5 Days in February
When Andrew and I met face-to-face, we were sitting at a table on the patio of Caribou Coffee. I remember I was facing the parking lot, and he was facing the street. I asked him what prompted him to leave Norway (where he had lived and taught golf for 6 years), and come back to Minnesota permanently. Andrew, hesitantly, told me that in January of that year his mom had been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. She was given 12-18 months to live. Nearly 7 months had already passed. He had come home to be with his mother, and help care for her.
Fast forward to October. I knew I was going to marry Andrew. I knew it within the first 10 days to two weeks we were together. We were driving in his car. I don't remember where we were going, but I remember that we were on 280 heading toward I-94. I turned to him (out of the blue) and said, "I know that you are the man I'm going to marry. I need you to know this: we can set a wedding date, but if your mom's health goes south, we won't wait. We'll just do it. I'm telling you that I don't care if it is a Wednesday in my sister's basement in sweatpants, if that's what it takes to ensure that our family is present when we say our vows, then that is what we will do." Choking back tears, Andrew simply said, "Thank you." And we went on with whatever we were doing that day.
We got engaged on November 9, 2013 (I have a steel trap of a memory, remember?) and, at that time, in the state of Minnesota, both parties had to be present to secure a marriage license. Marriage licenses are good for 6 months, and the only day we both could go downtown St. Paul to the Public Health Department during the hours of 8am-5pm, and swear that we 1) were not related, 2) not married to anyone else, and 3) not married to each other, was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The marriage license paperwork arrived in December, and I kept it at my house, along with our wedding rings. Our wedding was planned for March 7, 2014.
On February 18, 2014, Cheryl's lung collapsed. I was in professional development (that's a nice way of saying 8 hours of horrifically boring meetings about something 'critical' to our profession and the students we serve) and I got a text from Andrew. He was in the ER with his mom, and she was in excruciating pain. As soon as the meetings got out for the day, I drove down to North Memorial Hospital. I met Andrew in the waiting area, and from our seat, we could see Cheryl in the little room she was waiting in. She was moaning in pain. Andrew was beside himself. This was different from the other times. It felt like this was it. As I was leaving that night, Cheryl was being admitted to the oncology floor. In my life, I had never been so conflicted. I was devastated that Cheryl was back in the hospital and in so much pain. I was confused as to what we should do. I was heartbroken, because Andrew's solution in that moment was to call off everything (wedding, marriage, our life together) because this is obviously God's punishment for his happiness. I just kept praying 2 Chronicles 20:12, "[Lord] we do no know what to do, but our eyes are on You."
I went to work the next day; naturally it was state English testing that week. I waited for updates from Andrew. I don't remember much from Wednesday, except that Andrew told me we were still getting married and to ignore everything he said the night before. The true reason I don't remember much is probably because of what happened Thursday. On Thursday, my co-workers threw me a bridal shower at school. It was a nice time, and I was so honored, but it was right at the start of what would become a snowstorm. Eighteen inches of wet snow fell that night. That night, after finally making it home, I talked to Andrew. The doctors had been able to re-inflate Cheryl's lung, but there was a pocket of infection pressing on it from the outside. They couldn't do much, given her current health. It was likely the lung would collapse again. They were going to transition to hospice care.
That massive snow storm provided some interesting twists in our story. School was cancelled that Friday. If you are familiar with Minnesota, you understand what a profound statement that is. If you know anything about the Anoka-Hennepin School District, then you know what a miraculous statement that is. On Friday, I bundled up and drove over to the hospital. I spent the day with Andrew, Cheryl, and Jim. Cheryl was so doped up on the good stuff. At one point she asked me how many forks I had registered for, because the reason the Spanish lost the Crusades was that they didn't have enough forks. When Andrew and I walked into my house that night, after having been at the hospital most of the day, there was a waterfall in the living room. A massive ice dam had formed due to the snow storm. The result was a cascade of water flowing into the living room through the window frame of the big bay window. Everything was soaked. Water was everywhere. The waterfall was coming down right on top of a placard I kept in that window. It said, "Be still, and know that I am God." This was not a coincidence. Psalm 46:10 is tattooed on my wrist. It's my life verse. When Andrew's mom was diagnosed with cancer, sitting in the oncologists office, Psalm 46:10 went through his head. The night before we met face-to-face, it runs through his head again. That afternoon, over coffee, not too long after I learned about his mom, he asked me about my tattoo. When I told him, he went white as a sheet. His face was utter shock. It wasn't until later that he told me about the verse running through his head in those times. And now, 6 months later, the flood in Casa Katy is falling right on top of that verse.
Saturday, the 22nd was my bridal shower. I was having a co-bridal shower with my cousin who was also getting married that year. Cheryl had been so excited to co-host the shower with my mom. That wasn't going to happen, now. I walked into the church, and I was so conflicted. Andrew was utterly and completely miserable. His mother, the person he was closest to in this world (besides me) was dying. They were making arrangements for home hospice care. Our wedding was in less than 2 weeks, and we had no idea if his mom was even going to last that long. How do you enjoy and embrace the excitement of your wedding when the person you are going to marry, the man you love more than anything, is watching his mother die? The juxtaposition of joy and pain was everywhere. We honestly didn't even know if we were going to have a wedding or a funeral on March 7th.
