The Backstory

    Before I can start documenting the journey, I have to explain how it started almost 25 years ago.

     Ric and I were planning our wedding on a short time frame. My Dad, who I adored, was in the Veterans Nursing home in Los Angeles, and we were to be married on the grounds outside his room, with a very small guest list. He was suffering from extreme arthritis, but had symptoms that led to the amputation of both legs below the knee. His doctors continued to assure us that he would be fine, but none of us believed them.
     Ric and I were broke. The year prior I had lost my job as a geologist and was now in graduate school and working full-time in a lab. Ric had work as a carpenter, though he often had to fight to get paid. To top it off, my 13 year old step-daughter was living with us. We were stretched and stressed, and barely able to pay any bills. I was able to find a dress on a sale rack for $50 and have it altered.
     As the wedding approached some of my mother's friends held a shower for me in Los Angeles. This was so very lovely, and I am still grateful to them. I had been flying into LA twice a month to be with my Mom and to see my Dad through his surgeries. The shower was the last time I saw my Dad. I showed him my dress, which he did not like. I asked him if he wanted to give me away at the wedding. He told me that he would never give me away. Ever. That was our last conversation. We both cried when I left. I think we both knew what was to come.
     My Mom was exhausted and I was trying to keep up with my PhD coursework. My major faculty member suggested that perhaps I was not ready for graduate work if I could not focus on my research. He told me that he did not approve of women grad students getting married in the middle of a PhD.
    We were days away from the wedding, which was to be held on a Sunday in accordance with Jewish tradition, when we got the phone call. My Dad had passed-away early Thursday morning. Ric, Sonya (my youngest step-daughter) and I changed our flight plans and were in LA late that evening. We buried my father Friday, again in accordance with Jewish tradition which requires that internment take place quickly. However, Jews do not bury or marry on Shabbat; from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday.
     Afterwards the house was full of visitors, many of who had known nothing about the wedding. Flowers from the funeral (which is NOT a Jewish custom) and comfort food filled the house. My eldest step-daughter arrived by plane and we introduced our new blended family to the full-house of condolence visitors.  
    Of course we canceled the wedding flowers and the cake and the food, but weddings are not canceled. And so Ric and I were married in my Mother's backyard on Sunday morning, surrounded by those who had been invited, and those who were there for a condolence visit. Ric was not Jewish, and so we were married by a Judge. The flowers around me were funeral flowers. The food was funeral food. We did buy a small cake, but it was whatever the store had. No music, little celebration.
    Fast forward 25 years. Ric is now Jewish. And we want a Jewish wedding.