June is Wedding Month. And Tim’s birthday month. It’s the month that the garden sowed in early May blooms with verdant, tender leaves and tendrils emerging from the soil and spreading into the freedom of space and light. It’s the month we transition into summer life and celebrate the light of the longest days. It’s a time of fullness, vitality, warmth.
I had the pleasure of attending a dear friend’s wedding in Provincetown, MA this week. After 20 year of commitment and love, he and his partner decided to marry in a festive and fancy Tuesday soiree. I had agreed to do the table decor two weeks prior, and drove down on Sunday with an SUV full of 55 potted purple annuals and rolls of burlap.
Monday, June 11th would have been Tim’s 36th birthday. I woke in the hotel room I shared with a good friend at a reasonable hour, on my own internal clock. I walked the mile into town and drank a strong latte in a quiet cafe, before the other revelers and vacationers had emerged from their vacation rentals. I journaled and doodled, listening to music, watching people, feeling Tim’s energy. I ate a cannabis edible. Because that’s what Tim would have done. I walked through town and explored side streets. I drove with my windows down and music blaring. To nearby beaches and wandered the shore, picking colorful rocks from the waves and fixing my eyes on the horizon in quiet meditation. What Tim would have done. I treated myself to brunch. I found quiet places to read. I bought myself a few trinkets and a small piece of art. I took the day minute by minute, letting whatever needed to unfold unfold. I celebrated Tim, his spirit and energy around me, through the things he would have wanted to do had he been by my side.
I felt happy. Full. Warm.
At the wedding ceremony the next day, through thoughtful readings on love and fanciful purple suits, I cried. Because I felt the love in that room. Of the men marrying. From the people around them. I felt what I had felt on my own wedding day, and remembered the years of careful work and commitment we had put into our partnership. I cried for my own loss. I cried for the beauty of the moment. I sat in awe of the loving energy that existed in the room.
Through the 8 course luncheon (with wine pairings. FULL wine pairings) I conversed and laughed and relished the joy and community of the moment. We drunkenly promenaded with purple pashminas and heart shapes umbrellas. We posed for pictures on the water.
That evening, despite my desire to stagger back to my hotel bed, I switched to water and went out with a group of old and new friends. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt alive. I felt connected. And I had a lot of fun. A. Lot. Of. Fun. And today, back in the reality of my every day, I feel deep gratitude. For connection. For love. For friendship. For the ocean. For joy.
Tim would have loved it.
I lived it for him. I lived it for me.