On Sunday, February 23, 2014, Andrew and I went to church. After attempting to fix the ice dam in my roof, and a major emotional meltdown by Andrew, we finally got some lunch. Sitting in our favorite restaurant, El Loro, eating fajitas, Andrew looked at me and asked if we could go back to my house and grab the marriage license and rings. He emphasized that he wasn't asking me to do anything, he would just personally feel better if we had them with us. After stopping at the house, grabbing the license and rings, we went up to the hospital.
Cheryl was in tough shape. She was in an out of a drug-induced sleep, saying things that didn't make any sense. She didn't know who we were. After being with Cheryl for about an hour, we went into the hall. I looked at Andrew, he looked at me, and nodded. I took out my phone, called my dad, and said, "Dad, can you come to the hospital and marry us?" I'll give him credit, he took the news rather well. He asked when we were thinking of doing this. My response was something along the lines of, whenever you can get here. My next call was to my sister. She was at a birthday party. I said, "Kelly, we're getting married." "Oh, okay. When?" "About 45 minutes." "I'm gonna need to call you back."
While I was making the phone calls, Andrew disappeared. He came back just as family was starting to arrive at the hospital. In his hands was a stuffed puppy dog, holding a red heart that said I love u. He had gone to the closest drug store, and found it in the post-Valentines clearance rack because I couldn't get married without a wedding present from my husband. That evening, as we all walked in the room, a nurse asked Cheryl if she knew why we were all there. "Yes," she said, "they're getting married." Gathered around her hospital bed, my dad led Andrew and me in our vows, joining us in marriage. The ceremony took less than 5 minutes, but it was the only 5 minutes all day that Cheryl was lucid. After the ceremony, a nurse took some pictures of our wedding party. It was Andrew, me, my parents, Andrew's parents, and my sister. In my eyes, my wedding day was perfect.
Tomorrow would mark 6 years of marriage for Andrew and me. Instead, I will do the day without him. I'll have my children, my parents, and later, my small group Bible study, but I won't have Andrew. And that hurts. Those five days in February, six years ago, culminated in the start of a marriage with the man I loved. This year, I am remembering every moment of that week through tears. So, if I have seemed...off...this week, this would be the reason why. The date I have dreaded since November 15th is finally here, and it hurts more than I could have even imagined then.
Happy Anniversary, my love. The day I married you was one of the best of my entire life. Thank you for choosing me.
Fast forward to October. I knew I was going to marry Andrew. I knew it within the first 10 days to two weeks we were together. We were driving in his car. I don't remember where we were going, but I remember that we were on 280 heading toward I-94. I turned to him (out of the blue) and said, "I know that you are the man I'm going to marry. I need you to know this: we can set a wedding date, but if your mom's health goes south, we won't wait. We'll just do it. I'm telling you that I don't care if it is a Wednesday in my sister's basement in sweatpants, if that's what it takes to ensure that our family is present when we say our vows, then that is what we will do." Choking back tears, Andrew simply said, "Thank you." And we went on with whatever we were doing that day.
We got engaged on November 9, 2013 (I have a steel trap of a memory, remember?) and, at that time, in the state of Minnesota, both parties had to be present to secure a marriage license. Marriage licenses are good for 6 months, and the only day we both could go downtown St. Paul to the Public Health Department during the hours of 8am-5pm, and swear that we 1) were not related, 2) not married to anyone else, and 3) not married to each other, was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The marriage license paperwork arrived in December, and I kept it at my house, along with our wedding rings. Our wedding was planned for March 7, 2014.
On February 18, 2014, Cheryl's lung collapsed. I was in professional development (that's a nice way of saying 8 hours of horrifically boring meetings about something 'critical' to our profession and the students we serve) and I got a text from Andrew. He was in the ER with his mom, and she was in excruciating pain. As soon as the meetings got out for the day, I drove down to North Memorial Hospital. I met Andrew in the waiting area, and from our seat, we could see Cheryl in the little room she was waiting in. She was moaning in pain. Andrew was beside himself. This was different from the other times. It felt like this was it. As I was leaving that night, Cheryl was being admitted to the oncology floor. In my life, I had never been so conflicted. I was devastated that Cheryl was back in the hospital and in so much pain. I was confused as to what we should do. I was heartbroken, because Andrew's solution in that moment was to call off everything (wedding, marriage, our life together) because this is obviously God's punishment for his happiness. I just kept praying 2 Chronicles 20:12, "[Lord] we do no know what to do, but our eyes are on You."
