of those counters where you take a number and wait. And what number did I get? B00!
This is very much Francine’s sense of humour. I don’t really believe in coincidences, and it very much felt like she was with me then.
I spent most of the afternoon conducting altar server assessments at the church. I had the help of two senior servers, and together we assessed eight servers for advancement.
In the evening, I had dinner at one of our favorite places, the Over the Moon Café in Opera Alley. We celebrated many of our anniversaries there, and it just felt right. The photo of Francine that we used on her prayer cards at the funeral was taken there on our 16th anniversary, just two years ago.
I’m pretty sure they sat me at the same table we had last year. Back then, the table had been strewn with rose petals, crimson against the black tablecloth. Now there was just a single rose in what might have been an old apothecary bottle.
It’s funny. The rich fabrics and dark Victorian decor once seemed romantic to me, but now they seem melancholy. It’s amazing how the company changes the ambience.
The waitress asked if I was waiting for someone, and it was an effort not to break down right then.
I miss her presence. I miss her smirky smile. I miss the way she used to look at me with adoring eyes. And I miss all the adventures and trials and joys we will now not experience together.
Why do I keep expecting her to be in that empty chair?
Francine loved Jesus, and she loved His church. She received the last rites, including the apostolic pardon, so I have no doubt that she is resting now in the arms of her Saviour.
Amidst all this loss and all this sorrow, that is my sole comfort.
