I'll always remember walking up to the county courthouse, trailing behind my sister and her (almost) husband as they clasped hands. They had a relatively secret civil ceremony the Wednesday before their wedding so that a close friend could officiate the Saturday ceremony without having to worry about being ordained. It was kind of quiet that day. I'm not sure if it was my own head or if the city itself had quieted down to witness the union of two magical people. Down the street people carried on with their daily lives -- grabbing cups of coffee, walking the dog, picking up the newspaper. But as we crossed the street we embarked on a far more important journey. If you're lucky, you only get married once. So you have one time to make it all count, to take it all in, to etch all the memories into your brain so you can pull them out later and remember.
I stood as my sister and Mark waited to hear the vows that would bind them together for a lifetime, and I could do nothing but breathe at that moment. How often does one witness a moment of such sheer perfection? How often does one get to see the person who has meant more to them than almost any other person promise to spend a lifetime with someone? I knew I would remember this forever. I would take this moment out years later to tell my own children about the day their aunt, my sister was married.
Although the true ceremony didn't take place until a few days later, this one, on a regular Wednesday, seemed special. I sat down on a bench to sign my sister and Mark's marriage license and my breath left me almost completely. I was signing my witness to a complete and utter miracle. Love.