I went to work the next day; naturally it was state English testing that week. I waited for updates from Andrew. I don't remember much from Wednesday, except that Andrew told me we were still getting married and to ignore everything he said the night before. The true reason I don't remember much is probably because of what happened Thursday. On Thursday, my co-workers threw me a bridal shower at school. It was a nice time, and I was so honored, but it was right at the start of what would become a snowstorm. Eighteen inches of wet snow fell that night. That night, after finally making it home, I talked to Andrew. The doctors had been able to re-inflate Cheryl's lung, but there was a pocket of infection pressing on it from the outside. They couldn't do much, given her current health. It was likely the lung would collapse again. They were going to transition to hospice care.
That massive snow storm provided some interesting twists in our story. School was cancelled that Friday. If you are familiar with Minnesota, you understand what a profound statement that is. If you know anything about the Anoka-Hennepin School District, then you know what a miraculous statement that is. On Friday, I bundled up and drove over to the hospital. I spent the day with Andrew, Cheryl, and Jim. Cheryl was so doped up on the good stuff. At one point she asked me how many forks I had registered for, because the reason the Spanish lost the Crusades was that they didn't have enough forks. When Andrew and I walked into my house that night, after having been at the hospital most of the day, there was a waterfall in the living room. A massive ice dam had formed due to the snow storm. The result was a cascade of water flowing into the living room through the window frame of the big bay window. Everything was soaked. Water was everywhere. The waterfall was coming down right on top of a placard I kept in that window. It said, "Be still, and know that I am God." This was not a coincidence. Psalm 46:10 is tattooed on my wrist. It's my life verse. When Andrew's mom was diagnosed with cancer, sitting in the oncologists office, Psalm 46:10 went through his head. The night before we met face-to-face, it runs through his head again. That afternoon, over coffee, not too long after I learned about his mom, he asked me about my tattoo. When I told him, he went white as a sheet. His face was utter shock. It wasn't until later that he told me about the verse running through his head in those times. And now, 6 months later, the flood in Casa Katy is falling right on top of that verse.
Saturday, the 22nd was my bridal shower. I was having a co-bridal shower with my cousin who was also getting married that year. Cheryl had been so excited to co-host the shower with my mom. That wasn't going to happen, now. I walked into the church, and I was so conflicted. Andrew was utterly and completely miserable. His mother, the person he was closest to in this world (besides me) was dying. They were making arrangements for home hospice care. Our wedding was in less than 2 weeks, and we had no idea if his mom was even going to last that long. How do you enjoy and embrace the excitement of your wedding when the person you are going to marry, the man you love more than anything, is watching his mother die? The juxtaposition of joy and pain was everywhere. We honestly didn't even know if we were going to have a wedding or a funeral on March 7th.
On Sunday, February 23, 2014, Andrew and I went to church. After attempting to fix the ice dam in my roof, and a major emotional meltdown by Andrew, we finally got some lunch. Sitting in our favorite restaurant, El Loro, eating fajitas, Andrew looked at me and asked if we could go back to my house and grab the marriage license and rings. He emphasized that he wasn't asking me to do anything, he would just personally feel better if we had them with us. After stopping at the house, grabbing the license and rings, we went up to the hospital.
Cheryl was in tough shape. She was in an out of a drug-induced sleep, saying things that didn't make any sense. She didn't know who we were. After being with Cheryl for about an hour, we went into the hall. I looked at Andrew, he looked at me, and nodded. I took out my phone, called my dad, and said, "Dad, can you come to the hospital and marry us?" I'll give him credit, he took the news rather well. He asked when we were thinking of doing this. My response was something along the lines of, whenever you can get here. My next call was to my sister. She was at a birthday party. I said, "Kelly, we're getting married." "Oh, okay. When?" "About 45 minutes." "I'm gonna need to call you back."
While I was making the phone calls, Andrew disappeared. He came back just as family was starting to arrive at the hospital. In his hands was a stuffed puppy dog, holding a red heart that said I love u. He had gone to the closest drug store, and found it in the post-Valentines clearance rack because I couldn't get married without a wedding present from my husband. That evening, as we all walked in the room, a nurse asked Cheryl if she knew why we were all there. "Yes," she said, "they're getting married." Gathered around her hospital bed, my dad led Andrew and me in our vows, joining us in marriage. The ceremony took less than 5 minutes, but it was the only 5 minutes all day that Cheryl was lucid. After the ceremony, a nurse took some pictures of our wedding party. It was Andrew, me, my parents, Andrew's parents, and my sister. In my eyes, my wedding day was perfect.
Tomorrow would mark 6 years of marriage for Andrew and me. Instead, I will do the day without him. I'll have my children, my parents, and later, my small group Bible study, but I won't have Andrew. And that hurts. Those five days in February, six years ago, culminated in the start of a marriage with the man I loved. This year, I am remembering every moment of that week through tears. So, if I have seemed...off...this week, this would be the reason why. The date I have dreaded since November 15th is finally here, and it hurts more than I could have even imagined then.
Happy Anniversary, my love. The day I married you was one of the best of my entire life. Thank you for choosing me.
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