Marriage Bells - 1992

Twenty Years Ago today, I was a new bride.

We were the 52nd marriage in the Salt Lake Temple that day.  Every corner we rounded would be manned by the sweetest old ladies you have ever seen.  Clutching a white clipboard, one would ask for our names, and we always responded "Number fifty-two."  They cutely chastised us, lovingly reassuring that we were people, not numbers, but we did it again the next time.  Jay loved the reaction.

We waited for a while in the gorgeous Celestial Room, where I remember slumping down in the couch to look at the decorations on the ceiling.  We both slumped down and stared up, aware of other people's furtive glances upward to see what we were looking at.  We giggled a bit.

We were married in a large room on the northeast corner of the annex.  I loved wearing the white dress I had designed, having Jay's strong arm around me, and being surrounded by the people I loved most in the world.  It was a happy time.  At the end of the ceremony, the sealer gave my mother the marriage certificate, "because the bride might lose it in the hustle of the day."  And then Mom lost her purse.  Silly Mom.

Outside the temple, we posed for pictures.  It was a beautifully clear December day, but still chilly.  Our families and friends wore their coats, and Jay had on his tuxedo jacket, but I got colder and colder.  Jay's always-kind-hearted mission president loaned me his overcoat between shots so I wouldn't freeze.  It's interesting how a small amount of kindness can be so long remembered.

It was a wonderful day, full of sunshine and real joy.

Years later, after Jay was terminally ill with cancer, I was asked if I would have married him if I had known he'd leave so soon.

Yup.