Recently I made a photo book of my honeymoon. It’s been four and a half years, and it’s amazing how much I’ve forgotten in that short time. I have a series of highlights that I think about, but studying the pictures brought back many small details.
From a purely unsentimental standpoint, our honeymoon wasn’t perfect. Merely hours after I promised to love, honor, and cherish my new husband in sickness and in health, he put my vows to the test by getting sick. Very sick. The stay-in-bed-except-when-needing-to-run-to-the-bathroom kind of sick. We had to postpone our flight to Hawaii, and it cost us over $1000 to do so.
After an afternoon in the emergency room, we managed to fly out for our tropical paradise. When we arrived it was raining harder than rice at a wedding. The rain persisted for four days.
During our last weekend, the sun broke out and shined her brilliance. My now-well husband and I grabbed the opportunity to pack in as much adventure as we could. We went hiking to an isolated waterfall that only helicopters and hikers like us can find. Of course the people in the choppers who passed by couldn’t actually get the close-up view we had. It was beautiful and romantic. Everything a honeymoon is supposed to be.
Seeing the pictures brought back feelings I had as a newly married woman. Worry for my sick husband, determined cheerfulness at the rain, and happiness that I had such a wonderful man to spend my life with. Another feeling I experienced while sorting the pictures—shallow as this sounds—was jealousness at the fit girl I was. Could it be only 4 ½ years? I suppose two pregnancies will take their toll, and the reward is worth the sacrifice. Still, the girl in the pictures was thin and energetic. I can’t wait until I’m there again.
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