I married my husband. April 14, 2001 at 2pm in the Washington Park Gazebo. There are a lot of things that slip my mind over time but that day I will never forget.

It was spring, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and the air was warm with a slight breeze that would give you a little chill if not standing directly in the sun. Little did I know that the 15 minutes before I was to walk down our make-shift isle debating on whether to run and standing in the sun would also give me a sunburn I would later regret that evening. It was probably my punishment for even thinking of running as fast as I could in the opposite direction of that gazebo. To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind even before that moment when my dad, who was standing with me said “we can still run if you want, I’ll go with you”…his exact words. I love my dad, always looking out for me. I swear that man can read my mind sometimes.

And don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t because I didn’t love Jon. It’s actually silly to think back on now, but I was considering running from the wedding because I was horrified at the thought of being the center of attention and everyone staring at me.

But I didn’t run, instead I laughed and said, “let’s go dad” and we made that long walk from the parking lot to the gazebo where he gave me away (or so he thought) and I said “I do”

I had just turned 18 and gasp, I was also 5 months pregnant with our son, Mattison. What can I say, we were young and “in love”. We met a year before but didn’t actually start dating until August of 2000, by November we were engaged, December pregnant, and April married. Everything was a whirlwind. Oh and that comment about my dad giving me away…they (my parents) never completely got rid of me. In fact the day I moved out and in with my fiance I was back at their house within hours taking a nap and begging for his famous grilled cheese all because my brother in law and future husband didn’t put our water bed together right and it leaked all over our apartment. But that’s a whole other story.

Looking back, it’s been a crazy 8 years that has been much more terrifying than any rollercoaster I’ve ever been on. Over the course of 8 years we’ve been through countless arguments, a few physical fights, talks of divorce, trips to Jamaica and Florida, making 3 beautiful children, and moves from apartments to owning our first home. But here we are, 8 years later, even with the odds stacked against us after being married so young and his career (high divorce rate), still together and still in love (most days).