Forgetting the Unforgettable

Thirty-one years have passed since her and I wed.

I'm really not given credit for much, but I'm often credited for having a great memory.

It seems, then, like I should be able what day of December 1977 that Amy and I got married.

How many other unforgettable moments have or will I forget? And, how could I forget the day we wed, but remember for perpetuity that her birthday is Oct. 18. I, honestly, have trouble remembering my kids' birthdays, but...by God...I remember Amy's birthday. Our wedding day seems like it should be easier to remember than her birthday, particularly after all these years.

It was a New Year's Eve day, in the mid-morning, when she telephoned to say she was coming home from shopping with her mom because, "We need to talk." We did need to talk about me being a crappy husband, but since it turned out she needed to talk about leaving for the man she'd been having an affair with for months, I should remember more. I should remember if she made the phone call to begin the process of leaving on Dec. 31, 1988 or on Dec. 31, 1989. I have no idea.

(Ted Note: It was Jan. 31, 1988. I remembered...days after writing this.)

We're so sure that the day, or the event, is unforgettable, you know? I remember thinking that my wedding day was one I'd never forget. I recall the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I listened to an abridged version of the story that would lead to my divorce. I remember that my oldest kids, who were then in elementary school, were playing football over at Cutten School while we talker, er, while she talked and dove directly into denial.

Dammit! See? I remember the kids were playing football on a sunny day, but I can't remember what year it was. I even remember that she hadn't actually been with her mom that morning (duh...right?). Well, I guess that would actually be harder to forget that piece of information than the actual date. It's not often that a man finds out his wife's having been an affair that even the neighbors knew about...with a big, ol' truck driver...who, apparently, had a temper ... especially since the guy realized he was no great shakes as a husband and that she could've done way better. (Although she didn't do better right then, I think she has subsequently done better for herself. Things tend to work out. She's happy. I'm alive.)

Perhaps, I define "unforgettable" differently than most.

I can't remember the day or the year that I got married the second time. It isn't that I consciously diminished the meaning of that day, let alone the act of getting married. But, I can't remember anything except that it was almost certainly 1994 because my youngest son was born after my vasectomy reversal surgery in January 1995.

Unforgettable.